by Ed James
Down the street, Methven’s Range Rover pulled in.
‘Cheers. I have to go.’ Cullen marched over to the end of the path as he pocketed his Airwave. ‘Sir, she’s not there.’
‘Then where the sodding hell is she?’
‘She’s raped Rich. He’s out of his skull.’
‘Sodding, sodding hell.’
Cullen stared back at the house, spotting the ambulance crawling up the brae. ‘Can’t believe she brought him here.’ He gazed up at the sky, dark grey clouds billowing, rain definitely on the way. ‘She’s behind all this, sir. She raped those men, spiked my drink. Raped Rich. Killed Ferguson. Killed Van de Merwe.’
‘I don’t get the why, Sergeant.’
‘Me neither.’ Cullen shook his head and gritted his teeth. ‘She’s lost control.’
Methven waved at Van de Merwe’s town house. ‘Why did she do that to him?’
‘Shite, I think I know.’ Cullen frowned and reached for his phone, dialling Tom.
‘Yo. Hearing a lot from you today, Skinkster.’
‘We’ve found Rich. He’s been raped.’
‘Fuck me. Is he okay?’
‘Not really. Listen, do you know who his source was?’
‘No you don’t. He swore me to secrecy.’
‘This is serious, Tom. I think it’s why he’s been attacked.’
‘Skinky, if you’re recording this—’
‘Who was the source?’
A pause. ‘Lorna.’
‘That figures.’ Cullen spun round to Methven and mouthed her name. ‘How did they meet?’
‘Night out a few weeks ago. Went dancing. After that, they started chatting.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘He swore me to secrecy, mate. Come on—’
Cullen ended the call and pocketed the phone. ‘Lorna was Rich’s source.’
Methven held his Airwave away from his head. ‘I’ll phone you back.’ He stabbed a finger on the screen. ‘So why do this to him?’
‘She overheard Rich and me arguing about his source last night in the club. He was about to give me her name. Just before she spiked our drinks. Fuck, I grabbed his beer.’
‘So she did this to him?’
Cullen swallowed hard. ‘She must’ve killed Ferguson because he was giving us too much information about what was going on at the bank. This BDSM ring. Everything.’
‘Why give all that information to Rich, though?’
Cullen shrugged. ‘To avoid any suspicion falling on her?’
‘Why not frame someone for Van de Merwe’s death?’
‘She was trying to frame Candy. She didn’t know about the cloak. It was Lorna’s. Fuck.’
Methven frowned. ‘Did she say anything useful in the text she used to lure Ferguson to the hotel?’
‘Not sure.’ Cullen fumbled for his Airwave and hit dial. ‘Tommy, it’s Cullen. Have you done any work on the burner used to call Martin Ferguson?’
‘I can only trace it when it’s on and calling. It’s off.’
‘When was it last on?’
‘Last night.’
‘Can you check it again?’
A pause. ‘Give me a minute.’
‘Sergeant, we need to have a word about DS Bain’s complaint.’
‘Ignore it. It’s bullshit, sir.’
‘I can’t just ignore it.’
‘You know what he’s like. He can give it out, but he can’t take it.’
A tinny voice came from his Airwave. ‘Cullen?’
Cullen put it to his head. ‘Sorry, Tommy. Got anything?’
‘The phone’s on.’
‘Now?’
‘Aye, just hit a cell tower on Chester Street in the West End.’
‘So where is she?’
‘That’s all I can give you until tomorrow.’
‘Cheers.’ Cullen ended the call. He typed in the mobile number and hit dial.
‘What are you doing, Sergeant?’
‘Trying something.’
A crackle of static burst out of the speaker. ‘Aye?’
‘Lorna?’
‘You know it’s me then, Scott Cullen. Top points. Meet me on Dean Bridge. Now.’
Fifty-Four
Cullen darted over the mouth of Bell’s Brae. Shit.
Lorna stood in the middle of the bridge, leaning over the side and staring at the water.
His Airwave chimed. ‘Control to Cullen.’
‘Receiving.’
‘Alpha six is in position. Over.’
Up ahead, flashing lights cut across the oncoming traffic, blocking both lanes. Two figures got out, keeping their distance.
Cullen continued on towards her, his heart thudding in his chest. He took a backwards glance at the squad car behind him. ‘Lorna! It’s me!’
She swung round to face him. ‘Stay there!’
‘What do you want from me?’
She put her knee on the ledge and hoisted herself up, her leather coat flapping in the wind. ‘Stay back!’
Cullen came to a halt and raised his hands. ‘I’m not moving.’
‘Get back.’
‘Here’s just fine.’ Cullen tossed his baton to the ground and waved at the approaching uniform, getting him to stop. He pointed at the BWV camera and got a thumbs up. ‘If you jump, you’ll most likely survive the fall.’
‘That’s a lie.’
‘You were lucky Jonathan died when you pushed him.’
‘I didn’t do anything!’
‘We know you killed him. We know you’ve been raping those men.’ Cullen inched his right foot forward. ‘Why did you do it?’
‘You wouldn’t understand.’
‘Try me.’
‘You really want to know?’ Tears flooded down her cheeks, twisted out of recognition. ‘My uncle fucked me when I was little. I was just a child!’
‘That doesn’t make it right for you to rape people. One of my best friends.’
‘Rich enjoyed it.’
‘He’s in hospital with a ruptured arsehole. You didn’t give him a choice.’
‘My fucking uncle never gave me a choice. Is that fair? Is any of this fair?’
‘Why did you attack Rich?’
She just shook her head.
‘What about Kyle Graham or Callum Egan?’
‘Who?’
‘Your victims, Lorna. Young men who’ve done nothing. You’ve torn them apart and they’ve done nothing to deserve it.’
She swallowed. Said nothing.
‘How did you fake the Rohypnol test?’
She grinned, still kept quiet.
‘Wait, you did yourself when I let you get changed?’
‘Maybe.’ She stared down into the water. ‘I thought I was over what happened. Then I started sleeping with Jonathan.’
Cullen took another step.
‘He kept our relationship a secret from everyone at work.’
Another shuffle forward.
She glared at him, fists clenched, fire in her eyes. ‘I couldn’t keep a lid on it. It made me feel things I’d not felt for years.’
‘You broke up with him at the orgy, right?’
‘How do you know that?’
‘What do you think I do all day?’ Cullen flashed up his hands, eyes locked with hers. ‘Why did you start raping men?’
‘Deep things came out of my skull.’ She stared back at the water. ‘I missed Jon. Hurting him.’
‘So you hurt other men?’
‘I didn’t mean to. Not at first.’
‘You couldn’t stop, though, could you?’ A long stride forward. Not far away now. ‘What happened on Saturday night?’
‘He invited me round and we ended up doing it one last time. I told him I didn’t want to see him again. Couldn’t see him again.’
Another stride, wind whipping Cullen’s hair. ‘And?’
‘He didn’t take it well. Started crying, clawing at me. I ran off and he followed me out here. Pathetic bastard was in his p
ants.’ She leaned over the side. ‘Right here.’
A long step. Not far now. Keep her talking. ‘Why did you kill Martin Ferguson?’
‘Because he was talking to you, like Rich in the club last night. It was only a matter of time before one of them told you about me.’
‘You framed Candy.’
‘Now she deserved it. The little witch had her claws into Jonathan.’
Cullen took another step. ‘Come on, Lorna—’
She jumped.
Cullen lurched forward. Reached out, catching her jacket. Tugging hard.
The weight of her body fell away, leaving her jacket. She tumbled down, twisting around, eyes locked onto Cullen, screaming. Her back crunched against the rocks, her head on the fake otter.
She screamed out, curdling Cullen’s gut.
He shut his eyes, collapsing to his knees, clutching her jacket tight.
Fifty-Five
Cullen handed the clipboard back to the uniform. ‘Type that up and I’ll sign it when I get back to the station.’
‘Sarge.’ The uniform nodded and walked off.
The wind blowing down the Water of Leith valley cut into Cullen. He started across the bridge, traffic now rumbling past. Rubberneckers craned their necks to watch him.
He stared at his hands, fingers not strong enough. He shoved them deep in his pockets and powered through the sheet of early-summer rain. Stopped near where—
He looked down. Lorna lay on a gurney, just by the rocks, mouth covered in breathing apparatus. Body arched back. Eyes wide open. Two paramedics wheeled her over to the ambulance.
Blood spilled over the rocks where she’d landed, dyeing the fake otter red.
Cullen sucked in breath.
‘Sergeant!’
Cullen twisted round and nodded at Methven. He let out a deep breath. ‘Sir.’
Methven patted him on the back. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m a bit shaken up, to be honest.’
‘Hell of a business. Can’t believe she jumped.’
‘I tried to reach her, sir, I was—’
‘You couldn’t’ve stopped her. She wanted to die.’
‘She still might.’
‘This isn’t your fault, Sergeant. You’ve saved lives. Your friend’s, for one.’
‘Thanks, sir.’
‘DC Murray’s been a credit to our team. The NCA are hopeful they can claw back those funds.’ Methven cleared his throat. ‘We need to talk about this scuffle with DS Bain.’
Cullen leaned against the wall, looking over at the ambulance trundling up the brae. ‘Now?’
‘You can’t punch people, Sergeant.’
‘We locked horns. That’s it.’
‘Not what he’s saying.’
‘He’s a lying bastard.’
‘He’s asked me to take you off active duty.’
‘Nobody witnessed it.’
‘You’re lucky.’
‘So that’s it?’
‘Of course it’s not. It never is for him.’ Methven leaned against the wall. ‘I’ve had the Chief Constable phoning me up about one of my sergeants scuppering a high-profile drug investigation.’
‘I can only apologise.’
‘That didn’t get us anywhere, Sergeant.’
‘Vardy’s hauled his guys off the street, sir. Candy could still testify against him.’
‘I very much doubt it.’
‘Stopping selling the drugs isn’t enough?’
‘There’s no conviction.’ Methven thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘Let me be clear on this — you’ve got away with a lot in the past. It stops now, okay?’
‘It stopped a long time ago.’
‘Am I making myself clear?’
Cullen stared at his feet. ‘You are.’
‘Once we get the paperwork for this arranged, you’re reporting to DI Wilkinson on Monday.’
‘Christ.’
‘DCS Soutar’s reallocated DS Bain to my team to cover. I suspect she wants one of her people on the inside.’
‘You’re kidding—’
‘Scott?’ Sharon pushed past Methven. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’ll live.’ Cullen leaned against the wall, arms folded. ‘She slipped out of my grasp.’
‘Turns out your profile wasn’t worth the paper it was written on.’ Methven smoothed down his eyebrows. ‘It said she would never confess.’
Sharon frowned at Cullen. ‘Did she?’
‘Got it on BWV. Not sure how much of it’ll be admissible…’
‘We should have—’
‘Colin.’ Sharon raised a hand to Methven. ‘Back off. Now.’
Methven nodded at Cullen. ‘Report to DI Wilkinson on Monday, okay?’
‘Will do, sir.’ Cullen watched him storm off across the bridge. ‘What an arsehole.’
‘What does he mean about Wilkinson?’
‘He’s seconded me. Punishment for all the shite I’ve been pulling, I suppose.’
‘Because you hit Bain?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘He seems to think so.’
‘I wish I’d battered the fuck out of him. He’s been asking for it for years.’
‘You can’t just punch him, though.’
‘I didn’t. He was threatening me.’
‘How badly?’
‘Just the usual shite with him. He thought I’d been shagging Lorna. You know what he’s like. He gets in there and fucks with you. I’ve had enough. Can’t believe Methven brought him back. I’m the one who’s had to deal with him. Chipping away at me all the time.’
She put her hand on his arm. ‘Scott, are you okay?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What happened?’
‘I fucked up. Tried to grab her, but she just… She slipped through my grasp.’
‘Scott, it’s—’
He locked his eyes on hers. ‘If I hadn’t let her go. If—’
‘Scott, it’s okay.’ She put an arm round him and hugged him close. ‘It’s not your fault. She’ll still pay for what she’s done.’
* * *
Cullen stopped outside the operating theatre.
Doctors in scrubs marched around, looking purposeful.
A uniform perched on a chair, nose stuck in a Stuart MacBride novel. “Broken Skin”. Gave Cullen a nod and raised the book.
Cullen took a step away from him.
‘There you are.’
‘Chantal.’
Jain handed him a coffee. ‘Got this for Shaz, but she didn’t show up.’
‘She’s outside, briefing your DCI.’ Cullen tore off the lid. ‘Thanks for this. Assuming you’ve not put Rohypnol in.’
‘Don’t even joke.’
Cullen took a burning sip. ‘What’s the latest on Lorna?’
‘She’s just going into surgery.’ Jain gulped at the foam. ‘The doctor gave me two minutes with her.’
‘Any use?’
‘Completely out of it. Sorry.’
‘We’ve got BWV evidence against her.’
‘That’s a relief.’
‘She’ll face two cases. She’s going away for a long time.’
Jain patted his arm. ‘You okay, Scott?’
‘I’m not bad. Need to have a chat with you about your future when this is all over.’
‘Sounds ominous.’
‘I mean it in a good way.’
* * *
The doctor opened the door and waved her hand at Rich. ‘We’ve had to administer a severe painkiller.’
Cullen couldn’t keep his focus on the bony figure in the bed, facing away from them, his arms out in front of him. ‘Take it that means he’s been badly injured?’
‘Suffered a torn rectum and a perforated colon.’ The doctor shut her eyes and flared her nostrils. ‘This is the worst of the cases your partner’s been investigating.’
‘Can I get a minute with him?’
‘Just don’t get him excited, okay?’
Cullen stepped acros
s the room and sat next to the bed. ‘You okay, mate?’
Rich just stared at him.
‘I’m really sorry. I didn’t catch her in time.’
Rich rolled over, his blotchy eyes glaring at Cullen.
‘If she hadn’t overheard our argument in the club—’
‘Skinky, I thought I was in control of it. She was just playing me. Feeding me stories.’
‘You got caught up in it.’
‘It’s my arrogance that’s got me here. If I hadn’t chased the story, I’d not be here.’ Rich shook his head, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes. He sat and picked up a cup from the stand. He swallowed down water, slivers running down his cheeks, soaking his gown and the bed. ‘Can’t believe it. I’m broken. She spiked my drink, took me to that house and fucking raped me. What sort of person does that?’
‘She jumped off Dean Bridge.’
‘She’s dead?’
‘In surgery. Chantal reckons she’ll survive.’
Rich stared up at the ceiling. ‘I don’t know if that’s good news or bad.’
‘Me neither.’
‘I’d like ten minutes in a room with her.’ Rich scrunched up the bed sheet. ‘I shouldn’t have lied to you.’
‘You shouldn’t.’ Cullen smiled. ‘But then I’m never the most honest.’
‘No, you’re a lying bastard.’ Rich rubbed his face and winced. ‘Look, I’m sorry about the book.’
‘It’s okay, mate. Really. Just stop writing it.’
Rich laughed. ‘You’re such a fucker, Skinky.’
‘You need anything?’
‘A new arsehole.’
* * *
Cullen opened the door of Sharon’s car and got in the passenger seat. He yanked down his seatbelt. It caught halfway. He tugged it again. Nothing. ‘Jesus Christ.’
Sharon leaned over and eased it down. ‘There you go.’
He let out a deep sigh. ‘Thanks.’
‘How did it go?’
‘Shite.’ He shut his eyes and ran a hand across his forehead. ‘We’re trained to deal with these things, but it’s never easy, is it?’
‘How is he?’
‘Broken. Poor guy. I can’t believe this.’
She shook her head and gripped the steering wheel tight. ‘Rich sent me a text yesterday. Said you’d been crying.’