by Ed James
"I'm not in the mood." Bain folded his arms. "Here or the station?"
"Fine." Smith threw his hands up in the air. "It was stolen on Tuesday. I took the Defender into work - I do that every Tuesday just to keep it roadworthy. I've got a problem with collecting cars, you see."
"Not a problem I've got." Bain scribbled a note down. "When did you notice that car was missing?"
"We were pretty quiet on Tuesday, so I left Alistair in charge and went home early. There were football internationals on the telly and I had some legal documents to get through. The car wasn't there when I got home. It usually occupies pride of place in the drive. That's when I called the police in."
"Fine." Bain scribbled something down in his pad then pocketed his notebook. "That's all from me."
Cullen frowned - he'd been expecting another twenty minutes or so of grilling.
Bain got to his feet. "Thanks for your time." He handed him a card. "Give me a shout if anything else comes up."
***
"What was that all about?" Cullen gripped the grab handle above the door.
"All what about?" Bain hit the national speed limit sign already at sixty as they left Ravencraig, heading back towards Bathgate.
"You were giving him a doing and then you just stopped."
"He's not our boy."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course. Fuckin' Cargill just had me running a little insurance policy. Only people who'd spoken to this boy were you and your bird, before we found out about Souness. She just wanted to make sure there's nothing dodgy about him. Only fingerprints we've got in that motor are his and Aitken's. As far as I'm aware, that's him out of our enquiry."
"And you needed me for it?"
"Continuity of investigation." Bain passed over two roundabouts at reckless speed. "Doubt Craig Smith's involved. What have you been up to, anyway, Sundance?"
"This and that."
"What?"
"Been speaking to some snouts, if you must know."
"Oh aye," said Bain, suddenly sounding interested. "What about?"
"Nothing. Background."
They entered Bathgate from the north, past rows of new-build housing, all erected in the last fifteen years.
"Fuck of a lot of background. Nobody's got any idea what you've been doing."
"I'm digging into Xander Aitken as Cargill asked."
"So it's not just me you don't tell anything to?"
"No comment."
Bain looked over at him as they stopped at a set of traffic lights. "Don't hold anything back from me, Cullen."
"As if I would."
"You've got previous." Bain winced. "You bastard, you."
"You okay?"
"I'm bursting for a shite." The lights changed and Bain floored it, heading into the forest of new builds.
"Can't you go at the station?"
"I've got better bog roll at home."
Bain pulled into the drive of a two-storey semi-detached house, getting out before the handbrake was even on. "Get us a coffee while I do this?"
"I wonder if the amount of caffeine you consume has anything to do with the state your guts are in."
"Just get me one, Sundance." Bain trotted off up his drive, legs dancing as he struggled with his keys.
Cullen followed him, retrieving the keys still hanging from the lock. He went inside, surprised at the decor in the hall - white walls with sensitive artworks in strong colours.
He tried a door. Living room. Same paint job, huge TV, stack of DVDs.
He tried another door. Kitchen. A large Batman poster on the wall - Cullen recognised it from his flatmate Tom's collection, the cover to The Dark Knight Returns graphic novel. He took a photo on his phone and sent it to Caldwell. Bain's house - the root of all his shit Batman + Robin jokes.
On the black granite counter sat a Nespresso coffee maker. Cullen didn't know what he was doing but he hoped it worked. He got a mug off the tree and put it under the nozzle. He pushed a cartridge in and pressed the button for Americano. The silver machine clicked and started rattling, before hissing for a few seconds. It flashed up 'Enjoy your drink!'
Cullen opened a few of the matte black cabinets, eventually finding the fridge. He reached down and took out a pint of milk. He sniffed it, trying to work out if it was still okay.
"Who the fuck are you?"
Cullen spun round. It was the First Attending Officer from the bings, the one speaking to Irvine.
Cullen whipped out his warrant card. "DC Scott Cullen. The owner of the house instructed me to make coffee. Who are you?"
"That's better. Feel like I've lost a fuckin' stone." Bain stormed in, tucking his shirt into his trousers. He looked at the other man, eyes almost popped out on stalks. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
Cullen grinned. "Is this your boyfriend?"
"No, Sundance, this is my son."
CHAPTER 19
Cullen stood in stunned silence for a few seconds. "Sorry, what did you just say?"
Bain avoided Cullen's eyes. "I said, this is my son, Kieron."
"Dad, who's this?"
"He's one of my officers." Bain stroked his moustache. "What are you doing here, Kieron?"
Kieron nodded in the direction of the next room.
Bain followed him, closing the glass panelled door behind them.
Cullen heard every word - the walls were paper thin.
"Mum kicked me out again. She found out I'd been gambling. It was just a tenner on the horses but she started nipping my head about going to the football whenever I've got a minute off work."
"Right. Why don't you leave us in peace for a few minutes?"
Kieron grunted. "Right."
Bain came back into the kitchen.
"I didn't know you had a son." Cullen held out Bain's mug. "Didn't even know you were married."
"Well, I like to keep my private life private." Bain took it and slurped some coffee. "When you get to my position, Sundance, you've put a lot of guys away and you don't want them going after your family."
Cullen almost laughed. "There's keeping things private and there's keeping secrets."
"Aye, well, let's just say I don't trust a lot of people. Didn't know he'd be here, otherwise I'd not have brought you in."
"You're going to have to tell me what's going on now the cat's out of the bag. He's involved with this case and that's got to be logged. You know the rules on nepotism."
"Nepotism? Eh?"
"Whatever you want to call it, we need to log it. We can do it secretly if you want, but we need to make sure the paperwork is done. Or I can go to Turnbull and Cargill."
"Fine." Bain sat on a tall stool at the breakfast bar and held his head in his hands. "Fuckin' mess this is." He rubbed his moustache again, flattening it down. "Not a lot of people know this, but my marriage has been fairly rocky for years. Fuckin' cliché, but the divorced inspector, well, that's me. She kept on her folks' place in Dalkeith after her old boy died eight years ago. She kept running away to there, taking my boy with her. We broke up eighteen months ago. She's taking me to the fuckin' cleaners."
"That must be tough."
"You don't know the fuckin' half of it, Sundance."
"Try me."
Bain looked at Cullen, his eyes screwed up. They gradually released and then he closed them with a sigh. "Kieron's nineteen, but it fuckin' feels like he's lived with her on her own as long as he's lived with me. He's based in Ravencraig but he lives with her in Dalkeith. Looks like the stupid mare kicked the boy out, so he's come here, tail between his fuckin' legs. Could have fuckin' warned me." He leaned forward on the stool. "You need to keep this a secret."
"I think Turnbull might already know. He's asked me a few things over the last few months."
"All the fuckin' same, Jim's one thing. I don't want that fuckin' witch Cargill knowing."
Cullen sat and thought it through. It put Bain's behaviour in context - contending with a disintegrating marriage alongside the tough day job.
He didn't have any sympathy for Bain - or for his wife, for that matter - but he thought silence might be the best thing. "Okay. I'll keep it from Turnbull."
"Cheers."
Cullen held up a finger. "On two conditions."
"Go on."
"First, we log it in the case file, somewhere near the back where nobody will check. Second, Kieron has nothing to do with the case. He's taken off it."
"Fine." Bain finished his coffee. "Thanks."
Cullen was in no doubt as to who caused the marriage to break up.
***
"So he's divorced?" Sharon held her hand over her mouth. "I didn't even know he was married."
Cullen's code of silence lasted all of fifty minutes. He pushed his plate of lasagne away before nodding at Caldwell. "Has to be said you've handled your divorce slightly better."
"Yeah, well, no kids involved. Makes it easier. Not that it's exactly easy." Caldwell took a swig of Diet Pepsi. "You just know, if push came to shove, Bain would use this as an excuse for all the behaviour he's subjected us to over the last few years."
Cullen nodded. "Tell me about it."
"So his son is the FAO from out at the bing?" Sharon took a sip of water.
"That's him. Kieron Bain."
"Now you mention it, there was a certain family resemblance."
Caldwell laughed. "Need to get him to call you Sundance and use a form of the F-word ten times per sentence."
"I was thinking about the initials all the way back. There was a Rangers player from Kilmarnock called Kris Boyd. I couldn't work out why they'd used the English spelling. Then I found out the boy's father, a dyed-in-the-wool Rangers fan, had used the initials KB for both his children."
Sharon shrugged. "I don't follow."
"KB. King Billy."
"Bloody hell."
Caldwell scowled. "Who's King Billy?"
"William of Orange." Sharon crushed her can. "The Dutch prince so celebrated amongst Scottish and Northern Ireland Protestants for some ridiculously loose reason I can't remember."
"I think most of them think he scored the winner against Celtic in the 1688 Scottish Cup final."
Caldwell laughed. "I wondered what you were doing there when you sent me that Batman photo."
"Aye, he was bursting for a shite." Cullen finished his drink. "Keep this to yourselves. I'm the only one who knows and if this gets out, I'll get a proper doing."
Sharon made a zip sign across her mouth. "Does Cargill know?"
"Bain didn't want me to tell her. It's logged in the case file, but that's it."
"Just watch it, Scott, I don't know why you're doing it, but he's not worth protecting."
Cullen clocked Wilkinson approaching. "Remember to keep it to yourselves."
"Curran." Wilkinson stood at the head of the table, hands in his pockets. "Finally found you. Need to speak to you."
Charlie Kidd was next to him, tossing his ponytail about in the way he did when he was nervous.
Cullen looked at Sharon and Caldwell. "I'll see you back downstairs." He got to his feet, his brain whirring with the possibilities - him plus Kidd multiplied by Wilkinson equalled Schoolbook.
"This way." Wilkinson led them over to bollocking corner, sufficiently far away from the rest of the canteen to prevent other officers overhearing. He sat down in the seat facing the wall, away from the canteen itself.
Cullen sat on the opposite side from Kidd. "What is it, sir?"
"You two are our experts on Schoolbook, right?"
"In a way. We looked into the website when we caught the Schoolbook Killer. Charlie did most of the work, though."
Kidd's eyes shot daggers at him. "Under Cullen's supervision."
Wilkinson lay his palms flat on the table. "This case I'm working on, these hooligans seem to use this Schoolbook site to arrange their meetings. I want you pair to help me out."
Cullen frowned. "Have you cleared my time with Cargill?"
"Curran, I'll plough through any bollocks you try and spin, okay?" Wilkinson got a sheet of paper out of his suit jacket. "Four hours maximum, including travel."
Just what Cullen didn't want - getting waylaid on some stupid errand for Wilkinson, while his own shot at glory managed to cover over its own trail. "Have you got a RIPSA?"
"Not yet. It's a formality, anyway."
Cullen raised his eyebrows. "Didn't they tighten up the operational procedures after the last time? I think it has to be completed by a DCI and approved by the Chief Constable."
"You're kidding me?"
"It's true." Kidd nodded. "Came from the top."
"But we caught the bloody killer!"
"Even so." Cullen shrugged. "They wanted to make sure the process was transparent. Don't you read your memos?"
"Haven't got the bloody time." Wilkinson folded his arms and sat in a huff for a few seconds. "Don't you fuck off anywhere, like. I'm going to grab you two later, all right?"
Cullen got to his feet, free to clear up on convicting Gavin Tait.
CHAPTER 20
CC Blooms was jumping, even at four p.m. on a Friday. It was at the top of Leith Walk, two blocks from the police station, and was notorious as the gay bar in the city. Cullen had walked past many times but had never been in.
The DJ played a selection of slightly more obscure Abba songs - currently Does your mother know? - and he had a couple of middle-aged men grinding on the dance floor, shaven salt-and-pepper heads kissing up to each other. The song blended into Rick Astley's Never Gonna Give You Up, causing more fury.
Cullen flashed his warrant card at the barman.
The barman sniffed. "How can I help, officer?"
Cullen handed over a photo. "Do you recognise this man?"
The barman looked at it for a few seconds. "Is this Gavin?"
"Gavin Tait." Cullen nodded. "He says he was in here every night from Monday to Wednesday this week. Is that correct?"
The barman smiled. "It's true. He was in with two regulars. Tim and Colin. Six p.m. till closing on Monday, then eight p.m. till closing on Tuesday and Wednesday."
"Do you know the arrival times of all of your patrons?"
"I'd remember you." The barman held Cullen's stare for a few seconds. "Tim and Colin are regulars and I'd never seen this Gavin before. Very unusual character. Bit rough on the tongue, but then you can't have everything, I suppose."
"He was definitely in here all that time?"
"I know everything that's going on in here."
"He didn't nip outside for a fag?"
The barman grinned. "Not a word you should use in this place."
Cullen blushed. "Sorry. I meant a cigarette."
The barman took the bar towel from his shoulder and dried his hands with it as he thought. "Actually, now you mention it, I don't really remember seeing him that much on Tuesday night."
"Where else could he have gone?"
"Lots of gay bars around here, especially for a young lad like that. Habana, Planet Out or somewhere down Broughton Street, maybe."
"Is the Outhouse a gay bar?"
"No, it's not." The barman went back to washing glasses.
"Can I get your CCTV tapes?"
"Is this for personal use?"
"Very funny. Don't make me arrest you."
"Fine, I'll get them delivered to you."
"Can't I just have them?"
"No. A company in Bonnyrigg handles it all. They're not stored on the premises."
"Fine." Cullen put a card on the bar. "I'm based just down the road at Leith Walk."
"This you giving me your number, sunshine?"
"Only if your memory's jogged."
Cullen left the bar, having to cross the dance floor as Salt 'n' Pepa blared out, pleased he'd found a gap in Tait's movements.
***
Cullen waited in the reception area of McLintock, Williams & Partners, looking across George Street to Waterstones. His phone beeped.
Text from Caldwell - "Briefing at half five. Where are you?"<
br />
He tapped out a reply. "Meeting some people."
The phone buzzed with her response. "Cowboy shit?"
"Yeehah."
"Mr Cullen?"
He looked up. "Yes?"
A tall man in his mid-fifties wearing a sharp business suit stood there, hands clasped in front of him. "Tim Jeffers. How exactly can I help?"
Cullen got to his feet and nodded to the front desk. "I explained to the receptionist. I need to speak to you about Gavin Tait."
Tim swallowed hard. "I see."
"Is Colin Grainger about?"
Tim tipped his head up. "I think there's a Mr Grainger works here."
"I thought you were-"
Tim held up a hand. "Let me see if I can find Mr Grainger." He showed Cullen into a large meeting room off the reception area. "If you'll just wait here a few seconds?"
Cullen sat and got his notebook and pen out, wondering what the hell was going on. Tim and Colin. They barely seemed to know each other.
The door opened again and Tim walked through, closing it behind him. "Mr Grainger will be along presently. Now, how can I help?"
"Mr Jeffers, I believe you're acquainted with one Gavin Tait."
Tim narrowed his eyes. "The name doesn't really ring any bells, I'm afraid."
The door burst open, a man barging through, looking roughly the same age as Tim, though heavier and bald. He thrust out a hand after he sat down. "Colin Grainger."
Cullen nodded. "As I said to your partner here, I'm looking to talk to you about a Gavin Tait."
They exchanged a look.
Colin cleared his throat. "I'm sorry?"
"Gavin Tait, Mr Grainger." Cullen scowled. "I spoke to him in Stirling this morning. Said he'd had a lot of fun with you two this week."
"I see." Colin brushed some dust off his suit jacket. "What allegations are these?"
"Allegations? I don't think they're allegations. Mr Tait said he'd been with you two from early on Monday through to Thursday. Drinking, sharing a bed."
Colin held up his hands. "Stop right there. I suggest you get a lawyer in here yourself. These are libellous claims here."