by Ed James
"It is. You had breakfast?"
"No."
"Come on." Cullen led them out of the emptying room, taking the stairs two at a time. "Good weekend?"
"In here, wasn't I?"
"Desperate to get your full DC stripes, aren't you?" Cullen pushed open the door to the canteen. "Was it busy?"
"Yeah, mate it was. Crystal shoved me out to West Lothian all day yesterday. Bloody nightmare."
Barbara nodded as Cullen joined the queue, only three officers in it.
Buxton picked up a fruit scone and two butter portions. "Why weren't you in?"
"I'll tell you when we sit down."
"Secret bloody squirrel, you."
Cullen paid for his breakfast and went over to bollocking corner, getting stuck into his standard BLT with brown sauce.
"That's fucking unnatural." Buxton pointed at Cullen's roll as he sat, face screwed up. "Brown sauce has no fucking business going anywhere near a tomato."
"What about bacon?"
"Yeah, I'll give you that but it's still a freaky sandwich."
"We call them rolls up here."
"Yeah, whatever." Buxton tucked into his scone. "Don't even start on how I pronounce one of these."
"Truce." Cullen put his roll down, a half-eaten slice of tomato flopping out and smearing the plate with brown. "Sharon and I broke up."
"Bad luck."
"I broke up with her, Budgie."
"Don't call me that, Sundance."
"Fine, fine, I was the one doing the breaking up."
"Not cos you couldn't get it up?"
Cullen laughed. "That was the least of our problems. Twice a night, at least."
"What happened, then?"
"I found out she had an affair with DI Cargill."
Buxton almost fell off his chair. "What, recently?"
"Ten years ago."
"I don't get it, mate."
"The trouble is she didn't tell me."
"Nightmare."
Cullen's phone rang.
"It's Mr Naismith, I've got your tapes."
"That was quick."
"We've got an increased service level agreement. Have to turn things around for the police in minutes these days."
"Glad to hear it."
Naismith sniffed. "I'll leave them at reception."
"Thanks." Cullen ended the call. He looked at Buxton, tucking into his scone. "Got a great errand to run."
"What is it?"
Cullen couldn't bring himself to ask Buxton to get the tapes. He glanced at the serving area and caught Irvine heading over with his usual fry-up. "Great." He munched the rest of his roll and put the lid on his coffee.
Irvine sat down alongside them. "Good result for your boys at the weekend there, Cullen. Three one away to Killie isn't bad."
Cullen grabbed his coffee and got to his feet.
Irvine frowned. "Was it something I said?"
"It was, aye."
***
Cullen entered the Incident Room to fetch his jacket for the walk to the Royal Mile and immediately regretted it.
"DC Curran, not so fast." Wilkinson was in the middle of the room, standing beside Bain.
Cullen grabbed his coat.
"Curran!" Wilkinson walked over, arms folded.
"What is it? I've got an urgent task for DI Cargill."
"I bet you do, lad. It's about your buddy, Derek Miller."
"What about him?"
"Well, since you spoke to me yesterday, I did a bit of digging. Turns out he's involved in my case. One of the few witnesses that we do have reckons young Miller was at the quarry for the fight. I'm sure I bloody mentioned it to you the other day."
Cullen tried to look mystified.
Wilkinson sighed. "There was a hooligan fight in West Lothian, at a place called Ginty's Quarry. Two deaths. If I can crack this one, then I'm a bloody DCI."
Cullen nodded. Two and two together. Derek Miller's black eye was definitely not from a mugging, but the result of a hooligan fight. "Thanks for letting me know. Do you want me to have a chat with him about it?"
Wilkinson laughed. "I told you, I want you to keep away from him. Besides, that's not why I came here, lad. I've got me RIPSA form approved. I need you and that lad with the ponytail to head out to Schoolbook in Livingston."
"Haven't you got your own team to do this?"
"None of my boys are familiar with the inner workings of Schoolbook. You are."
"You really need to clear it with DI Cargill."
"Why do I need to do that?"
"Because I'm doing a priority investigation for her. Normally, I'd love to help out, but I've got to watch."
"I've got four hours of your time. I bloody agreed it with her last week!"
"Priorities change."
Wilkinson glowered at Cullen. "Any idea where she is?"
Cullen pointed behind Wilkinson. "DI Bain might know."
As soon as Wilkinson turned around, Cullen was off through the door.
CHAPTER 26
"You called?" Buxton leaned against the wall, arms folded.
"Yeah." Cullen opened the door to the CCTV review suite. "In here." The room was cold and empty and Cullen had to turn on the lights. What looked like a three-day-old prawn sandwich sat in its plastic wrapper on the table. He put it in the bin.
Buxton sat in the next seat. "Methven's got me reviewing the calls received into Bilston."
"Well, you're my resource, so I'm prioritising this. He shouldn't have done that."
Buxton folded his arms. "Your funeral."
"You met that Naismith guy?"
Buxton frowned. "Think so. Bit of a wanker?"
"Aye." Cullen held up the packet of DVDs. "He called these 'tapes'."
"Cracking. What have I got to do?"
"Just go through the disks. Half each. We're trying to work out where the Range Rover went after it was stolen."
"This is linked to that other wild goose chase Wilkinson had me do, isn't it? Made me go out to Ravencraig to speak to some mad woman about a sighting of the car." Buxton took out a DVD. "He bloody called me Britpop as well. I hate that."
"Worse than Budgie?"
"Definitely."
"If you got a proper haircut, maybe it would stop."
"Ha ha."
Cullen took a deep breath and stuck the disk in the machine. He waited for it to spin up. Back to pure DC duties - sitting in front of a computer, ploughing through a stack of discs, the modern equivalent of old-fashioned shoe-leather work.
The first tape was of Craig Smith's street. The camera was around the corner from his house with a view to the cul de sac's entrance. He let the footage run, while digging out a map of the town on the neighbouring computer. He flipped the footage into fast forward, watching cars appear every ten minutes or so.
Almost exactly an hour before the theft was called in, the orange four-by-four drove out of the cul de sac. "Got you."
"What?" Buxton look over.
"Here he is." Cullen slowed the video right down to an eighth speed and wound it back. It looked like a snapshot taken every second, presumably for cost reasons, so there were very few shots of the car approaching the camera. "Buggery."
"What?"
Cullen tapped the screen. "The camera's calibrated for standard cars. The drivers of SUVs are shielded from sight."
"Chelsea tractors."
"Don't. Bain called it that the other day."
Cullen took screen grabs of the few inconclusive shots he had, before putting the next disk in.
His phone rang. Methven. "Sarge."
"Constable. Where are you?"
"In the CCTV room with Buxton. Why?"
"I thought he was reviewing call logs?"
"He was allocated to me."
"Very well. I'll meet you in the garage in two minutes."
"Why?"
"Tommy Aitken just tried to assault someone."
***
"Remember you still owe me, Cullen." PC Duncan
West got up from his desk in the admin area at Bathgate station.
Methven frowned. "What's this about?"
Cullen glared at West. "Personal stuff, Sarge. I lost a game of pool."
Methven's large eyebrows briefly flashed up. "Fine." He looked at West. "What's Aitken done, then?"
"He's assaulted Hugh Nichol."
"The mechanic?"
"Aye, him. He pitched up there this morning, absolutely out of his tree. Looked like he'd been on a three-day bender. Squared up to him, shouting the odds and they went at it. Aitken threw the first punch. Nichol threw the last. Couple of Nichol's lads pulled them apart. Both of them look like they've been dragged through a hedge backwards."
Cullen rubbed his forehead as he thought. "Kenny Souness worked for Nichol, right?"
"Aye." West nodded.
Methven put his hand in his pocket. "You think this means something?"
"Could mean something, then again, could just be an angry father lashing out."
Methven focused the eyebrows on West. "Has his lawyer turned up yet?"
"Not yet, no. You guys want to go in anyway?"
Methven spluttered. "I've no idea what sort of arrangement you run out here, but this is a major murder enquiry. It's all over the papers. My DI has to spend an hour a day speaking to sodding journalists. We're not cutting any corners here."
West looked ready to argue the toss but he backed down. "Okay. Let's wait."
The desk sergeant, Sally, walked into the admin area accompanied by a plump woman in her late forties. Sally pointed at West.
The woman nodded before heading over. "I believe you've got one Tommy Aitken in here?"
"We have." West sat on the edge of his desk. "Are you his lawyer?"
"Just the duty solicitor." She held out her hand. "Audrey Mitchell."
West shook hands. "This is DC Cullen and DS Methven. They're investigating Mr Aitken's son's murder."
"I see."
"I take it you've been briefed on what your new client has been up to?"
"I'm aware of the situation. My soon-to-be client was under the influence when the alleged attack happened. Is he sober enough to be interviewed?"
"He's had enough coffee to keep a detective inspector going."
Mitchell laughed. "Very well, I think we just need to get down to it. I'll make sure my client isn't over-stretching himself legally but it's all down to you."
West led them down the corridor towards the interview room, opening the door to the first one and gesturing for them to go inside.
Mitchell went in first. "Where is he?"
West leaned into the room. "Eh?"
"My client's not here."
PC Green appeared down the corridor, carrying a steaming plastic cup of coffee.
West jogged over. "Shagger, have you seen Aitken?"
Green frowned. "He's just in the room, isn't he?"
West rubbed his temples. "For fuck's sake."
Cullen looked around for a Policy Custody and Security Officer. "Where's the PCSO?"
Green shrugged. "It's me."
Cullen pointed a finger at West. "This equalises the favour."
CHAPTER 27
Green opened the back door to the station. "You pair head out on foot. We've got five officers from Broxburn on their way over."
Cullen followed Methven as he jogged out of the police station, heading onto the wide high street. To the right, the road led out of town. "Which way?"
Local officers ran out behind them - six in all. One pair crossed the road to the town library, another headed right, while the third bombed into the area behind the station. A police car emerged from the side entrance, carrying another two - West and Green.
"No choice now." Methven started a jog towards the Farmfoods across the road. "What a sodding mess this is."
Cullen struggled to keep up with the aggressive pace Methven set, catching up as they passed bus stops on either side of the road. "I hope he's not got on a bus."
"He's not got any cash. You know what bus drivers are like these days."
Cullen would have laughed had he not been struggling to breathe. His fitness run on Sunday morning started catching up with him.
They ran past a row of charity shops, coming to the wide, modern concrete town square.
A police car running blues and twos bombed past them in the opposite direction.
"I hope they've got him." Methven radioed the control room on his Airwave. "It's just support from Broxburn."
Cullen gasped for breath, his lungs burning as they ran full tilt across the square. He stopped and took stock. "Which way?"
Methven had his hands on his hips, barely out of breath. He looked around then jogged over to a middle-aged woman sitting on a bench. "Police. We're looking for a man with long hair, probably running."
She looked him up and down. Cullen couldn't guess which class A drug she was on. She raised her arm slowly and pointed behind them, across the road, to a lane running between an estate agent and a print cartridge shop. "That way."
"Come on." Methven sprinted off again, speaking into his Airwave as they ran.
Cullen struggled to keep up. They headed up Union Road, Methven turning the corner and sprinting up the hill through the houses.
Cullen spotted someone run along a raised platform leading away from the second floor of the curry house. The man scrabbled up the steep verge before launching himself over a beech hedge.
Tommy Aitken.
"This way!" Cullen pointed up.
Methven headed back, shouting into his Airwave.
Cullen clambered up the wooden stairs after the man, before crawling up the verge. He tumbled over the hedge into the garden, brown beech leaves coming with him. Methven vaulted over seconds later, effortlessly flowing into a forward roll.
Aitken ran around the side of the bungalow. They set off, Methven quickly outstripping Cullen.
Aitken went over another hedge into the back garden of a row of flats.
Cullen followed, watching Aitken bouncing off the walls at the side as Methven accelerated.
He caught Aitken by the bins, rugby-tackling him into the steel railings. "You are under arrest!"
Cullen slowed to a walk as he headed over, desperately out of breath, relieved Methven was in control. He really needed to get into shape.
Aitken spun around. He flipped Methven over onto his back. He kicked, catching Methven square in the testicles.
Methven screamed out.
Aitken got up, sprinting off across the wide patch of grass.
Cullen followed.
A siren sounded from behind.
Aitken headed into a corner between the blocks of flats, putting further distance between them as he weaved his way into the garden.
"Tommy!"
Aitken spun around to face him before bombing back into the second garden.
Cullen saw sirens on the high street coming towards them.
Aitken glanced over, before twisting in the other direction, heading away from Cullen.
Cullen tried to speed up again, tasting the burn in the back of his throat. He turned the corner, catching himself on the harled wall, ripping his suit jacket open.
A shout came from in front, round the corner.
Cullen sped up, careering round.
Methven lay on top of Aitken.
Cullen slowed to a halt. "What happened?"
"Silly bastard tried to jump over me. I caught him."
***
Cullen sat opposite Tommy Aitken and his solicitor. Green stood guard by the interview room door, having made sure Aitken was properly handcuffed to the table this time.
Methven came into the room.
Cullen checked his watch - he had spent over twenty minutes in the gents', putting cold water on his testicles, all other officers avoiding the room while he was in there.
Methven started the interview, before nodding to Cullen to continue.
"Mr Aitken, can I ask why you visited the busin
ess premises of one Hugh Nichol this morning?"
"It's his fault." Aiken glowered through hair hanging down his face, sweat-soaked from the chase. "Xander's death. His fault."
"Why would that be?"
"Isn't it bloody obvious? He used to take Xander and Kenny and a few other boys rally driving up in the countryside. They drove his four-by-fours up the bings and the hills."
"And you blame Mr Nichol for encouraging your son's interest in off-road driving?"
"Aye. If he hadn't stoked the boy's interest, he'd never have nicked that motor and gone up there. Stupid bugger was mad for it, like."
"Do you think that Mr Nichol may have murdered your son?"
"Murdered?" Aitken face screwed his up.
Cullen nodded. "We suspect your son was murdered."
Aitken looked around the room at each of them. "Is this on the level?"
Methven winced as he produced a sheet of paper. "Here's an extract from your son's autopsy. There's evidence suggesting Mr Aitken was severely beaten prior to the fall down the bing. Coupled with the fact the car he was in was stolen during the day, when we know for a fact he was at work, it's pretty clear this isn't mere death by misadventure."
A vein started throbbing in Aitken's forehead. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"We tried." Methven looked at another sheet of paper. "Your wife was informed on Saturday afternoon. The Family Liaison Officer tried to get in touch with yourself but couldn't, for one reason or another. Until you assaulted Mr Nichol, you were off our radar."
Aitken stroked his hair with his free hand. "You told me it was a murder when you came around, but I didn't believe you. I know my son. He was a bloody idiot. Always taking risks."
Cullen leaned forward. "You should've listened to me."
"You should've found me and made me listen. I needed to hear that again. You said it was just something you were treating as a possibility. I had it in my head he'd accidentally killed himself." Aitken shook his head, slowly. "Jesus Christ."
"Mr Aitken, did you beat your son up?"
"You what?"
"You have admitted to beating him up in the past. Did you this time?"
"What the fuck is this?"