by Ed James
The front door opened and Cullen came out, holding two mugs, the steam wafting out. He handed one over. ‘Found a cafetière and some ground coffee that wasn’t too dusty.’
‘Cheers.’ Hunter wrapped his hands around it and savoured the warmth. ‘How’s your plums?’
‘Still sore, but I’ll live.’
Hunter wanted to ask about Yvonne. The perfect opening. ‘Any sign of the lawyer yet?’
‘A criminal defence lawyer at this time on a Tuesday night in Inverness? Good one.’
‘Robertson said one’s on her way.’
‘Well, I never.’ Cullen took a sip and nodded approvingly at the coffee. ‘The amount of gear we found in that caravan… And the small matter of Elsa McGinty lying in his bed, out of her skull. She’s thir-fucking-teen, Craig.’
It hit Hunter in the guts like the butt of an AK-47. He nodded. Didn’t want to tempt fate with his words, so he took a sip of coffee, bitter but with a malty sweetness. ‘Can’t believe Robertson lost that big Russian guy and didn’t get the plates.’
‘What was he doing there?’
‘I don’t know. And I don’t like not knowing. Could’ve been there to kill him. Could’ve been after some drugs. Could’ve been after that schoolgirl.’
‘Why would he kill Farrell?’
‘The brick of heroin Keith found on the rig was in his kitchen drawer. It all ties together.’
‘Farrell was the reason you and Chantal got kicked over to Methven, right?’
‘Right. He’s a serial rapist who deals drugs. Working on that Sexual Offences Unit, you see some pretty fucking evil people. Derek Farrell’s right up at the top. Five rapes that we know of. Plus Elsa McGinty. I don’t know how these fuckers do it, but they get the women to keep quiet months and years after they have any influence over them.’
‘Sucks, mate. At least with vanilla murders, you’ve got hard evidence.’
‘This is different, though. She’s thirteen. No consent. Plus forensics and none of the shame you get with adult victims. Much as I hate to see it, I’ve seen so many adult rape victims pull out of testifying because of the shame.’
‘Such a shitty situation.’
Bain squelched over to the door. ‘Fuckin’ swear someone’s pissed in that pool.’
‘Smells like it too.’ Cullen smiled. ‘It would’ve been worth it if you’d actually caught him.’
‘Fuck off, Sundance.’
‘Fuck off, sir, you mean?’ Cullen ran a hand through his damp hair. ‘Or fuck off, boss. Don’t mind either way, just remember who you report to.’
‘Fuckin’ load of shite, this.’ Bain barged between them, absolutely reeking. ‘Remember when you were my DC… Christ.’ He trudged inside, leaving a trail of pissy footsteps.
‘Another paid-up member of the Scott Cullen fan club, eh?’
Cullen grinned. ‘Says the official club president.’
‘Touché. What’s his beef with you?’
‘Same as with everyone else.’ Cullen stood up tall and winced. ‘Same as with the whole world. He’s a toxic little man. He’s always been an arsehole. Now he’s my arsehole.’ Another drink of coffee, then he shook out the dregs into the rain. ‘Ach, he’s not that bad. Used to be, but he’s better now. You know that Peter principle, where people are promoted to the point of incompetence? He’s been demoted back to the point he’s barely competent.’
‘Be careful yourself.’
A flash of carefully trimmed eyebrows. ‘Still a few more rungs to climb before I get there, mate.’
Hunter laughed. ‘Jesus, you’re impossible.’
‘I’m serious. But we should think about getting you some stripes on your sleeve.’
‘Don’t even joke about it.’
‘I’ll joke about a lot of things, but not that.’ Cullen gave him a hard stare. ‘You’re a good cop, Craig. Maybe need a psych evaluation before we put you through the sergeants’ exam.’
‘You’re winding me up.’
‘I’m deadly serious.’ Cullen clapped his shoulder. ‘You see the calibre of officer I’ve got here. Methven’s asked me to rebuild the team after that shite last year, and I just can’t see Elvis, Buxton, or Eva Law as sergeants.’
‘You’ve got Chantal.’
‘I do. And I’ve also got Bain. I might try and demote him again. I’ve been speaking to an old mate in Dundee, but I doubt she’ll up sticks to Edinburgh just to deal with my rabble. Either way, I’d appreciate you as well. Someone I can trust to call me a dickhead when I’m being one.’
Hunter stared hard at him. ‘You’re still messing with me.’
‘I swear I’m not.’
A hatchback pulled up over the road, hidden from streetlights.
Hunter squinted at it. ‘Is that the lawyer?’
A passing car lit it up. An orange Ford Focus.
Cullen groaned.
DI Sharon McNeill got out of the driver’s side and crossed the road, flanked by a couple of female officers as stony-faced as her. ‘Scott.’
‘Sharon.’ Cullen gave a polite smile, hiding the dark feelings that had to be surging in his gut. ‘You made good time getting up here.’
‘I took the piss during the average-speed stretch, cleared a hundred all the way from Perth.’ She joined them on the steps, frowning at Hunter as her acolytes headed inside. ‘I’ve got priority on this case.’
Cullen laughed. ‘No chance. This is mine. You’re only here because I had the courtesy to phone you and you happened to be checking my sloppy seconds in Perth.’
‘Come on, Scott, you’re better than that.’
‘I’m really not. But Craig and Chantal are on this case, they can cover for you.’
‘They’re no longer my officers.’
‘But they were. They know how your mind works. I never did.’
Sharon squared up to him. Hunter felt like he was watching them in the bedroom when they were still a couple, a toxic mix of fighting and fucking. ‘Lauren Reid called me, by the way. Local units picked up the caravan owner in Edinburgh. One Steven West. He was on a pub crawl with a load of idiot friends from his university days. Picked him up when he was gurning into a camera outside the Basement Bar on Broughton Street. Guys are in their forties but still drinking like teenagers.’
Cullen nodded, a mischievous grin flashing over his lips. ‘I remember going for a drink with you in the Basement Bar a long time ago.’
Hunter cut between them, focusing on Sharon. ‘What did the caravan owner say?’
She focused on him like she was looking at the underside of her running shoe after bombing through a field filled with cowpats. ‘He said he has no idea who’s staying in his caravan. Not been up for months. Got a call with a letting agency in Aviemore, could be it’s all above board.’
‘Or he could be squatting.’ Hunter tried to assess it, based on their intel, but it all came up short. ‘Seems unlikely he didn’t know Farrell. Guy could’ve shown up at any point, right?’
‘Well, Constable, you’re welcome to head down to Edinburgh and find out.’
‘Craig’s got to interview someone with me, Sharon.’
‘I told you, I want in on that.’
Cullen laughed. ‘This is my case and you know it.’
‘Scott, you’re being immature.’
‘No, this is my case.’
‘He’s raped five women.’
‘Six. And the latest is an underage schoolgirl.’
Sharon puffed out her cheeks. ‘Shite.’
‘Murder trumps rape. Sorry. We’ll get him for all of it. Don’t worry.’
‘I wish I could trust you.’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Look, you and I can sit in the obs suite. Let Craig and Chantal speak to him. They’ve got previous with Farrell.’
‘Works for me.’
Hunter sat in the obs suite, looking at Farrell on his own in the interview room. Sitting there, smirking and laughing at something. Sick little bastard. ‘You all right?’
Cha
ntal looked over at him. A black eye was forming around her left, but he knew not to even mention it. ‘I just want to interview that piece of shit.’
‘I want to smash him through a wall.’
‘Where is that—’
A knock on the door and an Asian woman peered in. Her eyes widened when she got a look at Chantal. ‘Oh.’
Chantal stood up tall. ‘Can I help?’
‘I’m here to represent Mr Farrell.’ She held out a hand to Chantal. ‘Anna Patel, working for MRPX Associates.’
‘DS Chantal Jain.’ She shook it with a broad grin. ‘The new name for McLintock and Williams, right?’
Patel took her hand back with a shrug. Didn’t seem to be in a hurry to offer it to Hunter. ‘As was. We were all partners in the previous company and decided to rebrand following events of last year.’
‘MRPX sounds like a high-speed Subaru mode.’ Hunter smiled at her. ‘You’ll be the P and I know the M and the R. So who’s the X?’
‘That isn’t important.’ Patel kept her focus on Chantal. ‘My client won’t tell the full story unless there’s some sort of deal on offer.’
‘You’re having a laugh.’
‘No, I’m not. I’m deadly serious.’ Patel smoothed down her hair. ‘Sergeant, I completely understand your position. We can reach a compromise.’
‘Really.’ Chantal barked out a laugh. ‘You want us to reach a compromise that lets your raping piece of shit get out and be able to do it again?’
‘Listen to me. If you can get my client off with minor drug dealing, ideally a fine but less than a year served, then he’ll talk.’
Chantal stared hard at her, that look that meant she was considering slicing her throat open. ‘I don’t think you understand the situation. We’ve got your client on possession for the intent to supply and whatever charges come from the child.’
Patel tilted her head to the side. ‘So you don’t want him to help you find your brother?’
30
Hunter stomped along the corridor, Chantal following a few steps behind. ‘Seriously, we can’t even think about letting that raping bastard get off with this.’
‘That’s way above our pay grade, Craig.’ Chantal stopped, forcing him to turn to face her. ‘Look, there are ways and means. You know that. We can use some sleight of hand to cover the deal, get what we want and’—her jaw clenched slightly—‘let Sharon’s team prosecute him for the rapes.’
Hunter pinched his nose. ‘I fucking hate this.’
‘Craig, it’s where we are. Okay?’
Hunter stared at her, eventually seeing the truth in it. Aside from the broiling emotions in his gut, there was a policing matter here. He saw that. No matter how much Farrell needed to go down, if he was offering up this drug-smuggling ring, then they had to take the bigger fish.
He thumped the wall. Didn’t even dent it. ‘Fucking hell.’
Chantal stroked his arm, slow and steady. ‘How did your brother get wrapped up in this?’
‘He’s a bloody idiot.’
‘There’s being a bloody idiot, and there’s getting into this shit.’
‘Right.’ Hunter let the breath out slowly. ‘I think he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That urbexing shit… You’re playing percentages. The more you do it, the more likely it is you’ll come a cropper. And sometimes your luck runs out.’ He opened the canteen door.
Cullen and Sharon stood in the middle of the empty room, their shouting cannoning off the bare steel surfaces.
‘—never loved you!’ Sharon jabbed a finger in Cullen’s face. She spotted them and shut up. Cullen jerked his eyes over to the door. Sharon wheeled off into the corner of the room, arms folded but her rage still simmering away.
Cullen kept his gaze on her, but he was trying to smile through it. ‘Well?’
Chantal went first. ‘I thought you’d be wanting to speak to his lawyer rather than comparing each other’s genitals.’
‘Shut up!’ Sharon stomped back over to them. ‘What happened?’
‘The lawyer wants a deal.’
‘A deal?’ Sharon shook her head. ‘Jesus Christ.’
‘She’s happy to take a year served for the drugs.’
‘I’ve not driven all this way to let that bastard get off with what he’s done.’
‘This isn’t about you, Sharon.’
‘Piss off.’
Chantal laughed out loud at that. One long breath and she looked at her new boss, ignoring the old one. ‘Scott, he’s offering juice on an international drugs ring.’
‘This is bullshit.’ Sharon started pacing, shaking her head. ‘Complete bullshit.’
Hunter got in her way. ‘Look, he’s talking about getting a cell with a view, versus one where he’s the mattress, pardon my French.’
That stopped Sharon. She looked over at Cullen, forehead twitching. ‘Scott, you can’t—’
‘Young Elsa’s at the hospital, doing a rape kit. The paramedics said there was semen in both—’ Cullen cut off, visibly sickened. ‘If we leave her out of the deal, would he still accept that?’
Hunter started thinking it through. ‘Maybe.’
Chantal didn’t look so positive. ‘The bigger problem is you’ve got half the Edinburgh drugs squad going through his caravan and finding enough coke to supply the lowlands for a month. And they’ve not even searched under the floorboards or in the walls yet. He’s looking at twenty years just for the drugs. And the rapes would be, say, thirty-five on top of that.’
Sharon stared up at the ceiling. ‘We can stand around all day arguing about it, but really it all comes down to what he gives us.’
Cullen eyed her nervously. ‘I’m not taking anything to Methven unless he brings this whole thing crashing down.’ He focused on Chantal. ‘But I don’t want him getting off with it. Do you think we could get this past the lawyer?’
Chantal looked away.
‘Jesus Christ.’ Sharon clenched her fists. ‘You mentioned Elsa to her! How could you be so—’
‘Shut up!’ Chantal got in Sharon’s face. ‘I worked that case for a year. Me.’ She patted her chest. ‘I interviewed those women. Me and Craig. We’ve got that raping bastard. Even though it’s not my conviction any more, I’d hate to lose it over some drugs. And I didn’t mention it. Jesus, you must think I’m stupid.’
Cullen switched his focus to Hunter. ‘Craig, what do you think?’
‘While he’s a rapist, he’s also a drug dealer. Standard operating procedure would be to get him to turn and give up his superiors, right?’
‘This isn’t a standard case. Anything but.’ Cullen seemed to make a decision. ‘Okay, if we can get him to give up what he knows on this drug-smuggling ring, and we can keep Elsa out of any deal, then we prosecute him for that. Sharon?’
Sharon scowled at them. Out of habit, as much as anything, she looked at Chantal for her opinion.
‘I spoke to Elsa at the hospital. She wasn’t in this realm of existence when he was… You catch my drift?’
‘Sadly, I do.’ Sharon ran a hand down her face. ‘Fine, I’d settle for that prosecution. We just need to get him on tape, admitting to it.’
Cullen stood there, thinking it through. ‘This is risky as hell. But let’s do it.’
Patel was sitting bolt upright, like someone had given her a backbone. Her gaze brushed over Chantal, before settling on Hunter. ‘So. Have we got a deal?’
‘Depends.’ Chantal splayed her hands on the table. ‘What information does your client wish to provide?’
‘I’m sitting right here.’
Patel raised a hand to shush him. ‘We agreed terms on a deal. Do they still pertain?’
‘If your client gives up useful information on this drug-smuggling ring leading to a conviction,’ Chantal raised her finger, ‘if, then we’ll charge him with possession of a class A. The highest sentence for that is one year. He’ll likely serve that, given his priors.’
‘I’m not doing any fucking time!’
Patel grabbed hold of her client’s arm. ‘And the alleged rapes?’
Chantal’s eyes narrowed and her lips twitched. ‘We’ll charge him with the current slate of investigations.’
‘That’s not going to wash.’
Hunter laughed. ‘Listen to me, your client is going away for a very long time. The only way he’ll get any nice treatment in there is if he plays ball. The only deal he’s got is whether his coffee comes with or without spit.’
‘That’s unacceptable.’
Farrell sat in the interview room, listening to Patel like he was completing a mortgage application. His wrists were still red raw from where Hunter had cuffed him that little bit too tight on Friday night. Hunter stared hard at Farrell. He wanted to smash his head off the desk and keep hitting him until the little bastard stopped breathing. He was a serial rapist, a disgusting little snake who hadn’t changed his ways. Instead he got worse, pulling Elsa into his lair. Torturing her, tormenting her. To feel control over someone.
Hunter’s gut clenched again. He wouldn’t have to formally interview Elsa, but someone else would. And he’d been in a room with her. No matter how little she remembered of what Farrell had done to her, she would remember something. And that something would follow her for the rest of her life. All because she wanted some ‘bev’ to escape teenage boredom.
‘I’ve spent a lot of time taking statements from the women he’s abused. Torn clothing, torn flesh. Pain, self-doubt, self-hatred. Suicide attempts. Descent into self-medication from drugs and alcohol. He’s not getting out of here.’
Patel cleared her throat. ‘My client would accept such a deal.’
Hunter felt a slight lurch of hope. The loophole was still open. He looked at Farrell and felt the rage burning away again. ‘Let’s hear it, then.’
‘Get the feeling you don’t like me, mate.’
‘Do I have to?’
Farrell laughed. ‘At least be honest with me.’
‘I’d rather you served a hundred years inside for what you’ve done.’ Hunter tried to keep his voice level. ‘I’m not a fan of the death penalty, but you push my belief in that.’