by Ed James
‘Fuckin’ mental this, eh?’
Boy frowns at us like I’m the mental one, and heads on past Elvis.
I let him catch up with us, recovering some of my puff.
‘So, you were saying about Kieron?’
‘Aye, I’ve not seen the wee toerag since he got sentenced. Ten years, and this was seven years ago. Let’s just say he’s not exactly demonstrated much good behaviour inside.’
‘Brian…’
‘Cullen was saying Kieron’s escaped from the jail.’
‘What?’
‘While we’re going through hell over here, Cullen and the happy gang are out hunting for my son. Kieron and this wee fud who likes to stab people. Sold knives to half of Edinburgh’s underworld too.’
Elvis is puffing hard now. So hard he stops on the next floor landing and grabs the door handle like he’s clinging on to dear life with it.
‘I mean, I believed Kieron. He said he was innocent. Paid a fortune to Campbell fuckin’ McLintock to defend him, didn’t I? I mean of all people. But it was all lies. Fucked my own career too as well.’
‘What?’
‘Went tonto on that fat bastard Jim Turnbull. Ended up the only option I had left open was going back to fuckin’ Glasgow. But I don’t like to be defeated, so I came back. And I still aim to take those cunts down a peg or three.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Cullen, Methven, Turnbull. They’re all getting it in the fuckin’ neck.’
‘Bri, this is mental. You hate being a cop. You’ve got enough service to retire. This podcast, it’s your future. People love you talking about beer with me.’
‘I know you’re just trying to sweeten me up, Elvis. Are those sex masks for you and me?’
‘Stop talking about them! They’re for Hallowe’en!’
Hold my hands up to the boy. He gets a ribbing, but he knows where to draw the line. Unlike me. ‘Sorry, take it all back.’
‘Seriously, you’re the star of the show. I just edit it and top and tail your rants. People love the Billy Boy.’
‘Aye, maybe.’
‘We’ve done this whole Escape from New York lark, we’re getting on that flight, okay?’
‘Classic film, that. Fine. Come on, then.’ I grab the handrail and jump up the next flight two at a time. Nobody’s fuckin’ stopping Brian fuckin’ Bain!
But Elvis still downstairs points at the fuckin’ massive number four on the door. ‘Bri, this is our floor.’
‘Bollocks.’ Better down than up, though, so I dance down the stairs like that boy in the clicky heels. ‘Thank fuck for the Yanks and their stupid numbering starting at the bottom!’
‘Tell me about it.’ Elvis leads along the corridor and sticks his keycard into the door. He gets the green light, and holds it open for us.
‘You know, I take it all back about your cards. Mind that hotel in Portland where I took the piss because you lost yours?’
‘And you kept yours in your wallet.’
‘Aye. Take it all back.’ I step into the room and stop dead.
Some cunts have raided the place.
It’s a fuckin’ bomb site, I tell you. Clothes everywhere, crushed empty beer cans, suitcases in the middle of the floor. Left my old laptop, but I don’t blame them.
Suitcase.
Shiiiite!
I scuttle over to my bag and the fuckin’ pocket is already open. And empty.
‘This is a nightmare.’ Elvis is grabbing at my arm like a wean. ‘Let’s just get out to JFK and get on the plane. Fuck this shit.’
‘Sorry, Elvis, but that’s impossible now.’
17
Cullen
Cullen looked around the front garden, feeling like there was a gaping hole drilled into the pit of his gut.
He’d pinned their two escapees as the same type of psychopathic arsehole, the type who’d stab a guard to avoid their sentence.
And he’d been accurate in Kenny’s case. He’ll be serving at least one other life sentence after today’s antics.
But Kieron…
He’d escaped because his mother had died, and he believed she’d been murdered. Or that she was gravely ill and not being taken care of. Either way, all that time inside – must be close to seven years since he was sentenced – must’ve rotted his brain, destroyed all semblance of logic.
But he wasn’t here. Meaning he could be doing anything to whoever he believed had murdered his mother.
And Cullen needed to find him.
He looked back over to Deeley. ‘You’re sure it’s poisoning?’
‘Christ, Scott, I wish you’d listen to me.’ Deeley was scowling at him. ‘I said it looks like she’s been poisoned. Be tomorrow before I can confirm at the post mortem.’
‘Any chance you—’
‘I mean…’ Deeley shook his head. ‘There was an ambulance crew here. Number of deaths like this, the funeral homes and my lads… We just haven’t got the capacity to shift them.’
Evie narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Aren’t you—’
Cullen shot a look at her, warning her to ease off. ‘Why do you think she was poisoned?’
‘Two distinct reasons.’ Deeley stared back at the house. ‘First, I’ve seen a lot of Covid deaths in the last week. Trust me, we’re nowhere near the worst of it. My April is going to seem like absolute hell, and I thought my March was bad enough.’ He picked up his medicine bag. ‘And the clincher is – and I’ll need to confirm this – there are corneal deposits of an unknown substance and the optical nerve appears to be inflamed.’
Which meant nothing to Cullen, but at least Deeley was on top of it. As much of a grumpy sod as he was, he was someone he knew he could trust. ‘What do you think killed her?’
‘Not so fast.’ Deeley wagged his finger. ‘Last time I gave any of you lot a clue before I’d done the maths, I ended up in court, didn’t I?’ He was glaring at Lennox. ‘So, I’ll leave you to figure out how to play it.’ He shuffled off towards his Mercedes.
Lennox kept pace with him. ‘Any chance you can—’
‘Tomorrow morning. I’ll invite both DI Cullen and yourself, Terry. You can decide who’s attending. Okay?’ A flash of lights and Deeley jumped into his car.
Cullen stared at Angela, then at Evie and then Lennox, standing next to her. Here they were, two sergeants and two inspectors. Shame that his half were only Acting, but hey ho. ‘Okay, so how are we going to play this?’
‘Well.’ Lennox got out his phone and checked it for messages, then put it away again. ‘The way I see it, Scott, you’re looking for an escaped convict, who we urgently need to speak to, so we should team up. But we should also split up.’ He nodded at Angela. ‘DS Caldwell and I should speak to Kieron’s cellmate and any known associates inside, see if he blabbed about who he thought killed his mother.’
‘You think he’s likely to have talked about it?’
‘Maybe.’
‘You think they’re likely to share with you?’
‘Worth a shot, isn’t it?’
‘Suppose.’ Cullen sighed. ‘So you’re happy for me and Ev—onne to team up?’
‘It’s not like you’re in a relationship, is it?’ Lennox laughed. ‘And you’re professionals, aren’t you?’
Cullen smiled. ‘With my reputation?’
But, as much of a cowboy as Cullen was, he was trying to act like a pro. And he was constantly chasing the carrot of full tenure that Methven dangled in front of him.
And besides, the trail was leading precisely where Bain needed it to. After all, Bain senior going off the radar the same day his son escaped from prison…
That wasn’t a coincidence, was it?
Cullen checked his phone again, then looked up at the address.
Pearce Court. A turn-of-the-millennium low-slung sheltered housing development, all white harled walls and faded wooden boards, long overdue a top-up of varnish.
Cullen killed the engine and opened his door. ‘But you agree that th
is is too much of a co-inky-dink?’
‘Aye, you think you’re so funny.’ Evie reached over and pinched his cheek. ‘But aye, it’s too much of a coincidence. You think Bain’s jailbird son would really go after his dad?’
‘Kieron’s an ex-cop in prison. Who knows what that would do to someone. Then he gets told his mother’s died of Covid-19 this morning. I mean, he’s acted quickly, I’ll give him that.’
‘You lot were quick to believe his story.’
‘It was more Lennox shutting him up.’
‘Kieron didn’t mention any suspects?’
‘Not by name. Said he’d tell us once we’d checked it out. Lennox thought he was just playing us.’
‘Great. So Kieron thought you weren’t going to investigate and he—’
‘Don’t assume anything, Scott.’ Evie stepped outside and slammed her door. ‘And you’re okay working this with me?’
‘It’s Angela I feel sorry for. Stuck with Lennox.’ He grimaced. ‘Bit strange how you haven’t told him we’re an item.’
‘It’s my private life, Scott.’
‘And it’s both of our professional lives.’
‘Relax, Scott. It’ll be just like old times. Except you’re a DI and I’m still a DS. Besides, Lennox is a pussycat. Which is the problem.’ She stared off towards the address. ‘Number sixteen, aye?’
Cullen opened the front door and let her go first. Lack of security here was a bit of a concern. ‘So Bain says.’
‘That little creep.’ Evie made her way along a dimly lit corridor, off-white walls marked at hand height, like the residents had to prop themselves up as they trudged along. She looked over her shoulder at him. ‘You won’t mind me leading in here, will you?’
‘By all means.’ But something wasn’t right. Cullen sped up slightly to walk in step with her. ‘Is everything okay?’
She stopped and took a deep breath. ‘No, Scott, it’s not okay. But we’ll talk about it later.’
‘This is about taking down Ken—’
‘Later.’ Evie turned another corner.
Part of Cullen felt like he couldn’t win. But then, he had previous with risky antics. Risky antics that got people seriously injured. Or killed. He set off again, turned the corner and stopped dead.
Evie was outside a door, baton locked and pressed against her shoulder. A glance at him, then a step forward, with a finger to her lips.
Cullen found his baton and snapped it out.
The door was hanging open. Not enough that a neighbour would spot it at a distance, but resting against the door jamb. A quick 360 showed no other doors like that.
‘Sure this is—’
Evie tapped her baton on a white piece of plastic to the side. Dr J. Bain was stencilled on it. She held up three fingers, then just her thumb, then her forefinger.
Cullen waited for her three count, then followed her inside.
‘John?’ Evie was taking it slowly. One step, then a look in all directions, then another step, another look. Rinse and repeat. ‘Mr Bain, are you in here?’
Now Cullen was inside, his guts churned at the dual prospect of Kieron being there, and at Kieron attacking Evie.
But the room was empty.
Of people at least. Another bedsit, a single bedframe pressed against a wall, covered in a tartan bedspread, immaculately tucked in.
Not much of a kitchen, but high-end units and well put together. Just enough to store and zap ready meals. A worn armchair sat in front of a small TV, but both looked expensive, especially the antique TV cabinet which looked like it was worth more than Cullen’s car. On the coffee table between them was a bottle of Dunpender single malt whisky and a smoky glass, one that looked constantly in use and was never cleaned.
So Bain’s father was an alcoholic. That explained so much.
Cullen lowered his baton, felt his pulse slackening off. ‘Well, there’s no sign of him.’
Evie was scowling at the whisky. She didn’t seem happy. ‘Any ideas?’
‘I’ve got one but I don’t like it.’
18
Bain
‘THEY STOLE MY PASSPORT!’
Fuckin’ break the golden rule of getting your way in a hotel, don’t I? Shouting at the cunts, number one way to get fuckin’ hee haw.
The boy behind the desk steps back from the barrage. ‘Sir, I need you—’
‘No. Listen to me, son. Back home, I’m a detective. Okay? I hunt down thieving wee shites for a living. Now, you let me get in there and have a decco at your CCTV and I’ll get off and find my passport. Okay?’
Christ, have I triggered the boy or something? He’s looking broken. ‘Sir, I’ll need to get approval from my manager.’
‘No, you don’t. This place is going to shite. Your boss will be using this as an excuse not to deal with anything. Just let me at it, then you can go back to dealing with this lot.’ I wave at the queue snaking behind us.
The boy stares off into the middle distance for a few, then nods. ‘Okay.’
‘Just show me where, and I’ll do the rest.’
‘Over here.’ He leads me to this big desk at the back and it’s like those fancy Apple computers in John Lewis. He enters a password and steps away. ‘There you go.’ He walks back over to the desk and speaks to the next in the queue.
Here we go, time to show Elvis a thing or two about how to work this stuff. I take the mouse and move it.
The fuckin’ cursor stays where it is.
Fuck sake!
Try the keyboard, but nothing.
‘Here.’ Elvis swoops in from nowhere and nudges us aside. ‘There we go.’
The mouse pointer is moving freely now.
‘How did you— Never mind.’ I take over again.
This app thingy is not bad, have to say. Floors and corridors. Ours is just up on the third, by the lifts. Fuckin’ tell you, never take a room by the lifts. Piss artists clattering in at three in the morning and whisper-shouting. The constant ding of the lift and “Third floor.” Aye, darling, you’ve told us that fifty times tonight already. Fuck sake.
I take it back to twenty minutes after the wee incident with the gang and the ambulance and set it playing.
Elvis sits back on something. Fuck sake, the clown’s brought his suitcase. He looks at us. ‘What? I’m not leaving it like you’re doing with yours.’
‘All those sex masks still—’
‘There.’ He jabs a finger at the screen.
And lo and behold! The boy from the ambulance is there. Got my bum bag and takes out the wallet, then puts the keycard in the reader. Sneaky little look both ways then he slips inside.
Elvis is shaking his head. ‘I told you in Phoenix you shouldn’t keep your room number next to the keycard.’
‘How the fuck am I supposed to remember it?’
‘Stick it in your calendar on your phone like a normal person?’
‘Got an answer for everything.’
On screen, the boy slips out. Just carrying my bum bag. I hit pause and stare at the cunt.
Elvis scowls. ‘Why didn’t he take my laptop?’
‘Because it’s an antique, just like its owner.’
‘Cheeky sod.’
I hit the print icon and the wee laser to the side jumps into life. ‘We need to find this boy.’
Elvis is transfixed by the screen. Talk about being triggered. All that time spent staring at CCTV and he can’t pass a machine without losing half his soul to it. ‘So what’s the plan?’
‘Find this cunt, kick his cunt in, then get the fuck out of Dodge.’
‘And how do you plan to do that?’
‘Got a solid idea, Elvis.’ I score the paper and walk off. ‘Come on.’
Elvis is shaking his head at us. ‘I still think this is daft.’
We’re out on the street again and don’t fuckin’ talk to me about Hell’s fuckin’ Kitchen… Art’s motor is sitting there on the street. Filled with germs and that bug that’s fucked everything up. ‘Ach, it
’ll be fine.’ I open the door, but maybe this isn’t so smart. ‘I mean, we can just take Art’s car, find the gang who took my wallet and get my passport back. Bosh.’
‘Aside from us getting into a plague wagon like that,’ he flicks his hand at the motor, ‘we have no idea where those boys are.’
I look down the long-as-fuck street, stretching way into Downtown or Uptown or wherever it is. ‘Just up there, five blocks, we’ll find where the ambulance was, and they’ll be around somewhere.’
‘Admit it. This is a stupid idea.’
‘What’s the alternative?’
He’s glancing around all over the place. Can’t look at us.
‘Going to be two days getting a replacement passport. And we’ll miss our flight. Unless we get the current one back, we’re stumped. I’ve got to go to the embassy and fill out their forms, then sit tight until they magic up another one. In the middle of a complete disaster. Who knows if there’s anyone even there? If it was most people, they’d have fucked off for the hills at the first cough. And the fuckin’ embassy’s down in Washington, DC, right? It’ll be a consulate here or something. Will they be able to help me?’
Fuck sake. Those wee bastards, chorying masks from an ambulance? Fills me with burning rage so bad I can feel it in my bones.
Someone’s phone’s ringing. Takes a few to realise it’s mine.
Swear the cracks are even bigger now. Doubt the bastards will let us board a plane with it, too.
Can’t see who’s calling us, but I hit the answer button anyway.
And nothing.
Fuck sake!
So I press it again and something changes on the screen at least, so I put it to my ear.
‘Brian, it’s Scott.’
Takes another few to figure out who it is.
Looks like Elvis is going to get in the bloody motor. I mouth ‘Sundance’ to him and he nods.
‘Brian, we’re at your dad’s place and—’
‘You found him?’
‘No.’ Sundance does one of those sighs he fuckin’ does all the time. Tell you, he’s got marbles in his head or something. Doesn’t exactly put me at peace, does it? ‘Is it possible Kieron could’ve taken your father?’