by Ed James
‘Huh.’
‘Got some big cash to spend.’
His pal thumbs behind us. ‘Fourth door.’
Too fuckin’ easy this.
‘Cheers, bud.’
Elvis waltzes past. ‘Thankyouverymuch.’ Just like his namesake.
Clown.
I mosey on down the hallway like I own the place and knock on the door. ‘What was that about?’
‘Better than your John Wayne, Bri.’
This pretty lassie is sitting cross-legged on the floor outside the door. Her mate passes her a cigar that stinks of hash. Both aren’t too impressed with us. Fuck, maybe we do look like cops.
‘Call that a blunt, right?’
She holds it out. ‘You want?’
‘Not strong enough for me, darling.’
‘Eh, bullshit?’
I squat down next to her. ‘You know where I can score some crack?’
‘Not here.’
‘Shame.’ I winch myself back up and get a stab of pain from my earlier escapades.
The door opens to a crack and a boy peers out. ‘Come in.’ Disappears but doesn’t open the door, does he?
So I nudge it and walk inside.
Just three of the cunts sitting on a settee, same pinks and purples as earlier, playing some PlayStation football game on a giant telly. One’s holding a joint between his lips, but his hands are on the controller and he looks like he’s the one in charge of the boy with the ball, that Ronaldo lad. He chips the keeper and the crowd go bananas inside the virtual stadium. He passes the joint to his buddy.
And it’s fuckin’ Elrond, isn’t it? Sitting at the far end, locked in concentration. His nose is all red and purple and definitely shouldn’t be at that angle. Fuckin’ got to take pride in my work, eh? He doesn’t look up, just festers at the fact he’s conceded another goal to his mate.
‘You recognise me?’
He glances over, shrugs, then he’s back at the game. The whistle blows and Messi’s kicking off. Fuck knows what teams are playing here. ‘Should I?’
‘We met this afternoon.’
‘Met a lot of people.’
‘You’ve got something of mine.’
‘Like fuck I do. Don’t even know you, old man.’
Snide wee shite is locked into his game, sucking on his doobie hands-free. Treating us with fuckin’ disdain.
Fuck this for a game of soldiers.
I shoot forward in front of the telly. The two pricks look up. ‘Man, get out of the way!’
I grab the left one’s left ear and the right one’s right ear and slam their skulls together. Crack!
Fuckin’ lovely!
Elrond chucks the controller at us and it catches my eyebrow and fuckin’ hurts. He tries to get away, tumbling over the side of the sofa, and he runs through a door.
‘Stay here, Elvis.’ So I fuckin’ follow him.
The boy’s in the cludgy, sitting on top of the pan and cowering. ‘What do you want?’
‘You little shite.’ I step in to the bog. ‘Took my fuckin’ passport, didn’t you? Now you fuckin’ deny it?’
‘Man, you want to get back to England so bad?’
Fuck is wrong with these people. ‘What part of fuckin’ England do you think I’m from?’
‘The area full of assholes?’
‘Fuck me. Give me my passport. Now.’
‘I sold it!’
‘Don’t fuckin’ lie to me.’
‘I swear.’
‘Bullsh—’
The little shite slashes the air with a knife. The blade catches my coat and cuts through the material, scratching the skin.
Not in the mood for this shite, so I grab the boy’s wrist and squeeze really hard, bend it downward while I trap his elbow against my side and mash his mug against the cistern. Just like that old cop up in Dundee told us. Boy knew a thing or twenty about pain and pressure points.
Got this little shite squealing. He drops the knife onto the floor tiles. I reach down to grab it, then press it against his throat. ‘You’ve picked with the wrong cunt to mess with here, sunshine. I want my wallet and my passport. Now.’
‘Okay, okay, okay!’
I let him up. ‘You fuck me about, and I’ll slit your fuckin’ throat. Okay?’
‘Sorry!’ He points at the cistern. ‘There. The fanny pack’s there.’
I lift the lid and – lo and fuckin’ behold – my bum bag! And it’s dry as a bone. Wee sketch inside and the wallet and passport are both there. I’m going home! ‘You’re fuckin’ lucky they’re here, otherwise I’d be chucking you out of the window.’
‘You going to let me go now?’
I invert the knife so he can take the handle.
He’s looking at it, rubbing his wrist like his hand’s fallen off. I mean, it’s probably broken, the way it’s hanging there. Then he reaches out for the blade.
And I stick the nut on him again.
He crumples back against the bog and tumbles over against the wall, and goes down like a sack of shite. I get a fuckin’ good boot to his balls, enough to make sure there won’t be an Elrond Jr any time soon, and smash his bonce off the wall, hard enough to dent the plaster.
‘You don’t steal from fuckin’ ambulances!’
23
Cullen
‘Feel so bloody stupid.’ Cullen kicked down a gear and shot past the parked fire engines, still battling the earlier blaze. ‘Just down the road from where we found the car.’
‘Yeah, but we didn’t know about Stephen Cordell, did we?’ Evie was gripping the oh-shit handle, eyes locked on the road ahead. ‘Left here.’
‘Okay.’ Cullen pulled off the main road, hitting a rally drift to shoot off down a wide country lane. No road markings in the middle and barely wide enough for two cars.
Evie checked her phone. ‘Half a mile on the right.’
‘So Kieron’s walked here? With his grandfather in a mobility scooter?’
Cullen’s phone rang. Lauren calling… He hit answer. ‘You getting anywhere?’
‘Just been in with Keith Ross again. His lawyer understands the situation now and is helping us, shall we say. Keith’s just confirmed that he did sell some of those pills to Cordell.’
‘So much for social distancing.’ Evie smiled. ‘Okay, thanks Lauren.’
‘Don’t mention it. Just tell Scott not to do anything rash.’
‘Story of my life.’ Grinning, Evie reached over to end the call. ‘Well?’
Cullen pulled up just beyond the address. Three cottages set back from the road, the parking bays in front filled with work vans. He tried to think it all through, but things were sticking inside his head. It was all just gunged up. ‘Let me get this straight. Stephen Cordell killed Diane Cameron by poisoning her with Keith Ross’s anti-5G pills?’
‘That’s about the size of it.’ Evie frowned. ‘How did Kieron know?’
‘Not sure. Maybe he just guessed. Thought he’d stabbed her or something?’
‘Maybe.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Scott, you know how we say “like you” on calls and stuff…’
‘Evie, this feels like in a film when someone gets close to someone else just before they die.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I just want to know if it’s more than “like”.’
‘It’s a lot more than like.’ He leaned over to kiss her. ‘I love you.’
‘Steady!’ She pushed away like she’d been electrocuted, then got out of the car.
Christ…
Cullen got out into the stiff wind and a truck trundled past, honking its horn in a blare of passing sound. Not much of a warning, was it? He checked the three cottages. ‘Which one is it?’
Evie pointed behind them. ‘Through there.’
A pair of imposing gateposts, three times the size of those outside Bain House. Tall stone walls, cemented in place, and covered with moss. A long row of beech trees sat above it, crawling halfway over the road.
‘Where the hell is back-up?’ Ev
ie set off through the gates, holding her baton.
Cullen followed, snapping his out. Never knew who was lurking around any corner. ‘We should wait here.’
‘Scott, no. We need to recce this place. Find out what we’re dealing with.’
‘And you say I’m the cowboy?’ He passed through the beech into a clearing.
An old farmhouse with a circular drive outside, a mature weeping willow almost in the centre. A BMW SUV sat underneath the leaves.
No signs of life inside the house, but there was someone in the back of the car.
‘Stay here.’ Cullen set off across the pebbles towards the car, low and quick. He rounded the SUV’s boot and popped his head above the window, then down again.
Took all that time to process who was in there.
John Bain, sucking on a whisky bottle like a baby from formula. A Dunpender, too, drinking a special-edition single malt like it was supermarket own-brand blended.
‘Check on back-up, would you?’ Cullen opened the door and got in. The car reeked of booze. ‘Sir, I’m a police officer. DI Scott Cullen.’
‘Very pleased for you. Your mother must be so proud of you.’ John’s voice had the same flat snarl as his son’s, but it was a lot more erudite and educated, that particular brand of Scottish that didn’t know much about housing estates and certainly wouldn’t set foot in one. He took a swig from the bottle. ‘Get out of here if you know what’s good for you!’
‘John, Brian sent me to help you. Your son?’
‘That useless banana? He can take a running jump.’
Cullen wrestled the bottle out of John’s hand, but it was like trying to separate a junkie from his needle. ‘Where is Kieron?’
John couldn’t take his eyes off the bottle. ‘Not telling you.’
‘He’s inside the house, right? Is he after Stephen Cordell?’
John reached out a hand, clawing desperately. ‘Give!’
‘No. Answers, now.’
‘You know who I am? I’m Dr John Bain. I was professor of mathematics at Glasgow and Edinburgh universities. Not at the same time. And you think you can play games with me?’
‘Tell me what Kieron is up to, and I’ll give you this bottle back.’
John stared at it with the micro-focus of the hardcore alcoholic. ‘Wee Kieron’s going to look after me, he says. We’re going on our holidays after this. Place up near Lairg.’
In the Highlands. Cullen held the bottle closer, but not too close. ‘Is he alone in there?’
‘Well, he will be after he kills the man who murdered his mother.’
‘What has he told you?’
‘That man’s a monster. Killed his mother! I’ll tell you! Give me it!’
Not exactly the best idea, but what else could he do? Cullen didn’t want John Bain screaming like a toddler for his whisky while Kieron was inside with Cordell, so he let him have the bottle. ‘Okay, John, I need you to stay here, okay? And go easy on that stuff.’
‘What, or it’ll rot my brain?’ John laughed. ‘Wish it would, I’ll have you know. The rest of me is an absolute disgrace, but the old grey matter is still golden. And I can’t do anything with it except think and worry and fret and…’
Cullen checked John was still belted in and got out.
Evie was over by the front door, baton primed and ready.
Cullen joined her. ‘We should wait.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Like father, like son, really.’
‘Is Kieron in there?’
‘Supposedly.’
‘Going for Cordell?’
‘Sounds like it. Planning to take him up to the Highlands too.’ Cullen looked back at the main road. Another lorry hurtled past. Still no sounds of approaching police cars. ‘We should wait.’
‘You might be a cowboy, Scott, but you love it when I go cowgirl.’
Cullen tightened his grip on his baton, but it felt sweaty to his touch. ‘Now’s not the time for a joke.’
‘Look, you’re the ranking officer here. Hopefully Cordell’s still alive. We can save him.’
Cullen nudged the door open and peered through into a large hallway. Would’ve been grand at some point, but now it seemed dusty and dark, and stuck in the sixties, the last time it appeared to have been renovated. He stepped inside and listened hard.
‘You killed my mother!’
Okay, so that was definitely Kieron. Sounded like it came from straight ahead.
Cullen looked back, just as a squad car pulled up outside. ‘Get them to secure John, then we’re going in.’
‘Okay.’ Evie spoke into her radio, so quiet Cullen couldn’t make anything out. ‘Let’s do this, then.’
Cullen waited for the pair of uniforms to get through the drive. A male and female officer, batons drawn. He jabbed a finger at the car, then set off through the door, locking his baton in place, then stopped outside the open door.
A kitchen, filled with battered old Shaker cupboard doors. An Aga sat in the middle and Kieron was pressing a man’s face towards the hob. Cordell, presumably.
‘PLEASE! NO!’
Cullen stepped forward. ‘Stop!’
Kieron swung round, pulling Cordell upright and pressing a kitchen knife against his throat. Seemed to take him a few seconds to recognise Cullen. ‘You? You fuckin’ ruined my life!’
‘Kieron, just let him go, okay?’
‘Him? Fuck off. No way!’
‘Kieron, it’s okay. We can talk about this down at the station.’
‘Aye? Last time I did that, you fucked me over. I’m doing fifteen fuckin’ years because of that. Because of you.’
‘Kieron, this isn’t the place for this chat. And you don’t want to make this any worse for yourself. At the moment, any jury would go very leniently on your escape attempt. It’s completely understandable. But if you add in a murder? Forget it.’
‘Why am I doing this then? Eh?’
‘You think he killed your mother, don’t you? And nobody listened to you.’
But it didn’t seem to make any difference. ‘Fuckin’ hell, man, don’t try that shite on! It won’t work!’
‘Kieron, it’s okay.’ Cullen inched closer to the cooker. ‘Let’s just calm down a bit here, okay?’
‘Calm? You try being calm when you’re stuck inside and this fuckin’ cunt kills your mother! What can you do then, eh? EH?’
Another step forward. ‘That’s not for you to decide, Kieron.’
Cordell’s eyes were bulging. ‘Son, I was just trying to help her.’
Kieron pressed the knife that bit closer. ‘How was killing her fuckin’ helping?’
‘Your mum had the coronavirus, son. The doctor wouldn’t help and she was getting really bad. I was trying to cure her. Bought these pills from a lad on a group on Schoolbook. I saw all this stuff about how the virus is 5G and—’
‘Those pills? Christ. I’ve been taking them.’ Kieron tightened his grip around Cordell’s throat. ‘You been taking them too?’
‘Aye, and I’m not well. Son, I didn’t know they’d do that. They’re supposed to stop it, protect us.’
‘You killed my mother over a fuckin’ mistake?’
‘Please, son. I didn’t know!’
‘He’s right, Kieron.’ Cullen was only inches away now. ‘Those pills are toxic.’ He was close to losing this, though. ‘We’ve got the man who made them in custody.’
‘What?’
‘He’s going to be in prison too.’
But Kieron had the look of someone with nothing to lose.
‘Kieron, we’ve got your grandfather in protective custody.’
Kieron looked round at him, frowning. ‘What?’
‘There’s a squad of uniforms out there, Kieron. You’re not getting away.’
Cullen stepped forward. ‘Firearms are heading here too. And, as an ex-cop, you know what that means.’
Tears flowed down his cheeks. ‘You don’t know what it’s been like. The shite I’ve been t
hrough in there.’
‘Tell us, Kieron. It’s fine.’
‘Fuck sake, I was nineteen and I made a mistake.’
‘Just let him go and you can see your grandfather.’
‘Fuck sake, I’m not the criminal here. Dad isn’t looking after him, is he? He’s drinking himself to death in that flat.’
‘I don’t disagree.’ Cullen got Kieron to lock eyes with him. ‘What’s your plan, Kieron? You going to the Highlands?’
‘Right. I know a place. Well, Kenny knew it. His mum’s dad’s old home. I want to look after Granda. He’s got money to look after both of us.’
‘Kenny, your grandfather’s not a well man. He needs professional care. Now, if you just let him go, then we can—’
‘Fuck this.’ Kieron grabbed Cordell’s wrist and pressed his hand against the hotplate.
The room was filled with screams and the smell of bacon.
Cullen lashed out with his baton but Kieron parried the blow with the knife. He pushed Cordell into Cullen and they went down in a heap, Cordell landing on him and squeezing the air out of his lungs.
Kieron picked up the knife and pressed the blade against Cordell’s throat.
A swipe of metal cut through the air and sent Kieron flying backwards, arms windmilling. Then Cullen couldn’t see the rest, just heard a thud and another loud scream.
‘Evie!’ Cullen wriggled and pushed Cordell’s prone body off him.
‘Jesus!’ Evie pulled Kieron away from the Aga. ‘It was an accident.’
Kieron’s left cheek was burnt black.
24
Bain
We’re gliding across that freeway we saw earlier, up so high it’s like we’re floating over Brooklyn.
I look over at Holten. ‘Say what you like about this country, you fucking know what you’re doing when it comes to roads here.’
‘It’s pretty sweet, huh?’
‘Telling you, we got from Portland to San Jose in like six hours or something. That’s like driving from Aberdeen to Birmingham.’
Boy’s frowning at us like he’s got so many questions in his head. And it hits me.
‘I don’t mean the Aberdeen in Washington and the Birmingham in Alabama. Scotland to the Midlands. In England. And the roads are shite most of the way.’