Cowboys and Indians (20 page)

‘True.’ Lamb tore off a chunk of bread and dunked it in the beige gloop. ‘Your mate Buxton’s up for one, isn’t he?’

‘That he is.’

‘Decent officer. Puts you in a difficult position.’

‘DI Methven’s fond of that.’

‘Isn’t he just. Did I hear the dulcet tones of DI Bain earlier?’

‘DS Bain. And aye, he’s back here. Seem to have him attached to my side.’

‘How’s that working out?’

‘Complete disaster.’

‘That good?’

‘You know what he’s like.’

Lamb chewed his bread. Swallowed, his eyes tight slits. ‘More than most.’

‘Must be happy you’ve swapped ranks with him, though.’

‘That part’s okay, I suppose. The bump in pay means Angela doesn’t think she’ll come back from maternity.’

‘Really?’

‘She hates working. We’ve both made some cash out of selling houses. Barely got a mortgage on the new place.’

‘Wish I was the same.’

‘You’ll get there, Scott.’

‘Aye, maybe. How’s she been?’

‘She’s going stir crazy.’

‘Young Keith as bad as Jamie?’

‘Worse. Little pair of sods.’ Another dunk. ‘Seen your other half around the place. How’s she doing?’

Cullen rubbed his eyes. ‘I’m worried about her.’

‘She’s a good officer. Needs to learn to take more care of herself.’

‘I don’t know what to do, Bill. She’s so busy all the time. I can’t get through to her.’

‘Speak to her. Show her you care. That’s the only way.’ Lamb got soup stuck on his moustache. ‘I take it you don’t want Angela to head out and see her?’

‘Not with your boys.’

‘Quite. Let me know if there’s anything I can do. I mean it.’

‘Cheers, Bill.’ Cullen took another bite of his roll and gathered up the papers. ‘Need to get on with this. Interviews start in half an hour and I’ve got nowhere with it.’

‘Just wing it. You’ll be fine.’ Lamb wiped the soup away. ‘You want my advice on your wee problem?’

‘Aye, go on.’

‘Forget about Buxton being your mate, okay? Put the best candidate forward.’

‘Planned to do that anyway.’

*
 
*
 
*

PC Scott Soutar cleared his throat. At least the thirtieth time in an hour. He fiddled with his uniform T-shirt, his index finger tugging at the epaulet on his left shoulder. ‘Does that answer it?’

Cullen glanced over at Donna Nichols and nodded. ‘That’s fine.’

Donna rested her pen, massaging her writing hand. ‘Have you got any questions for us?’

‘Eh, what’s the money?’

Donna frowned. ‘It’s the same as your current salary as a PC, though there’s opportunity for overtime.’

‘Oh.’ Soutar sniffed. Got to his feet. ‘Cheers, eh?’

‘We’ll be in touch via your sponsoring officer.’ Donna watched him leave the room and slumped back. ‘Useless.’

‘Worst yet.’ Cullen checked the interview sheet. ‘I take it he’s not related to DCS Soutar.’

‘It’s her nephew.’

‘You’re kidding?’

‘Deadly serious. We’ve used him as proof against nepotism in the force.’

*
 
*
 
*

Malc Brewster collapsed into the chair. Snorted, then rubbed his ruddy face. ‘Nightmare the day. Busy as hell, man.’

Donna tapped her watch. ‘You’re forty minutes late.’

‘Aye. Traffic’s murder.’

*
 
*
 
*

Brian Ogilvie sipped from his water, blinking hard as he stared at the ceiling. Shaved head, looked like he worked out. Deep scar under his left eye, running down to his jawline. ‘Okay. Under the PACE Act, the court has to exclude confessions obtained by coercion. The lawyer should only advise clients and carry out their instructions. Therefore, he should’ve objected to the leading questions asked in the interview. In your example, the confession should stand.’

Donna grinned at him. ‘Excellent answer, Constable.’

Ogilvie nodded, a blush creeping up his cheek. ‘Thank you.’

*
 
*
 
*

Cullen watched the door trundle shut before letting out a sigh. ‘Well, that’s us down to three candidates.’

Donna folded over her interview pack, scoring the paper with a painted nail. ‘Selecting the right candidate’s the hard part.’

‘It should be Buxton.’

‘I’ve noted your opinion.’

‘You done with me?’

She nodded. ‘For now.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘The agreement between me and DI Methven was for you to attend the interviews.’

‘What happens next?’

‘The interview panel meets to decide on the successful candidate.’

‘Thank God I’m not involved in that.’

*
 
*
 
*

Cullen handed over a tenner and picked up his coffee. ‘Thought you said this building was shutting down.’

‘That was a rumour, Scott my boy.’ Barbara blew air up her face as she handed him his change. ‘Never pay any attention to them.’

‘There’s a load of guys shifted up from Fettes, so it’s looking less likely.’

‘They’ll sell that place off for housing. Just mark my words.’

‘I’ll bear it in mind.’ Cullen left her to tackle the queue and wound his way over to a seat by the window. He shrugged off his jacket and checked his watch. How the hell did it get to half five?

‘There you are.’

Cullen twisted round as he sat. Buxton. ‘Been busy, Si.’

He flopped down opposite. ‘Not seen you all day, mate.’

‘Alba Bank fun and games.’ Cullen flicked off the lid and sipped the coffee. ‘Found Candy?’

‘Not yet.’

‘You’re kidding me.’

‘Wish I was, mate.’ Buxton sighed. ‘Got the results back from Anderson on that cloak, though. Turns out it’s Van de Merwe’s spunk.’

Cullen inhaled his coffee’s aroma. ‘Right, step this up. I want a BOLO out on her, okay?’

‘Will do.’

‘Methven’ll fuck me for letting her walk out of here.’

‘There’s nothing else we can do.’ Buxton folded his arms. ‘You been doing more interviews?’

Cullen let out a laugh. ‘Si, you know I can’t tell you.’

‘Come on, mate.’

‘Look, things are different now. I’m a DS. Crystal’s asked me to do this. If I leak anything, I’ll get a doing from the HR woman.’

‘You know she’s Cargill’s missus, right?’

‘As in—’

‘Yeah. Our boss. Civil partnership and everything.’

‘Christ.’ Cullen gulped coffee, scalding his tongue. ‘I’ve got to watch myself even more. Anything I’ve said to her’s already gone to the Ice Queen and she’ll have told Crystal.’

‘Mate. I’m desperate. I need this.’

‘Si, I’ve been there, remember?’

‘Soon as we get a result on this, I’ll be back in bloody uniform.’

Cullen’s mobile blared out.

He fished it out of his pocket. Anderson. ‘Si, I need to take this.’

‘Come on, mate.’

‘I’m serious. My balls are on the block if I tell you anything.’

‘Thanks for nothing.’ Buxton screeched to his feet and stormed across the canteen.

Cullen put the phone to his ear. ‘Go on.’

‘Been looking for you all afternoon. Wondering if you could give us a wee hand down here.’

‘What about?’

‘Bain’s been reprioritising me. Again. Told us to check the boy’s car. It’s clean as a whistle.’

‘For crying out loud.’

‘So, priority?’

‘Number one’s the drugs. Anything else, speak to me first before stopping it. Okay?’

Cullen swallowed the crispy pancake in one go. Still a bit frozen in the middle. They pre-cooked them, though. Right? He took a mouthful of peas and a couple of chips, soaked in vinegar.

Fluffy crouched on the arm of the sofa, elbows like pompoms, eyes locked on the peas.

Cullen put one in front of him.

Fluffy ate it.

‘Weird cat.’ He gave him another one and flicked the TV channel until he got the roar of a football crowd and the nasal drone of the commentator. Hibs beating Hamilton two nil in the Scottish Championship play-off. Yawnsville.

The flat door rattled. ‘You in?’

‘Can’t you tell by the noise?’

‘And all the lights being on.’ Sharon dumped her coat in the hall and traipsed through to collapse on the sofa next to him. She reached across to pat Fluffy. ‘Is he ratting again?’

‘At
peas
. Your cat’s a freak.’

‘I must have a thing for freaks.’

‘Charming.’ Another pancake, less frozen.

‘Are you watching this?’

‘Not really.’ Cullen flicked it off. ‘When did you get in last night?’

‘Just after two, like I told you in my text. You were a grumpy shite. Grabbed all the duvet. You were speaking in your sleep again. The carrots were very definitely on fire.’

‘Again? When are they going to put them out?’ Cullen blushed as he munched on a chip. ‘There’s more in the oven. Might’ve defrosted by now.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

Cullen stared at her. Time to push it? He took another mouthful of peas. ‘How’s the case going?’

‘Mm.’ She grabbed a chip off his plate. ‘Thanks for Chantal.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

‘It’s good having someone I can rely on. Don’t suppose you could lend us another ten like her?’

‘I’ve only got three in total. Two and a half, more like.’

‘Spent six hours interviewing Kyle Graham’s wife again.’

‘Any more slapping?’

‘Not today. She’s still adamant he’s straight. Couldn’t explain why he was flirting with men in the club, though.’

‘Take it she’s given him an alibi for that guy you saw last night?’

Another chip. ‘They were having a romantic evening at home.’

‘Convenient. Reckon he’s in the clear?’

‘No idea. Wasted a load of time speaking to taxi firms.’ Another chip. ‘Got them logging all trips in more detail than usual.’

‘Probably a complete waste of time, but you never know.’

‘Don’t disagree. Spoke to the bar staff again. Still think someone’s at it there.’ Another chip. ‘Be glad you don’t drink anymore, Scott.’

‘Why?’

‘Someone’s raping young men who can’t control themselves.’

‘Your guy’s going for skinny young guys. I’m too fat and old.’

‘You’re not so bad.’ She patted his belly. ‘That’s a lot flatter than it used to be.’

Cullen finished the last chip and pushed the peas to the edge nearest Fluffy. ‘In the restaurant, you were saying something about going somewhere.’

She bit her lip and shut her eyes, tears welling behind the lids. ‘I need some food.’

Cullen grabbed her arm as she got up. ‘You can tell me.’

She stared at his hand.

He let go and flicked up his hands. ‘Sorry. I’m just … sick of you avoiding talking.’

She slumped onto the coffee table. Facing him, tears running down her cheeks. ‘Scott, after I lost…’ She gasped. ‘After I lost
Becky
, I went to the doctor.’

He frowned. ‘I was with you, remember?’

‘You didn’t come in. I don’t know how—’ She gasped. ‘Scott, I can’t have kids.’

Cullen stared at his palms. Clenched his hands into fists. Tightened, pulled the nails against flesh. Looked up at bleary eyes. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because I knew you’d be angry. Like this.’

He looked away, throat thick. ‘I’m not angry.’

‘Look at me.’

He stared at the kitchen area. The extractor whirring above the hob. The oven display flashing. Pile of plates in the sink. A carton of cranberry juice open on the counter.

‘Scott, look at me.’

He sucked in breath. Twisted his head round, focusing on her eyes, dark pools. He exhaled through his nose. ‘I’m not sure I want kids.’

‘You
do
want them. I’ve never seen you happier than when I told you.’

‘What about when you got me the 3DS?’

‘Scott, stop fucking about. This is serious.’

‘Sorry.’ He covered his eyes with his hands. ‘Look, you didn’t tell me—’

‘Scott, I—’

‘That’s been over a year.’

She swallowed and tugged hair behind her ear. ‘I know.’

‘Why did you keep it from me?’

‘Because I— I just don’t— When I came out of the doctor’s, I tried telling you. I couldn’t get the words out. Then it became this big thing. I couldn’t let it out.’

Cullen leaned forward, reaching out with his hand to stroke her arms. ‘I’m worried about you.’

She flinched away. ‘I feel so horrible.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I can’t have kids. I’m not much of a woman, am I?’

‘Jesus, Sharon, do you think my mind works like that?’

‘Doesn’t it?’

He let out a deep breath. ‘I love you. Okay? I’ve spent the best three years of my life with you.’

She stared at her hands.

‘Sharon.’

Eyes shut, tears streaking her cheeks.

‘Sharon.’

‘Are you leaving me?’

‘What?’

‘Are you leaving me?’

‘No. Why would I?’ Cullen thumbed at the cat over his shoulder, chewing on peas. ‘Unless you’re replacing me with him.’

‘I told you to be serious.’

‘I feel very threatened by him.’

She laughed, snot bubbling in her nose. ‘Scott. I can’t have kids. That’s serious.’

‘Sharon, it’s—’

‘You’re thirty-two. That’s a long life without kids.’

‘It’s a lot longer without you.’

‘That supposed to sound poetic or something?’

‘Sharon. Quit it with this, okay? I want you and only you.’

‘You need to think long and hard about it, okay?’ She got up. ‘Goodnight.’

Thursday

22nd May 2014

Bain joined Methven at the whiteboard. ‘I said, me and DC McCrea have completed the evidence trail against Martin Ferguson.’

Cullen smirked. ‘You mean you stopped him committing suicide?’

‘Aye, well. Uniform had caused a clusterfu— Sorry, a massive mess by the time we got there. Once we’d calmed the boy down, he gave us permission to speak to his GP. Took a statement about his health. Mr Ferguson’s on some nuclear meds for depression. His words, not mine.’

‘So you think Ferguson’s on the level?’

‘I do. He’s adamant there’s corrupt shite going on at this place.’