Dyed in the Wool (29 page)

Wilkinson pointed a finger at him. "Cut the shit, lad. We know you were there."

"Then why are you asking me? If you know I was there, you should be charging me or something, right?"

"Bloody central heating is up full blast." Wilkinson undid the second top button.

Cullen took up the cue. "Derek, you've admitted on the record that you were at the scene of this gang fight. It's a serious offence and would involve time in prison. You've managed to get your life on the right track so it would be a shame to see all that hard work go down the tubes."

Derek switched his gaze from the tabletop to Cullen's eyes. "What are you saying?"

"If it helped our investigation we'd potentially be prepared not to charge you."

Derek tapped his finger on the table before he looked at his lawyer. "What do you think?"

She smiled at Wilkinson. "Can we have a minute?"

"No." Wilkinson slammed a folder down on the table. "We know you were at the quarry on the night in question."

"Who says I was there?"

"An eyewitness."

"Who?"

"Dean Richardson."

Derek's mouth hung open. "He said that?"

Wilkinson opened the folder and got out a sheet before passing it across the table. "He did. This is from his statement. You were apparently with him a fair amount of the time that night. I'd expect you to be on different sides. You're Hibs, he's Rangers."

"Right."

"Is that you admitting it, Derek?"

Derek ran his hand through his hair. "What you've got to understand is these things are quite friendly. We're battering fuck out of each other, aye, but it's organised. We're just doing it for kicks. There are jambos and teddy bears I'd go for a scoop with, likewise there are Celtic and Hibs fans who I think are total cunts. We're not like the red-faced fannies you get at matches who get all incensed by the other lot. Bank managers and that, happy to shout the odds in the middle of a crowd. We're proper hard. It's a respect thing."

Cullen nodded. "This explains the black eye."

Derek looked away for a few seconds. "Aye."

Wilkinson folded his arms. "Derek, you're in a lot of trouble. There's a nationwide crackdown on this sort of thing and you've just got yourself into the middle of it."

Derek leaned against the table. "What can I do to get out of this?"

"I don't know, I'm just trying to work out what to charge you with."

"We were just having some fun, like I said, then it got out of hand. Some twat brought a knife. That's not on."

Cullen leaned across the table. "Derek, this is some serious stuff you've got yourself caught up in. You could go to prison just for being involved. We'd be prepared to be lenient on that charge if you were able to give away the group leaders."

Tears formed in Derek's eyes. He blinked them back, his hands tightly gripping the edge of the table. "It's not like I can just give you their names. I don't know them. They're just made-up names on Schoolbook."

"What about one Ian Archibald, also known as Sketchy?"

Derek looked away. "What about him?"

"Do you know him?"

Derek focused on Cullen. "I do, aye. Mate of Dean's."

Cullen narrowed his eyes. One of the guys who attacked them on Saturday was a mate of Dean's. "Was Sketchy there on Saturday?"

Derek looked away again. "He was, aye."

Cullen leaned over to Wilkinson. "I need a word."

Wilkinson paused the interview, leaving Derek and his solicitor with the PCSO. He slammed the door behind them. "What the bloody hell are you up to in there, Curran? What happened on Saturday?"

"Derek and I went to the Hibs match." Cullen folded his arms. "We were attacked afterwards."

"You bloody what? Are you telling me you were involved in a hooliganism incident and didn't report it?"

"I didn't know what to do."

"This out of control." Wilkinson prodded a finger at Cullen's chest, missing the hammer scar by centimetres. "I want this Sketchy boy brought in. I want you to report the attack as a crime. Get it on the books. We'll get him."

Cullen stood in silence. "Where are we going with this?"

Wilkinson grinned. "I've got someone I can prosecute. Two people in fact."

"Don't you want the ringleaders? Those two are barely pawns in this game of fuckwit chess."

Wilkinson bellowed with laughter. "Fuckwit chess. I love that."

Cullen shrugged. "Forget it. We need to get the killers of those three men. You have to get the ringleaders. Prosecuting those two is just going to put them underground."

Wilkinson grinned. "That's a potential strategy. Get some of the lower level minions and we put the fear of bloody God into the rest of them. Either way, we stop what these fuckwits are up to."

Cullen held up his hands. "I'd see where you can get him to bend."

"Fine. Let's get back inside."

Cullen put a hand on the door. "Get him to give us a list of people he knows were there. Pretend we'll consider prosecuting a lesser charge."

"Bloody hell. Fine. Let's do it. You lead."

They went back in, Derek Miller and his lawyer breaking off from a deep conversation.

Wilkinson restarted the interview.

Cullen smiled. "Derek, we know you were at Ginty's Quarry last Monday. We know you're involved in the fighting. What we need from you is a list of people who were there, including the ringleaders."

"What do I get in return?"

"Potential leniency. If you're seen to co-operate and your assistance leads to further arrests and convictions, the Procurator Fiscal can potentially go easy on you."

"There's a lot of potentials there." The lawyer tossed her hair. "Define 'easy'."

"That's not for us to say." Cullen folded his arms. "I'd imagine something along the lines of a suspended sentence instead of a custodial one." He turned to Wilkinson. "Would that fit with your expectation?"

"That's about the size of it."

Derek looked at the lawyer and she gave a slight nod. He turned back. "Give us a sheet of paper and a pen."

Wilkinson flipped over to a fresh sheet in his notepad and handed it over along with his chewed Bic.

Derek stared at it, then took his lawyer's Parker and started writing.

Cullen cleared his throat. "Please read out the names as you write them down."

"Ally McKay. John McGazz. Pete Marshall. Scotty Cuthbertson. Gary don't know his surname. John Thomson. Barry Nicholls. Kieron something or other."

"Say that last one again."

"Kieron."

"What's his surname?"

"Don't know."

Wilkinson leafed through his papers, eventually finding one of Kieron Bain dressed in full uniform for an official photograph. He tossed it on the table. "Is this him? For the record, I'm showing Mr Miller a photograph of Kieron Bain, which will be submitted into evidence."

Derek picked up the photo.

Wilkinson rapidly tapped the table with his thumb. "Is that him?"

"Didn't know he was a copper."

"We've got an urgent update." Wilkinson barged into the meeting room.

Irvine, Methven, Sharon and Rarity were seated around the table, not exactly looking enthralled by the session.

Cargill stood by a flipchart and glowered at him. "We're in the middle of an important agenda point here, Paul."

"Trust me, Alison, you want to hear this."

Cargill sighed. "Fine, fire away."

Wilkinson nodded at Bain. "Not sure DI Bain should be here."

"I've been briefed. He stays."

"Fine." Wilkinson sat next to Caldwell. "Curran, do you want to go?"

"Aye." Cullen was forced to sit next to Sharon. He stood. "We've been in with Richardson."

Irvine put up a hand. "You were supposed to be working for me."

"I'd finished. DI Wilkinson asked me to accompany him."

"Cullen, you need to sta-"

"DS Irvine, let him finish." Cargill scowled.

Cullen nodded thanks. "Richardson told us Derek Miller was at the quarry. We got him brought in. He told us Kieron Bain was there."

Bain got to his feet. "This is fuckin' bollocks!"

"DI Bain, calm down." Cargill pointed at him.

"I'll stay as fuckin' calm as I want. This is utter bullshit. You've got the word of a scumbag against the word of a serving officer."

"With all due respect." Cullen took a step back. "We've got his print on the murder weapon."

"This is shite!"

"Kieron was instructed to go home." Cargill tossed her pen on the meeting room table. "I want him brought in."

"You can't do that!" Bain's face had gone a deep shade of purple.

"I can and I will."

"You're fuckin' out of order."

Cargill put a hand to his arm. "You and I are going back to see DCI Turnbull after this." She looked at Cullen. "DC Cullen, can you arrange for uniformed officers to bring Kieron in?"

"Already on his way."

"DS Methven, can you speak to Professional Standards and Ethics?"

"You're bringing the Complaints in against my boy?"

Cargill nodded. "This is getting messy, Brian. A DI who's Deputy SIO on a murder case where his PC son's now a suspect."

"You have to stop this."

Cargill yanked the door open. "DI Bain, you need to come with me to see Jim. You're on thin enough ice as it is."

"Are you fuckin' joking?"

"No, I suggest that you calm yourself down." She led Bain out of the room.

The rest of the officers sat in stunned silence.

Methven got to his feet. "Better go and see Superintendent Fletcher."

Cullen's mobile buzzed. A text from Buxton. "Kieron Bain downstairs."

"Listen to what my client's saying." Alistair Reynolds was Kieron Bain's lawyer. No such thing as conflict of interest with these guys.

Cullen sat across the interview room table from them. "Mr Bain, we have a signed witness statement placing you at Ginty's Quarry between the hours of seven and ten p.m. on Monday the first of October. Can you confirm this?"

Kieron looked away. He had dark rings around his eyes and his face had taken on the grey pallor of his father. "No comment."

"I see. Do you have an alibi for that period of time?"

"No comment."

"Mr Bain, did you kill Kenneth Souness, Gordon Beveridge and Liam Crossan?"

"No comment."

"Did you kill Kenneth Souness, Gordon Beveridge or Liam Crossan?"

"No comment."

Reynolds waved his fountain pen in the air. "You clearly have very little evidence pointing to my client being responsible for any crime."

Wilkinson cleared his throat. "We have his fingerprint on the knife used to kill those three people. We have a witness statement placing your client at the scene of a football hooligan fight. That is a criminal offence, as I'm sure you are aware."

"We're well aware."

Cullen looked at his sheet of questions. "Kieron, did you see who killed Liam Crossan?"

"No comment."

"Did you see who killed Kenneth Souness?"

"No comment."

"Did you see who killed Gordon Beveridge?"

Kieron looked across at Reynolds for a few seconds. "No comment."

Wilkinson smiled. "I've got you there. You saw who killed Gordon Beveridge, didn't you?"

Kieron sat in silence for a few seconds. "I did, aye."

"Who was it?"

"Right, I saw Souness get stabbed by Beveridge."

Wilkinson leaned forward. "What happened next?"

"Xander Aitken picked up the knife and stabbed Beveridge."

"Why are your prints on the knife?"

Kieron closed his eyes. "No comment."

Cullen looked at Wilkinson, who nodded back. He ended the interview.

*
*
*

"Excellent." Cargill beamed as she wrote it on the whiteboard. "We're getting somewhere with this."

"This is a good result." Methven jangled his pocket. "It's taken us a while but that's two deaths fully accounted for now."

Wilkinson did up the top button of his shirt. "We'll get back in there tomorrow and get something out of Kieron."

"Let him stew." Cargill folded her arms. "Think it'll stand up in court?"

Wilkinson grinned. "Of course it will. We'll have to get some additional evidence here or there, but we've got a fair amount. At least it's only a Fatal Accident Inquiry."

Cullen frowned. "We still need to get Kieron's statement corroborated."

Wilkinson nodded. "Of course, but I'd certainly say we're home and hosed on Souness and Beveridge. With Crossan, I'm pretty much certain it's Kieron Bain."

"Good effort, team." Cargill looked at Wilkinson and Methven. "Rarity and Buxton are over in the Elm, if you want to join them. I'm buying."

Wilkinson grinned. "Sounds like a plan."

Methven raised his eyebrows as he focused on Cullen. "I'll be there."

"Just the one." Cullen got to his feet. "Got stuff to do later."

"I'll see you over there." Cargill turned back to the whiteboard, already lost in it.

Methven led them out of the Incident Room, heading to the stairwell. "I've not seen you much, Cullen."

"Been busy."

Wilkinson patted his arm. "Did you report that assault?"

"Aye. I've got a crime number and everything."

Methven frowned. "What's this?"

"Cullen was assaulted by some hooligans on Saturday."

Methven scowled. "I've got a real sodding axe to grind with these football hooligans. From my time at school in Edinburgh. I bloody hate football."

"It's the beautiful game, Colin."

"Really? Some Hibs fans kicked the crap out of me when I was fourteen. They thought I was a Hearts fan, just because I was wearing a sodding burgundy tracksuit at PE. They waited behind after school and kicked the living shit out of me on the way home."

"Small-minded fuckers. Can't stand Scottish football."

"I can't stand any form of it. Anything where people kick lumps out of each other because of which team they support can't be good."

They left the station, waiting to cross at the lights.

Wilkinson pressed the button a few times. "What about you, Curran?"

Cullen spotted Methven's eyebrows twitch at the incorrect use of his name. "I'm fed up with Scottish football."