Dyed in the Wool (30 page)

Wilkinson laughed. "No, I meant do you have any horror stories?"

"I've never met a nice Rangers fan."

"What about Bain?"

"Point proven."

Wilkinson laughed. "Reminds me of a Spitting Image song. I've never met a nice South African."

Methven scowled. "Another world class racist country."

Wilkinson frowned. "You think Scotland's that bad?"

"Of course. You've got small-minded idiots kicking lumps out of each other in quarries and singing songs in soccer stadiums just because they have a slightly different Bible. That's racism at its finest."

"It's not racism." Cullen shrugged as they crossed the road. "I mean, I agree it's stupid, but we're not that racist."

Methven held the pub door open. "Tell that to the Indian guy that got stabbed in Wester Hailes last weekend."

"Was that football hooliganism?"

"No, it was some Scottish Defence League idiots. They thought, because he was Indian, that he was in league with Al Qaeda or something. The lad's parents were born in Bradford, he was born in Edinburgh, grew up here. He was doing a PhD in Philosophy at Edinburgh University, writing a thesis on the death of God. You couldn't get a more atheist person. He had written several articles online about how Islam was a broken religion."

"That's pretty fucked up."

"Care to retract your statement?" Methven leaned against the bar.

"Fine. This is a racist country. We're not all racist is my point."

"Nobody ever is." Methven waved at Rarity and Buxton, sitting together in the corner. "What's your poison, Cullen?"

"Staropramen."

"Same for me."

"Have a seat, lads. I'll bring them over."

Cullen smiled and headed to the seats. "He's being my pal today."

"No idea why." Wilkinson frowned. "Why do people call you Cullen?"

"It's my name."

"Not Curran?"

"No."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Cullen shrugged as he sat down. "I did. After the third time you ignored me it just felt futile."

Wilkinson shook his head. "Grow a pair, Cullen."

"Heard you've nailed Kieron." Buxton took a sip before his eyes bulged. "In a policing sense, that is."

Wilkinson laughed. "Don't let his old man hear you say that."

"His old man's not here."

"He's still on the case."

Buxton screwed his face up. "How the hell has he managed that?"

Methven put their pints down on the table. "You need to discuss that with Cargill and Turnbull, Constable."

"Don't tell me you think that's okay?"

"I think it's a bit much. That said, he's just to focus on Souness."

"We've bloody solved Souness." Wilkinson took a sip. "He was slotted by Beveridge. What more is there to do with it?"

Rarity shrugged. "Gather evidence?"

Wilkinson prodded his finger at her. "Bain should be nowhere near this case. He should be given no opportunity to get his son off the hook."

Cullen smirked. "Didn't know you felt that way about him."

"DI Bain and I were in the same bloody situation a year ago, right, but that's it." Wilkinson shook his head. "We had a lot in common in that sense but I don't rate him and I doubt he rates me."

Methven swirled his pint of ale. "What situation is that?"

"Never you mind."

"No, go on, I'm interested."

Wilkinson sat back. "We were both here when Turnbull got his current job. He didn't like either of us, so he brought Cargill in. She seems a good officer, nothing against her, but I want to be somewhere I'm bloody wanted, right?"

"I wasn't aware there was so much history in this team."

"It's like the bloody Bible." Wilkinson scowled.

Buxton got his phone out and started fiddling with it.

Rarity smiled. "Sharon McNeill seems like a good officer."

Buxton looked up from his phone and nodded at Cullen.

"She's heading to the bloody top." Wilkinson took a big drink. "Top officer."

"I asked her if she wanted to join us, but she knocked me back. Said she was going somewhere with DC Caldwell. Should I take it personally?"

Wilkinson bellowed with laughter. "It's because of him." He pointed at Cullen.

Rarity frowned. "What have you done, Scott?"

Wilkinson wagged his finger. "Scott and Sharon were an item."

Cullen downed the rest of his pint. "I'm off."

Wilkinson didn't even look up.

Thursday

11th October 2012

"Early for once." Wilkinson folded his phone up and pocketed it, as he leaned against the wall outside the Incident Room.

"I'm trying my hardest." Cullen shrugged. "Stay out late last night?"

"Not much after you left."

"On track for the seven a.m. briefing?"

"Think so. Got a couple of good ones for you, though. This Sketchy character got picked up by uniform last night. They've charged him with assaulting you and Derek Miller."

"Did he give anyone up?"

"Nope. Not giving up any of his co-conspirators."

"Still, good to get him under lock and key."

"Sure is."

"Morning, boys." Bain sauntered into the Incident Room, paper rolled up under his arm.

Cullen waited till he was out of earshot. "Can't believe he's still on the case."

"Tell me about it." Wilkinson shook his head. "Reminds me of a top flight football manager too proud to accept failure and resign after a series of shit results."

"Nothing to do with clinging on for a compensation payment?"

"There is that, I suppose."

Cargill called them into the room.

Cullen found a desk to lean against.

Cargill waited for the room to settle. "First things first, the merging of the cases has been completed in record time. We've got DS Holdsworth to thank for that."

Wilkinson leaned over. "Sad bugger was in all night doing it. His wife kicked him out, you know?"

"I heard."

"Onto the main part of the briefing." Cargill read from a sheet of paper. "A witness statement places PC Kieron Bain at the scene of the fight. In a subsequent statement, he claims Alexander Aitken killed Gordon Beveridge, in retaliation for the death of Kenny Souness. That ties up some loose ends on the case, but we still have gaps regarding the deaths of Liam Crossan at the quarry and of Alexander Aitken. It should be pointed out that PC Bain has fingerprints on the murder weapon and is being treated as a suspect in the murder of Liam Crossan."

Bain picked at his teeth, narrowed eyes scanning the room.

Cargill took a deep breath. "That leaves us with a question mark over Alexander Aitken. Was he murdered in revenge for the death of Beveridge? We have a gap in his and Souness's movements between the fight and Aitken turning up at work on Tuesday morning. It appears Aitken disappeared on Tuesday night and we currently don't know why. Aitken potentially took Souness home to their shared flat to avoid hospital. Given Souness died from loss of blood, it's possible Mr Aitken's disappearance was unexpected."

She read from a sheet of paper. "I've four key strands of investigation now. First, DS Methven and DS Irvine to ascertain what happened to Aitken between the fight and his disappearance and then after. DS Methven, can you please lead?"

Methven nodded, his eyes closed. Smug git.

"Next, I want DS McNeill and DS Rarity to investigate Derek Miller and Dean Richardson's statements. We need corroboration from other members of the gangs at the quarry. We need everything backed up. DI Wilkinson has made two of his DCs available to support you."

The two officers next to Wilkinson had shaven heads and looked like they'd done a fair amount of time under cover.

"DI Wilkinson, I want you to update your interview notes. They need to be shipshape. I plan on formally meeting the PF at some point over the next twenty-four hours. Additionally, we'll be joined by colleagues from Professional Standards and Ethics and I want you and DC Cullen to join me when we meet with Superintendent Fletcher at nine a.m."

She looked around the room, listening to the whispers about 'the Complaints'. "We've done almost everything above board on this case and, for those items that we haven't, I've given full disclosure to Superintendent Fletcher's team. We've nothing to be afraid of. We're doing everything by the book and we're getting results."

She glanced over at Bain. "DI Bain will support me and work with DS Holdsworth in getting the paperwork on this case up to the required standard. Dismissed."

*
*
*

"I'm afraid DCI Turnbull is busy." Turnbull's PA, a middle-aged battleaxe, didn't look up from her screen. "I'm sure you're aware his time is fully occupied with the force reorganisation and with the ongoing investigation."

"I can well imagine, but I do need to see him."

Turnbull sneaked his head around the corner of his office. "Liz, has the expense report come through yet?"

"Not yet, I'll get on to them."

"I need it for the one o'clock with DCS Whitehead, if you could print it with a few hours to spare, I'd appreciate it." Turnbull nodded at Cullen. "Scott, how can I help?"

"I need to speak with you."

"I'm kind of tied up just now."

"Thought your door was always open?"

Turnbull winked. "I need to watch my mouth where you're concerned. I can maybe squeeze five minutes if you want to give an elevator pitch while I get a coffee."

"That'd be great."

"I'm buying." Turnbull marched off towards the lifts at a great pace, Cullen having to jog to keep up. He stopped and waited with his arms folded. "How can I help, Scott?"

Cullen felt the butterflies flap. "I don't feel I'm getting on well with the new regime."

"What new regime?"

"DI Cargill and DS Methven."

The bell chimed and they got in the lift.

"I see." Turnbull hammered his thick finger against the button for the fifth floor. "That's more augmentation than regime change."

"I don't think they appreciate how good I am, sir."

"That's very forward of you, Scott."

"You've always said I'm a rising star. I don't think DI Cargill shares that particular view."

The door opened and they got out of the lift.

Turnbull started walking to the canteen. "Does she not?"

"No, she doesn't."

Turnbull walked straight to Barbara. "A latte, please. Scott?"

"Americano, sir."

"Are you raising this because it's having a material impact on the case?"

"Not really."

"Are you sure this is the right time to be addressing this?"

"It's a problem and I always think the best time to solve a problem is there and then."

"Indeed." Turnbull passed Cullen his coffee before handing over a tenner. "You know the office culture I've tried to instil here - don't come to me with problems…"

"Come to you with solutions, I know. I just feel I've got a lot to add to this case, but I'm being marginalised."

Turnbull collected his change and his latte before leading back to the lifts, taking sips through the hole in the lid as they walked. "Marginalised in what sense?"

"I know I'm only a DC, but I like to think I'm operating at a level higher."

"You do, do you?" Turnbull smiled. "I suppose there's a case for that."

"I'm looking to move up a level at some point in the next few years. I need that experience. I need to be leading investigations."

"Aren't you? DI Cargill says you're doing well. She also told me she's tried to put you in a stretch role. Isn't that true?"

Cullen thought about it as they waited for the lift to return. "In a way."

Turnbull smiled. "What I'll do is discuss it with DI Cargill and see if she can express her appreciation more openly. She shares my opinion of you."

"Thanks. Are there any Acting DS roles likely to come up?"

The lift arrived.

Turnbull chuckled. "Something's clearly got into you today, Cullen. There's nothing in my headcount, I'm afraid."

"I see."

Cargill jogged up the stairs, Wilkinson following her. She tapped her watch.

Cullen glanced at his - he was late.

Turnbull got in the lift. "That's not to say it's impossible, just unlikely."

"Thanks, sir. I've got a meeting. I'll catch you later, sir."

*
*
*

"This is the room they'd use if the Chief Constable popped in, right?" Cullen sat between Wilkinson and Cargill, evenly spaced themselves around the table.

"I think so." Cargill closed her notebook. "DS Muir sent me an email about you."

Cullen looked up at the ceiling. "I see."

"You need to get on top of your emails, Scott."

"I will. Sorry."

"We've had him sniffing around us." Wilkinson looked up from his notebook. "We usually use the C word that doesn't stand for Complaints."

"You're both on your best behaviour, okay?"

Wilkinson nodded. "Of course."

Cargill took a sip from a glass of water. "What were you discussing with DCI Turnbull, Scott?"

"It's private."

"Of course."

The door flew open and a tall man in his early fifties burst in. "Alison."

"Michael." Cargill got to her feet. "Thanks for joining us."

"The pleasure's ours." Superintendent Fletcher sat at the head of the table, nearest Cullen. He had a slight air of the accountant about him, wearing full dress uniform. "Simon will be along soon."

Cargill stayed standing. "We'll wait."

The door opened again.

"Sorry I'm late." DS Muir was an athletic man of medium height, in his late twenties, wearing a sharp designer suit. He sat next to Cullen, his nose starting to twitch from the stench of expensive aftershave.

Cargill sat down. "This is DC Scott Cullen and this is DI Paul Wilkinson. They were both instrumental in obtaining the salient information."

Fletcher nodded as he got out a pad of paper. "I see."

Muir focused on Cullen. "I'm still awaiting a reply to my email."

"Sorry, I've been working a murder case. Given you copied my DCI in, I'd take that as proof that he's comfortable with my prioritisation."