Bottleneck (3 page)

Cullen held his hands up. "There's nothing yet," he said, immediately deciding he was going to be bad cop. "Can I get some names?"

Fringe spoke first. "Alistair Cameron."

"And what do you play, Alistair?" said Chantal, eyes looking him up and down.

Cullen struggled to keep his eyebrows down - she was flirting with him.

"Guitar and lead vocals," said Alistair.

"The talent, then?" said Chantal.

"I write all the songs," said the drummer, a heavy-set lad who was holding out a hand. "Roddie."

"Do you have a surname, Roddie?" said Cullen.

"Roddie Brown."

"Thank you," said Cullen. He turned his gaze towards the third member, the bassist, a blur of spiky dark hair and angular jawline. "And you?"

"Gary Moncrieff."

"Okay," said Cullen. He sat on a guitar amp and got his notebook out, making a point to click the pen slowly and precisely. "Now, you." He pointed at Alistair. "You found the body, right?"

"Aye," said Alistair, nervously tugging his fringe.

"What were you doing down there?" said Cullen.

They looked at each other nervously for a few seconds, before Alistair held up a copy of
The List
, the same issue Sharon had in the flat. "The boys dared me."

"Would you walk off the Forth Road Bridge if they dared you?" said Cullen.

Alistair shrugged. "Don't be daft. We had a bet on who would get us our first gig. Gary blagged us one in Bannerman's." He tugged the fringe behind his left ear and grinned at Chantal. "We're playing there at the weekend."

"And the dare was to go for a wander down the streets under the Old Town?" said Cullen, determined to keep Chantal from flirting.

"That's right," said Alistair.

"We had torches here from the last time there was a power cut," said Gary.

"Your guitars wouldn't work in a power cut," said Cullen.

"They were to get out," said Alistair, his face curled into a smug grin.

"Right," said Cullen, reddening slightly. "Go on."

"I don't know what else there is to say, really. We walked down the, I don't know what it is, street? We walked down that for a bit then we came across the screwdriver and then the body." Alistair shrugged. "That's pretty much it."

"Do you know who the body is?" said Cullen.

They all shook their heads, looking genuinely mystified.

Cullen nodded slowly. "Right. You can all head home tonight, but I want you to report to DC Jain at Leith Walk police station first thing tomorrow."

"But I've got work," said the drummer.

"I'm sure they'll understand," said Cullen. "You're helping the police with their inquiries. It's standard practice."

"Should be fine," said Roddie, looking like he had a difficult conversation with an unsympathetic boss ahead of him.

"And you two?" said Cullen, eyes all over them.

"Not a problem," said Alistair.

"Aye," said Gary.

"Right, off you go," said Cullen.

He turned and left them. Cullen checked the room across the corridor was empty, before heading inside with Chantal.

"They're like a walking Gap advert," said Cullen.

"I'm sure the blonde one works in Hollister on George Street."

"I wouldn't know," said Cullen.

"You've got some nice supermarket jumpers," said Chantal.

Cullen tried not to grin. "Were you flirting with them?"

"Are you jealous?" said Chantal, arching a pencilled eyebrow.

Cullen laughed. "Hardly."

"Anyway, you proved my point," said Chantal.

"How?"

"Power trip," said Chantal. "Typical."

"Whatever," said Cullen.

"What now, boss man?"

"Best find out where Crystal has got to."

Methven was down at the bottom of the stairs, keeping Anderson from heading off somewhere else. Cullen's presence meant Methven relinquished his grip on the goateed SOCO, letting him trudge off upstairs.

Methven looked over. "Now what can I do for you, Sergeant?" he said, his eyes closed for a few seconds in the way that so irked Cullen.

"We've spoken to that band," said Cullen. "I reckon none of them have anything to do with it."

"Really?" said Methven, his eyes on Chantal.

"I'd concur, sir," she said. "We've got them coming in tomorrow to give detailed statements. I'll do a background check, but I doubt they have anything to do with what's happened here."

"Fine," said Methven. "Dismissed." He grabbed Cullen's arm. "Not you, Sergeant."

Cullen watched Chantal ascend, a grin no doubt plastered on her face at him being stuck there.

"Are you keeping her in check?" said Methven.

"Do I need to?" said Cullen. "She's one of the best officers we've got."

"Is that so?" said Methven. "Nothing to do with how she looks? I know your reputation."

"Not my type," said Cullen, "besides I'm taken and she's best mates with my other half."

"Right," said Methven. "We're going to be working very closely on this, I suspect, so I'd appreciate if you kept your cowboy antics to an absolute minimum."

"Fine," said Cullen. "Wasn't aware I'd been naughty again."

Methven pointed a finger at him. "Watch your sodding lip. There's a big change coming next week, just you remember that."

"What are you saying, sir?" said Cullen.

"The restructure isn't a hundred per cent cast in stone yet," said Methven. "There are a few malleable parts."

The pending changes had played on Cullen's mind for the last few months. As of Monday, Lothian & Borders would disappear, along with all its siblings, to be replaced by Police Scotland, a national police force. The rumour mill in the station had predictably run riot, but nothing concrete had emerged, at least not that Cullen had heard.

"I'll bear that in mind, sir," said Cullen.

"Remember your position is only Acting," said Methven.

"So is yours," said Cullen.

Methven slowly shook his head. "Right. I'm afraid all leave is cancelled until we've got a result on this case."

"Fine," said Cullen. "I've none planned until May."

"I include weekends in that," said Methven.

Cullen swore under his breath. "I've got a weekend away booked, sir."

"Well, you'll just have to cancel it," said Methven.

He started up the stone steps to Niddry Street, leaving Cullen to fume in the harsh glow of the arc lights.

Cullen wandered slowly uphill to the top of Niddry Street before turning right down the Royal Mile, his mind lost in thoughts of how many streets lay underneath the city, maybe even below their flat.

Sharon was going to kill him. They'd not had a day off together for months, one or both of them being dragged into work on a Saturday or Sunday for one reason or another. This was sacrosanct, everyone knew it, and Methven had pissed all over it.

Inside, Sharon was sitting on the sofa, flicking through the channels. "The wanderer returns."

"Wish I'd been wandering," said Cullen, as he slumped down alongside her. "Instead I've been stuck under the city with Methven."

He gave her a blow-by-blow account of his evening, stopping short of telling her about the cancellation of the weekend.

"You're as good as him, you know," said Sharon. "You'll show him."

Cullen shrugged. "Yeah. Thing is, he's cancelled my weekend unless we get a result."

"He's
what?
" she said, mouth hanging open.

"He didn't give me a choice," said Cullen. "He implied my position after the restructure might be impacted by it."

"Wanker," said Sharon, clenching her fists.

"Me or Methven?" said Cullen.

"I'll let you decide.

Eventually, she smiled. "Him, of course." She sighed. "I suppose I'll have to see what Chantal is up to this weekend."

"Bad news," said Cullen. "She and Buxton are working for me."

Sharon shook her head. "He's only Acting. The power has gone to his head."

"Do you think it's because you're both going for that DI position?" said Cullen.

"Has to be. He's been trying to get at me for months, chipping away. If it was up to Cargill he'd have got it months ago. Fortunately, it's up to Turnbull."

"Here's hoping," said Cullen. He checked his watch. It was just after midnight. "I need to get to bed."

"Do you want me in it?" said Sharon, gently stroking his arm.

"Unless you've already had your little ginger lover in there."

Sharon laughed. "He's asleep on the radiator bed. The coast is clear."

They fell about laughing as they tiptoed to the bedroom.

Friday

29th March 2013
 

Cullen's eyes were open before the alarm went off.

He turned on his bedside light. A pair of yellow eyes looked up at him from the bottom of the bed, surrounded by a mass of ginger fur.

He shut his eyes, hoping it was a dream and he still had hours of sleep left. A forlorn hope.

His mind tugged him back to the exchange with Methven. While he finally had the position he'd long since coveted - even if only as Acting DS - he was on shaky ground. It could be taken away at any point.

Was Methven alluding to him being busted back to DC? Were that to happen, he tried to console himself with the notion he would surely have been briefed by now.

There was other pressure. He needed to bring in more money so they could buy a bigger house. Sharon was behind that and he couldn't begrudge her it. She'd lived in this flat for eight years, while he'd been here closer to eight weeks. The novelty of living on the Royal Mile had long disappeared for her.

He looked at her, surprised that turning the light on hadn't made her grumble in complaint. Her side of the bed was empty.

He looked back at the cat. "Are you man marking me, boy?"

The cat didn't answer, for once.

Cullen realised how deeply in love he was with Sharon since they had split up for a few days in October. He'd been an idiot over certain things back then, but she'd forgiven him and they'd worked on rebuilding trust, culminating in him moving into her flat.
Their
flat.

It surprised him how well he was adjusting to it. There had been incidents with dirty pants on the bathroom floor and the toilet lid being left up, but she wasn't a saint either - he saw to the fridge, washing and cooking when he had time.

Cullen got out of bed and started twenty press-ups. He was increasingly conscious of his growing belly thanks to years of strong lager and takeaways. He'd started running again and exercising properly. He didn't want to resort to fad dieting like his old man.

He strode into the kitchen, feeling his shoulders tighten, determined to have a proper breakfast for once rather than a bacon roll with Buxton in the canteen.

Sharon was perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, absent-mindedly stirring a mug of tea, the radio playing at low volume.

Cullen leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Morning."

She looked back, her eyes bloodshot. "Morning."

Cullen felt a jolt of worry. "You okay?" he said, resting a caring hand on her arm.

"I'm not well. A stinking cold." She sniffed.

"We were supposed to be driving up to my parents' tonight," said Cullen.

"Yeah, typical," said Sharon. "First hint at some time off and my body shuts down."

Cullen put bread in the toaster, adjusting the dial up from Sharon's usual setting, which required two goes before it even slightly browned.

"Methven is trying to rattle me," said Sharon.

"This again." Cullen glanced at the kettle, but decided coffee at the station would be preferable, or maybe he could pick something up en route. "I know he's a dick, but are you sure he's playing you?"

Sharon nodded and took a big glug of tea. "I think so. It's the sort of thing he would do."

Cullen sat down on the stool next to her, continually glancing over to watch for the slow slide of the toast as it finished. "He never strikes me as being that conniving."

"That's the sort you've got to watch," said Sharon. "He's on a power trip just now and he doesn't want anybody to steal his glory."

Cullen spotted the machine pop up. He got a plate out of the dishwasher, checking it was clean, and shovelled crunchy peanut butter on the toast. He took a bite, causing Sharon to turn up her nose.

"I hate that stuff," she said.

"It's good for you. Lots of protein."

"It's not good in the quantity you eat it." Sharon took another sip of tea. "All that stuff last night. Cancelling your leave. That's just to get at me."

"I'll do some digging about Methven today. See if there's anything in it."

"Okay." Sharon stared blankly at the counter.

Cullen took his plate and sat down next to her. "Hey. This isn't the Sharon I know and love."

She snuggled in close. "I don't feel like that Sharon."

Cullen kissed the top of her head and stroked her back. "You'll be fine."

"What if I'm not?" she said, her voice muffled.

"There are plenty of other things going on just now," said Cullen. "There are task forces being set up. It might do you good to get some other experience. You've been in CID for ages, maybe you need to reconnect with other areas of the force."

"True," she said, before sitting upright and draining her mug.

The radio changed track, the DJ's mid-Atlantic drawl announcing Expect Delays' new single
Bottleneck
, which he pronounced
Boddleneck
.

"That's all I need," said Cullen, as the song kicked in, half-spoken lyrics confusing the neck of a bottle with a girl's neck and a bottleneck guitar. "It's so contrived."

"You'd much rather listen to techno, I suppose."

"You don't have to say it like that. And yes, I would."

Sharon pushed her teacup away. "How are you finding having Chantal working for you?"

"About as much fun as Caldwell. She reckons I'm on a power trip."

"And are you?"

"Hardly."

"Wonder how Caldwell's doing," said Sharon, absently.

Cullen finished his toast and headed for the shower, wondering whether to do more press-ups.