Cowboys and Indians (14 page)

‘Did he ever mention anything kinky to you?’ Buxton coughed. ‘Handcuffs, bondage?’

‘I’m. A. Dancer.’ She let out a deep breath. ‘What is it with you two?’

‘You never visited his house?’

‘Once.’ She nibbled her lip. ‘Before we went to this thing at the Caley hotel, we had a cocktail at his house. Nice place.’

‘Did he suggest doing anything? Sex? Drugs?’

‘Wee bit of rock ’n’ roll. Boy played a mean sax.’

‘Very good. Did you ever see any drug paraphernalia?’

Candy flicked her hair out. ‘He snorted a line when I was there.’

‘Cocaine?’

‘It looked like it. Didn’t have any, though. I’m a good girl.’

‘Did you have sex with him?’

‘We’ve been over this…’

‘You just went there for a cocktail in his living room?’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘Where were you on Saturday night, Sunday morning?’

‘Until when?’

‘Let’s focus on half past three.’

‘I was in bed.’

‘Can anyone confirm that?’

‘I’d need to figure that out.’

‘What do you mean by that? Thought you’re just a dancer.’

‘And I am, it’s just…’ She looked away.

‘Sounds like you’re making it up.’

‘It’s … complicated.’

Cullen waved over to the Custody Officer. ‘Take her down to Holding, would you? Charge her with—’

‘Wait!’

‘—obstruction.’ Cullen stood up. ‘I’ve got to brief my DI.’

‘I said wait.’

He sat again. ‘I’m listening.’

‘Look, I’m not being funny here. I don’t want to lie to you. I think my boyfriend was with me, I need to check with him.’

‘So he can give you an alibi?’

‘Look, I was at my flat. Do you want the address?’

‘Sergeant.’ Reynolds leaned across the table. ‘If you want to question my client as a suspect, you need to detain her. She’s losing income while you keep her here for spurious reasons.’

Cullen glanced at Buxton and got a shrug. ‘Fine, but I want you back here tomorrow morning, okay? First thing, with an alibi we can start to tear apart.’ He smiled at Reynolds. ‘You can take your client to work.’ He left the room, smiling at the Custody Officer. ‘I’ll let you escort her out.’

The Custody Officer grunted in reply.

Cullen waited for Buxton to shut the door. ‘Well?’

Buxton raised his hands in the air. ‘Don’t think she’s involved.’

‘Dead end?’

‘Probably. At least we know the coke’s his. Other than that, she seems clean.’

‘
Seems
. Check out her background, aye?’

*
 
*
 
*

‘Do you need anything else from me, sir?’ Cullen got up, snapping his notebook shut.

‘Just to say I’m impressed with your progress in the role so far.’ Methven leaned back in his office chair and stared up at Cullen. ‘I knew it was the right move to promote you.’

Cullen rubbed at the fire in his ears. ‘Thanks.’

‘Unlike DS Bain, who’s done nothing other than take up all my sodding time.’ Methven pursed his lips. ‘The only thing he’s achieved is obtaining a second witness statement placing Mr Van de Merwe on the bridge at half three.’

‘That’s the first I’ve heard.’

‘That’s what I wanted to speak to you about earlier.’

‘Right, I see.’

‘A drunkard from Orchard Brae saw him with this figure in the cloak. Thinks it was a woman but he wasn’t the most sober. The facial composite going out hasn’t jogged anyone’s memory, either.’

Cullen sucked air through his teeth. ‘His wife wasn’t in Edinburgh. Amber was at work.’

‘They confirmed this bondage stuff, though?’

‘Elsbeth did. Don’t know where that leaves us. Neither are suspects, sir. Besides Candy, we’ve got nobody else.’

‘Candy? Why would she do it?’

‘No idea. Buxton’s looking into her background.’

‘It seems a tad far-fetched.’ A spotlight caught one of Methven’s stray eyebrows as he turned to the side. ‘Look, I’ve got a hell of a day tomorrow. Can I ask you to deputise the DC interviews?’

Cullen frowned. ‘Is that allowed?’

‘It’s the art of delegation, Sergeant. I’ll lend you some books on the subject.’

‘What I mean is, I’m Buxton’s sponsor.’

‘And I need you to be impartial, Sergeant. I can trust you on this, I know it.’

‘Well, I’ll see what I can do.’

Methven patted Cullen on the shoulder. ‘Go home, fresh in for seven.’

‘Sir.’

‘And make sure we rule out this Candy girl ASAP.’

‘Jesus, Si.’ Cullen rested his forehead against the wall in the corridor, tempted to headbutt it. ‘What do you mean she’s gone?’

‘I’m at Wonderland just now.’
Buxton’s footsteps clattered off slabs.
‘Candy never turned up.’

‘What happened after she left here?’

‘I spoke to the PCSO. Big Chris. Said her lawyer drove her off. I called Reynolds, says he dropped her outside Wonderland.’

‘Shite.’ Cullen thunked his head off the plaster a couple of times. ‘Call me when you find her.’

‘Will do, Sarge.’

‘Cheers.’ Cullen pocketed his phone and wandered into the empty Obs Suite. Collapsed into the chair in front of the bank of monitors. On the leftmost screen, Sharon and DC McKeown were interviewing the woman from earlier, the one who’d slapped Sharon. What was her name? Beth Graham? Head down, eyes shut, make-up slithering down her chubby cheeks.

‘Mrs Graham, I need you to confirm your statement here.’
Sharon looked up from her notebook.
‘Shall I read it back to you?’

Beth raised a shoulder.
‘Whatever.’

‘My client wishes you to proceed to reading out the statement.’
Her lawyer let his glasses drop to the chain around his neck.
‘Please.’

‘Very well. Your husband, one Kyle Graham of Meadowfield Terrace, Edinburgh, was present with you on the evenings of the twenty-fifth of April, the thirtieth of April and the third of May. You were, respectively, at the cinema, watching a DVD and walking on the beach at Portobello on the dates in question.’

Beth gave a slight nod, wiping a tear from her cheek.
‘That’s right.’

‘You’re aware this is an official police document. If this alibi is later proven to be false, you will be prosecuted.’

‘I get that. I’m not lying.’

‘Thanks for your time.’
Sharon rose to her feet and walked over to the door.
‘You’ll be escorted out.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Sharon frowned.
‘What for?’

‘Slapping you. It’s been a difficult few days. I’m trying to get pregnant and it’s not working.’

‘Apology accepted.’
Sharon slammed the door behind her.

Cullen waited for the equal and opposite explosion of the Obs Suite door opening. It smacked off the filing cabinet. ‘That went well.’

‘For Christ’s sake.’ Sharon collapsed into the seat next to him. ‘She’s given him an alibi for all of the rapes.’

‘But you still think he did it?’

‘He’s gay and she’s in denial. You saw what he was up to in that club on Saturday.’

‘You didn’t answer the question. Being gay doesn’t mean he’s raped anyone, does it?’

‘No. We’ve got to let him go.’

‘Back to square one?’

‘Aye.’ She held his hand. ‘How’s your day been?’

‘Buxton took me to a lap-dancing establishment.’

She let go of his hand. ‘Scott, you’d better be winding me up.’

‘It’s part of the case.’

‘It had bloody better be. Don’t want me to fire up the lathe, do you?’

‘I thought we’d had enough
Fifty Shades
stuff.’

‘How’s Bain been?’

‘Keeping his powder dry. I’m just waiting for the eruption.’ Cullen pinched his nose. ‘Crystal’s asked me— Sorry, he’s
told
me to do the interviews for this DC position.’

‘The one Budgie’s going for?’

‘Aye.’

‘Methven can be such a fanny.’

‘What do you mean “can be”?’

Tuesday

20th May 2014

Buxton dumped a coffee on the desk. ‘Here you go, Sarge.’

Cullen lifted it up. Black cup with white lid, a red star etched in marker. ‘What’s this?’

‘My treat. Got you a posh one from that place on Broughton Street.’

‘Why?’

‘For getting me off the beat.’

‘Right, so you’ve still not found Candy?’

‘Rumbled.’ Buxton leaned against the desk and took a sip. ‘They’ve got nothing on her at Wonderland. Nobody there knows much about her.’

‘Shite. She’s cleared off, hasn’t she?’

‘Well, I spoke to six of her colleagues. Nobody heard about spanking or rogue fingers from Van de Merwe.’

‘Quite the gentleman. What about those escort gigs?’

‘All they know about is her attending the functions.’

Cullen tore off the lid. The latte’s delicate feathering had remained mostly intact despite the walk over. ‘Cheers for this. Even though I don’t like lattes.’

‘Shite.’

‘It’s cool. I need to get more calcium.’ Cullen rubbed his teeth. ‘My gums are receding.’

‘Is that going to fix it?’

‘Dr Google said so.’

‘Classic.’ Buxton sipped through the lid. ‘I’ve got my interview at eleven.’

Cullen hid his face behind the cup and stared over at the whiteboard as he swallowed. ‘For the DC gig?’

‘Yeah. Shitting myself.’

‘You’ll be fine.’ Cullen checked his notebook, open at the actions page. ‘Did you get the meeting minutes from Vivek?’

‘He sent them over last night. Went through them after I got back from Wonderland.’

‘Anyone would think you’re trying to impress.’

‘Nobody was here, though.’ Buxton shuffled through a wad of papers on the desk. ‘Dry reading, mate. Poor guy kept on calling out the low standard of requirements.’

‘What do you mean by “kept on”?’

‘Every single meeting.’ Buxton waved the papers. ‘Thirteen different occasions. Guy’s a broken record.’

‘But they’ve been there since the start of the year. That’s once a week, isn’t it?’

‘Looks like that.’

‘Who was there befo—’

‘Cullen!’
 

He swung around.

Methven stormed across the Incident Room, waving a copy of the
Argus
. ‘What the sodding hell’s this?’

Cullen caught it, the folded paper connecting with his throat.

Banker Death — Sex Dungeon Link

Cullen checked the byline. Rich again. ‘I swear this has nothing to do with me.’

‘You used to share a flat with him, didn’t you?’

‘Up to a year ago, aye. We’re both from Dalhousie, if you want to throw that one at me, as well.’

‘Don’t you sodding get smart with me.’

‘Look, you honestly think I’d mess up my career just so he gets a story?’

‘I’ve seen it happen.’

‘You’re not seeing it happen here, okay?’

Methven jangled keys in his pockets. ‘I’ve asked DS Bain to bring this Richard McAlpine in for questioning.’

‘You sure that’s wise?’

‘Unless you’ve got another idea of where this juicy little tidbit’s come from?’

‘He’s not answering my calls or texts anymore.’

‘We need to make sure there’s nothing sinister going on here.’ Methven folded his arms. ‘DS Bain’s our best bet.’

‘What, are you—’

‘I’ve cancelled this morning’s briefing. Have you got a statement from Candy yet?’

‘Si’s just tracking her down.’

Methven stabbed a finger in the air. ‘I want her in an interview room by lunchtime.’

‘I’m not promising anything.’ Cullen watched him stomp off across the room and glanced round at Buxton. ‘Think the stress is getting to him?’

‘Maybe. Not sure you should be pushing him, though.’

‘No, you’re probably right.’ Cullen grabbed his coffee and a sheaf of papers. ‘Be back at lunchtime. I’ve got to see someone about something.’

‘Let me guess, a man about a dog?’

‘Not really.’

‘Who?’

‘Never mind. Just find Candy.’

*
 
*
 
*

Pen in mouth, Cullen pushed the other CVs to the far side of the table and sifted through the police records of the candidates. Helen Armitage had been a naughty girl in her teens. Surprised she’d been let into the force. He scribbled a note in the margin of the interview questions pack and sat back to look around the canteen. The queue was as short as it’d get this early. Another coffee wouldn’t go amiss.

‘What do you mean I’m barred?’ Bain gripped the counter at the front. ‘This is supposed to be a service!’

Barbara stabbed a finger at him. ‘Cut out the swearing and I’ll let you back.’

‘Oh, for fu—’

‘See? Can’t stop yourself!’ She pointed to the door. ‘Out!’

Bain headed over to Cullen, hands in pocket, scowling at everyone he passed. ‘Morning, Sundance.’ He hovered by the table, arms folded. ‘It was a bastard getting through here for seven. Can’t believe that fucker canned the briefing. Could’ve done with another hour in my scratcher.’

‘Tell it to someone who cares.’

‘You cheeky scamp.’ Bain dropped a two pound coin on the table. ‘Any danger you could get me a coffee?’

‘You sound like a wee ned outside an off-licence.’

‘That bitch makes me feel like it.’ Bain sat next to him. ‘Can’t believe this case. All that effort for a fuckin’
banker
.’

‘Even bankers are human beings.’

‘You reckon?’

‘Someone’s been killed. Our job’s to find out who did it.’

‘If all you want’s a puzzle, Sundance, you should take up crosswords.’

‘Does it matter if it’s a heroin addict in Wester Hailes or a Lord Advocate out in North Berwick? If someone’s dead, we—’

‘—need to find out who did it. Aye, I get it. Fucking bastards took down the economy, Sundance.’ Bain stared at the papers. ‘What’s that?’

‘Crystal’s asked me to do the DC interviews.’

‘Aw, look at you all grown up.’ Bain grabbed a sheet. Held it at arm’s reach. ‘Think I know this bird.’

Cullen snatched it back. ‘Stop mucking about.’

‘Who’s the favourite?’

‘Buxton. Two years as ADC. The best of the others has six months.’