Cowboys and Indians (34 page)

‘Is that why I feel like this?’

‘I think so.’ Sharon crouched down. Fluffy galloped through to rub against her jeans. ‘How much did you drink?’

‘Four beers.’

‘That’s nowhere near enough to get this bad.’ Carnegie zipped up his bag. ‘He’s showing all the symptoms of a Rohypnol attack.’

‘Scott, do you know who did this?’

Cullen beamed. ‘They played that waterfall song again. Our song.’

‘It’s not our song, Scott. You like it, I don’t.’

‘Our song.’ Cullen twitched. Again. And again. Eyes wide open. Woooooosh! ‘What the hell’s that?’

‘The Romazicon kicking in, I suspect.’ Carnegie capped the syringe and put it in his bag. ‘I’ll head back to the station and get this processed.’

Cullen bounced up to his feet. Dizzy. Alive. ‘Woah, this is great.’

‘Scott, could anyone have spiked your drinks?’

‘We were dancing. Rich left our drinks on the table.’

‘Did you drink any more when you got back?’

‘I’ve no idea. Woke up at the table. My bottle was empty.’

Sharon looked across the room. ‘Chantal, look through the CCTV. There’s got to be someone lurking around them.’

‘Will do.’

Cullen frowned. ‘Did you get the guy in the toilet?’

‘It’s not him. He was in Dubai for the last three rapes.’

‘Shite. I feel bad.’

‘It’s not your fault. He had a pocket full of Rohypnol on him. You saved that man in the toilets. He’s just not our guy.’ Sharon walked over to the other side of the room. ‘Chantal, when you’re over there, get it shut down.’

‘It’s only half twelve, Shaz.’

‘I want it shut. Time we used the sheriff’s approval.’

Jain nodded. ‘I’ll keep the bar staff for questioning.’

‘Someone’s spiking their drinks. Keep everyone in that club. Don’t let anyone leave.’

‘Will do.’ Jain left the room, the front door clicking shut.

Sharon collapsed onto the sofa and patted the seat beside her. ‘Come here.’

Cullen sat next to her, facing away. ‘What a twat.’

‘You were just in the wrong place at the right time.’ She gripped his shoulder and massaged it, her thumb digging into his muscles. ‘You’ve got to give us a statement. How are you feeling?’

‘Whatever was in that shot works.’

‘How much did you drink? Honestly?’

‘We’d had two Punk IPAs in the Elm. Bottle of Tiger or Cobra in there. Then a Grolsch.’

‘No shooters?’

‘They did, I didn’t.’

‘Who else was there?’

‘Just four of us at the end. Murray went for his train. Tom. Rich. Buxton. Someone Tom works with. Girl called Lorna. She was firing into Budgie.’

‘We’ll need to speak to them.’ She got up and yawned. ‘In the morning, though.’

‘Jesus Christ. I really need to sleep.’

‘Get to bed. I’m going into the station. I’ll be back in a few hours.’

The front door clicked open. Flat shoes padded from the hall. ‘Scott?’

Cullen flicked the bedside light on and sat up, his pillows pushing against the metal frame. ‘In here.’

Sharon collapsed on the bed, the frame creaking. She kicked off her shoes, sending them thudding to the floor. ‘I am
so
tired.’

He checked the clock. ‘Ten to six. Is that all?’

‘At least you’ve been asleep.’ She rolled over onto her side, propped up on an elbow. ‘How you feeling?’

‘Like shite.’

‘Could be much worse, you know.’

‘Don’t remind me.’ Cullen clicked his back. ‘Assuming it was your guy.’

‘Your blood test was positive for Rohypnol.’

‘So I was spiked? Jesus.’ Cullen chewed his bottom lip. ‘Have you spoken to the others?’

‘We’ve been trying to ring them. Not got hold of them yet.’

He yawned. ‘I’m getting up.’

‘You sure?’

‘I’m not really sleeping. Must be the beer.’ He stood up and burped, stomach bile leaching into his mouth. He swallowed it down. ‘I need to get in. Do some work. I’m so far behind it’s not true.’

‘You sure you’re okay?’

‘I’ve got a fuckton of work on, Sharon.’

‘Come on, Scott. Chantal’s trying to track them down.’

‘I need to help. Find out who’s done this.’

‘You sure you should?’

‘I’ve not got a choice.’

‘Well, I’ll be sleeping till nine.’ She crawled up to her side of the bed and shrugged off her jeans. ‘We’ll get him, Scott.’

*
 
*
 
*

‘Rich, it’s Scott. Call me back, okay? It’s urgent.’ Cullen pocketed his mobile and leaned back against the glass outside the Starbucks. Low sunlight swung over his shoulder, bleaching John Lewis and Alba Bank across the road and the walkway looping over Leith Street. He yawned into his hand. Floaters spun in front of eyes, tracking his gaze. He pressed dial and put his phone to his ear.

‘This is Tom. Leave a tone. Beep boop.’
Beeep!

Cullen hung up and redialled.

‘This is Tom. Leave a tone. Beep boop.’
Beeep!

‘Tom, it’s Scott. Call me when you get this, okay?’ He tapped the red button and waited for a few seconds.

The door clunked open to his right. He swung round. A barista undid the top lock, his Starbucks T-shirt riding up.

Cullen entered the café, house music pumping from the speakers, and walked up to the counter.

The barista grinned at him. ‘Morning, sir, what can I get you?’

‘The biggest and strongest coffee you’ve got.’

‘A latte? Flat white?’

‘Americano, black.’

‘Coming right up. What’s your name, sir?’

Cullen fiddled in his pocket for change. ‘Scott.’

‘Coming right up, sir.’

Cullen handed over a fiver and waited for his change. He got out his phone and dialled as he walked over to the other side of the counter.

‘You’ve reached the voicemail of Simon Buxton. Leave a message or call back. Thanks.’
Beeep!

He hit redial.

‘You’ve reached the voicemail of Simon Buxton. Leave a message or call back. Thanks.’
Beeep!

‘Si, it’s Scott. Give me a call. Cheers.’

He ended the call and rifled through his bulging wallet for recent business cards. Nothing.

Switched to Google and searched “Lorna Gilmour Edinburgh”. Hundreds of entries. Christ.

His phone rang.
 

Tom calling…

He swiped across the screen. ‘Hey, Tom.’

‘Scott, do you know what time it is?’

‘Aye. I’m already working.’

‘Fuck me.’
Tom paused.
‘You sound like shite, Skinky.’

‘Feel like it. You sound just as bad.’

‘What a night, eh?’
Burp.
‘Scuse me.’

‘Has Chantal called you?’

‘Nope.’

‘Anyone from Sharon’s team?’

‘Saw I had a load of missed calls. What’s happened?’

‘When did you leave last night?’

‘Half eleven, maybe? Everyone else had bailed by the time I got back with the last drinks. I think.’

‘What?’

‘Buxton had gone. Lorna’d gone. Same with Rich. Took me ages to get served, as well. I was completely locked and—’

‘Someone spiked my drink.’

‘Shut up.’

‘I’m serious. What about you?’

‘I’m fine.’
Another pause.
‘You don’t think it was me, do you?’

‘Mm.’

‘Come on, man. How could you think that?’

‘A lot of my friends are betraying me just now.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Rich.’

‘Right.’
Yawn.
‘Mate, come on, there’s no way I’d do that.’

‘Even as a joke?’

‘If I did, don’t you think I’d at least video it and put it on YouTube?’

‘Very good.’ Cullen laughed despite himself. ‘Is Rich there?’

‘Are you guys still speaking?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You had a bit of a barney last night.’

‘He deserved everything he got. Is he there?’

‘I’m not going into his room after last time. I can’t unsee that.’

‘Tell him to call me when he gets up, all right?’

‘Sure thing.’

‘I need to see if Lorna’s okay. Do you know where she lives?’

‘Broughton Road, I think. Not far from the Tesco. I’ll text you the address.’

‘Cheers.’ Cullen ended the call, grabbed his coffee from the barista and left the café, waiting for the text to arrive. His phone thrummed — Lorna’s contact details. He stabbed a finger against the mobile number.

‘You’ve reached Lorna. Can’t take your noise just now. Text me, I don’t listen to voicemails. Bye!’
Beeep!

*
 
*
 
*

Cullen passed the big Tesco and drove the pool car along Broughton Road, passing a left turn into an office development. He stopped by a tarmac playground and tried her number again. Voicemail.

He checked Tom’s text for the address and clocked her flat — ground-floor, across from the Powderhall Arms. He got out.

His phone rang. Buxton. He swiped to answer the call. ‘Cullen.’

‘Got your voicemail, mate.’
Buxton croaked down the line.

‘You okay?’

‘Too much booze. I’ll have a Berocca, then get in soon.’

‘Did you get home okay?’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘My drink got spiked. Rohypnol.’

‘Jesus Christ. Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine. I was completely out of it. I can’t remember much about last night.’

‘Have you got him?’

Cullen gritted his teeth. ‘Not yet. Was yours spiked?’

A pause.
‘No.’

‘You sure? You don’t sound good.’

‘Positive, mate. Someone had to drink your shots, didn’t they?’

‘Did you see anyone near our table?’

‘I was putting the booze away, mate. I can’t remember much. Everyone just disappeared. Tried calling, but nobody was answering.’

Cullen swapped his phone to his other hand. ‘Look, I’ll need to get a statement when you get in.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we think it’s related to Sharon’s attacks.’

‘Shit.’

‘That motherfucker could’ve got me. I could’ve been …
raped
.’ Cullen tightened his grip on the phone. ‘I’ll give you a shout later. Bye.’ He pocketed it and crossed the road, rapping on the blue door.

It swung open. Lorna folded her arms across her T-shirt, “I’m Sick To Death Of Low”. She blinked against the daylight, swaying a bit. ‘Scott Cullen?’

‘Lorna, are you okay?’

‘It’s really early.’

‘I’ve tried calling, but you’re not answering your phone.’

She yawned. ‘Sorry, I sleep like the dead when I’ve been drinking.’

‘I had my drink spiked last night.’

‘Shit, you too?’

Cullen frowned. ‘What?’

‘I got done.’ She bit her lip. ‘Got spiked when I was a student. I recognised the signs last night and got a taxi back here.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘I left as soon as I started feeling it. Lots of dodgy blokes hanging around. I downed a coffee when I got home. Think it cleared my system.’

‘You should’ve told me.’

‘I thought you were still dancing.’

‘What about Buxton?’

‘Your mate Simon? He’d left. Couldn’t find him anyway.’

‘My girlfriend’s been investigating male rapes over the last couple of weeks.’ Cullen got out a business card and scribbled Sharon’s mobile number on the back. ‘I need you to go speak to her. This might be connected.’

‘Oh my God.’

‘Any idea who could’ve done it?’

‘When we were dancing for a bit, there was that guy sitting near us, kept trying to chat to me and Simon. Rich was flirting with him.’

‘Would you be able to describe him?’

‘Probably.’ She tapped the card. ‘I’ll get up there now.’

‘Do you need a lift?’

‘Give me a minute. I need to get changed.’

*
 
*
 
*

Cullen led Lorna down the corridor in the station. ‘How are you feeling?’

No reply.

He swung round.

Ten feet back, she stumbled back against the wall. Hand to her forehead, knees buckling.

‘Shite.’ He jogged back and grabbed her arms. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Feel woooooooozy.’

He wrapped an arm round her shoulders and helped her along the corridor, taking it slow. He kicked the meeting room door open. Photographs and papers pinned to the walls, case files all over the table.

Jain stood near the window, talking into her mobile, McKeown next to her. ‘I’ll call you back, okay?’ She dumped the phone on the table. ‘She was in the club last night, right?’

‘One of Tom’s mates. She’s been drugged as well.’

‘Christ.’ Jain swung round. ‘Mac, can you bring the duty doc up?’

‘Aye, sure.’ McKeown stormed out of the room.

Cullen winked. ‘Bossing people around, Chantal.’

‘Someone’s got to.’

Lorna collapsed onto a seat. ‘What’s happened?’

‘We’ll make sure you’re okay.’ Jain crouched down, smiling. ‘We’ll do a blood test. Maybe a rape kit, as well.’

‘I didn’t get raped. I went home when I felt this kick in.’

‘Doesn’t mean you were alone.’ Jain stood up again. ‘Be back in a second.’ She nodded at Cullen and left the room.

He followed her out, pulling the door shut behind him. ‘What’s up?’

‘Is she on the level?’

‘I think so. Why?’

‘She looks pretty fucked. Worse than you did.’

‘She didn’t get injected with magic juice.’

‘True.’ Jain sighed. The sigh turned into a yawn. ‘I need my bed.’

‘You getting anywhere?’

‘Just finished interviewing the staff. Again. Still checking out the punters.’

‘You’re not interviewing them?’

‘Just took names and addresses. Got a hit against the sex offenders’ register.’

‘Sounds positive.’

‘Hardly. Guy stuck a traffic cone up his arse ten years ago. We’re getting nothing.’ Jain leaned against the glass and folded her arms, yawning. ‘You were fucked last night when we came round.’

‘Not my finest hour.’

‘Quite sweet, really.’

‘Why did you ask if she was on the level?’