Fire in the Blood (Scott Cullen Mysteries) (20 page)

"No," said Sharon.

"So why is it called Outhouse, then?" he asked.

"Because of the beer garden," she said. "Which we're sitting in."

They were in the Outhouse bar on Broughton Street Lane, not far from Leith Walk station. Cullen was sipping at a pint of St Mungo's - a German lager brewed in Glasgow, and one that was quickly becoming his favourite - while Sharon had a large glass of Spanish rose. The sun was hidden behind the taller buildings on Broughton Street, but it was still warm, and the table they sat at had a patio heater above it.

"Fair enough," he said. He took a drink of beer. "And it's nothing to do with Planet Out?" he asked, referring to a gay bar on the top of Leith Walk in Edinburgh's pink district.

"No!" said Sharon. "God, stop being so homophobic."

"I'm not homophobic," said Cullen. "Rich is gay."

"Rich isn't a raving queen, though, is he?"

Cullen leaned forward. "I'm not homophobic," he said. "I just didn't know if this was a gay bar or not."

"Worried about the skinhead that's checking you out at the urinals?"

"Very funny," he said.

"I'm so glad the surveillance is over," she said, taking another big drink. "Nice to be able to have a drink with you."

Her stakeout had finished on Saturday night as they caught two Hibs casuals red-handed, carrying knives that had been used in a stabbing. Perfect timing - his stakeout had started the following night. They hadn't seen each other for days. Cullen had managed to track her down to an Incident Room on the floor above their office space and persuaded her to go for a drink and take advantage of the opportunity.

For once, DI Wilkinson had been driving his staff hard and making sure that the paperwork was done to a high standard. Sharon and Chantal Jain had been chained to the laptops to get all of their notes tightened up. The suspects had been in court on Monday morning and they were heading for a fast track case.

"As long as Bain doesn't catch me," he said. "I've only done four hours today."

"Yeah, but you're in again tomorrow at 7am, no doubt," she said.

"True."

"And you've put in the hours this week."

He nodded. "Guess you're right," he said.

"Must be a relief to be away from Irvine, though?" asked Sharon.

Cullen took a long drink of the sharp lager. "Tell me about it," he said. "He was nipping my head today. Called me a poof again."

"See why I don't want you sounding homophobic?" she asked. "If you want to get him done, then you need to be whiter than white."

"I know, I know," he said. "I just can't believe that Cargill has paired us up, given Irvine's complaint against me. Buxton told me Irvine was moaning about how Turnbull told him to drop it."

"Better just to forget about it," said Sharon. "He's a wanker, you'll not be stuck in a car with him for much longer."

"No, I'll be stuck with Bain again," he said. He finished his pint. He checked his watch - it was twenty to ten. "We've got time for another."

She held up her glass. "Same again," she said. "Small, this time."

He grinned. "We'll see."

"No, really," she said. "I'm half cut as it is. I need to be focused on the report tomorrow morning. Turnbull wants a run-through tomorrow afternoon."

"Giving him a helicopter view?" asked Cullen, referring to the DCI's notorious management bullshit usage.

"I think the exact phrase he used was 'thirty thousand feet'," she said.

Cullen grinned and picked up his glass - a large Stein-styled glass with the WEST logo - and headed inside to the bar. It was fairly busy inside for a Tuesday and he had to queue. Loud house music pumped from the speakers - the track was vaguely familiar to Cullen from some mix compilation Tom had given him. Some of the punters at the bar throwing shots down their throats made Cullen question Sharon's assertion of the bar being not gay.

Cullen was just about to be served when his phone rang - an 01620 number. He tried to recall where that referred to and came up blank. He went back outside to take the call, making eye contact with Sharon. She started playing with her phone.

"Mr Cullen, this is Dr Mark Berry returning your call."

Cullen's heart rate increased - this was Iain Crombie's doctor. He got his notebook out, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder.

"Thanks for calling me back," said Cullen. "I'm working on a murder investigation in East Lothian, and I need to trace the medical history of an Iain Crombie."

"The son of the distillery owner?" asked Berry. He had an English accent that Cullen couldn't place - he sounded as if he was in his 50s or older.

"Yes," said Cullen. "He disappeared in 1994."

"Yes, I remember," said Berry. "I was involved in the presumption of death certificate. Have you found Mr Crombie?"

"We are investigating that possibility," said Cullen. "I was wondering if I could speak to you tomorrow."

"Well, this is most unusual," said Berry.

"I know that," said Cullen. "It's unusual for me too. I just need some information from his medical history."

"Very well," said Berry. Cullen could hear him looking through a sheaf of papers. "I can meet you at 8am in North Berwick tomorrow at the surgery. Otherwise, we're talking 7pm."

"8am is perfect," said Cullen.

He ended the call and headed back inside for a celebratory beer.

 
Wednesday
20
^th
June 2012

Cullen was in Bain's 7am briefing at Leith Walk. His head was slightly tender - the pint at the Outhouse had turned into another three pints followed by a romantic entanglement back at Sharon's flat.
 

"Right," said Bain, standing by the flip chart and rubbing his hands together. Instead of a meeting room, they'd found a corner of the office where Bain could mount the flip chart paper he'd acquired the previous day. "I want an update on where we are with the actions I gave you last night." He looked at Cullen. "Sundance, you first."

"I'm making slow progress," said Cullen.

"As ever," said Bain.

Cullen raised his eyebrows and got on with it - the quicker he got it out, the quicker Bain could lay into him for some perceived slight and the quicker he could get on with some proper work. "I've got hold of the family doctor who saw Iain back in the day," he said. "I need to get permission from Alec Crombie to get access to Iain's records."

"And have you asked?"

"Sort of," said Cullen.

"Sort of?"

"Well, it was him I got the info from," said Cullen. "I'm heading out to North Berwick to meet the doctor."

"Keep a lid on it, Sundance," said Bain. "I don't want that Crombie boy putting in a complaint about this."

"We need to find out who it is in that barrel," said Cullen.

"I know, I know," said Bain, "but don't piss him off, all right?"

"Fine," said Cullen, silently fuming.

"Caldwell, you next," said Bain.

Cullen didn't listen to her update, instead focusing on calming down from Bain's nonsense. He wasn't the sort of boss to give anyone a free rein, least of all Cullen, someone who had been known to stray down paths Bain didn't want him to.

"Murray," said Bain, "how's it going with Paddy?"

"Like Scott, I've managed to get hold of the doctor that Paddy went to see at the time," he said, "and I've managed to get hold of the records. They got here overnight."

Cullen raised an eyebrow - he was getting outshone here.

"Good work," said Bain. "Anything?"

Murray grinned. "Turns out Mr Kavanagh had a scar on his arm," he said.

It was Bain's turn to grin. "You fuckin' dancer," he said.

"Pretty pleased with it," said Murray.

"Right, so it's Paddy in there," said Bain. "Sundance, you can stop what you're doin' with pissin' off Alec Crombie."

Cullen frowned. "I'm not giving up," he said.

"Yes, you fuckin' are," said Bain. "It's Paddy. Case closed."

"Fuck off," muttered Cullen.

"I beg your fuckin' pardon?"

"Look, you asked me to look into it," said Cullen, "and I am looking into it. I'm not dropping it."

"Cullen," said Bain, "I'm not going to tolerate any more of this. Stuart has found that Paddy had a scar on his arm. Case closed. And stop telling me to fuck off."

"I still want to look into it," said Cullen. "We still need to look into it. Iain could have a scar."

Bain rubbed at his moustache. "Look, Sundance, it's Sod's law that you picked the wrong one," he said. "Stuart's come up with the goods for once. You can't be a superhero every time."

Cullen flailed his arms around. "I'm not trying to be a superhero," he said. "We've got a very real possibility with Iain. I need to investigate it."

"All you've told us is that you've found the family doctor," said Bain. "Big fuckin' deal, Sundance. Big fuckin' deal."

Cullen didn't know what to say. He was getting shut down. Paddy had been knocked off his bike two months before he disappeared. He was rushed to hospital and stitched up. Wilsenham - his landlady - hadn't even known about it, so it hadn't appeared on any of the MisPer documentation. Nobody at the distillery had known about it.

"What do you want me to do?" asked Cullen.

"Write your shite up this morning," said Bain. "Let me think through what I'll get you to do."

"Fine," snapped Cullen, feeling anything but.

Cullen sat in the canteen, slumped over a black filter, the burnt smell infiltrating his nostrils. Concentrating on the cooling liquid helped him put his anger in context.

Bain thought he was acting like a superhero. He was trying to do the right thing. He was trying to close out the lead. Part of him was trying to prove Alec Crombie wrong - that the body was Iain in there - and part of him hoped that it wasn't Paddy because he just didn't know where to even begin with finding the killer. He was just trying to keep his mind open to any possibility while they still didn't know exactly.

It was typical Bain - get a sniff of a lead and close everything else down. Close Cullen down. Write everything up - put it in a box. There were months of paperwork to go through. The two major scalps he'd got before they'd managed to close out in seven days and two days, but there had been months of paperwork and admin trailing behind them. If he hadn't acted so quickly, the paperwork and capturing the killers might have merged into the same months long cycle, assuming of course they did catch them. Bain liked nothing better than letting a trail that he didn't particularly fancy go cold.

He took a sip of the coffee, just about at drinking temperature. He spotted DI Cargill walking over, carrying a tray, DCI Turnbull following behind her. He closed his eyes - just what he didn't need.

Cargill stood by his table, a bacon roll and coffee on her tray. "I didn't expect to see you here, Constable," she said. Her hair had just been cut short - even shorter than before - with the hair-clip as a token gesture at femininity falling short of the mark. She had a trouser suit on, the jacket just about covering the worst of her saddlebags.

Cullen returned Turnbull's nod. "Just taking a break," he said.

"I thought you were supposed to be on overnight surveillance with DS Irvine?" she asked.

"I was," said Cullen, wrapping both hands around the paper coffee cup. "DI Bain took me off of it."

"He what?" she spat.

"Didn't you know?" asked Cullen after a pause.

"No, I didn't," said Cargill, her voice stern. She turned round to Turnbull. "Did you?"

Turnbull tilted his head to the side. "Brian may have mentioned something along the lines," he said, "but it wasn't explicitly stated, nor agreed to."

Cargill turned back to Cullen. "I need to have a word with DI Bain," she said.

"Let me know the outcome," said Cullen.

"You're not to do anything under DI Bain's instruction without consulting me first," said Cargill.

"Fine," said Cullen.

Cargill gave a polite nod. She pointed towards a table by the window and looked at Turnbull. "Shall we?" she asked, before walking off.

Turnbull lingered. Cargill stopped. Turnbull grinned at Cargill. "DC Cullen is one of our rising stars, you know," he said.

Cargill raised an eyebrow. "I'll bear that in mind," she said. She lifted her left wrist and checked her watch, almost tipping the tray up. "I've got a 7.30 with Deeley, so can we get on?"

"Very well," said Turnbull. "Give me a second." He gave a flash of the eyebrows to Cullen and watched her walk over to the window.

Cullen's heart started fluttering. Turnbull speaking to him directly. He doubted it would be good.

"Everything okay?" asked Turnbull.
 

Cullen smiled. "Yes," he said. "Juggling seven cases, none of which are going anywhere, but I'm okay."

Lying bastard, he told himself.

"How is Brian on this case?" asked Turnbull.

"DI Bain?"

Turnbull nodded.

Cullen raised his eyebrows. "He's okay," he found himself saying. "It's difficult at the moment but we'll get a result."

"Nothing funny in his behaviour?"

"Define 'funny'," said Cullen. "This is DI Bain we're talking about."

Turnbull chuckled. "Okay, well if you see anything outside the particularly wide set of parameters Brian usually operates in, then you let me know." He nodded and walked off, sitting across from Cargill.

Cullen watched them from afar.
Rising star
. Rising stars usually got promoted and not stuck with the worst DI in the force. Rising stars weren't used as pawns in some shitty game of chess between DIs. And why did he defend Bain? That was a chance to get him down the pecking order.

He took a long drink of coffee and did some calculations in his head. Cargill would be in with Deeley for a good hour at least. Then she'd spend about another hour tracking Bain down, followed by Bain giving her the verbal runaround - call it another hour. He came up with a window of three hours where he wasn't directly under Bain's command.

He finished the coffee and grabbed his suit jacket off the back of the chair.