Cowboys and Indians (2 page)

‘So this Graham wasn’t trying to date rape him?’

‘He threw the contents of Alistair’s glass at me.’

‘Right. Any roofie symptoms?’

‘The duty doctor’s with him just now.’

‘What if he’s not your guy?’

‘
Our
guy.’

‘This isn’t my case, Sharon. Crystal told me to provide brute force and ignorance. That’s it.’

‘Just how you make love, my dear.’ Sharon entered the room and sat opposite McLintock. ‘Good evening, Campbell.’

Cullen followed her in, staying by the door as it clicked shut.

Sharon leaned forward to the microphone. ‘Interview commenced at twenty-three oh six on Saturday the seventeenth of May, 2014. Present are DI Sharon McNeill and DS Scott Cullen. Kyle Owen Graham is also present along with his lawyer, Campbell McLintock. Mr Graham, can you please confirm your whereabouts earlier this evening.’

Graham nibbled his top lip, stretching the skin out. ‘I was out for a drink with a few friends. They left about half nine.’

‘So you went to the Liquid Lounge on your own?’

‘That’s right.’

Cullen folded his arms. ‘You have a good dance in there?’

Graham shrugged, eyes on Cullen. ‘No comment.’

‘You weren’t trying to pick up one Alistair Jeffries, were you?’

‘Excuse me?’

Cullen waved at him. ‘I see you’ve buttoned up your shirt.’

‘It’s cold in here.’

‘Tell us about Alistair Jeffries.’

Graham sniffed. ‘I knew him from university.’

‘You’re a fair bit older than him, though.’

‘I’m a lecturer. Alistair was in one of my tutorials last year. He got a first in that class.’

‘We’ll check with him. In case you’re wondering, he’s pretty shaken up by what’s happened. Our colleagues are speaking to him right now. Quite a lengthy statement he’s giving.’

‘He’ll tell you the same story as mine. I bought him a drink. That’s it.’

‘Was it Rohypnol you dropped in it?’

‘What?’ Graham scraped the chair back over the carpet tiles and stood up. ‘
Rohypnol?
’

‘Did you spike Mr Jeffies’ drink?’

‘Of course I didn’t.’

Sharon ran a hand across her top. ‘It ended up all over me. There wasn’t enough to sample. That’s convenient for you.’

‘Are you going to let me go?’

‘You assaulted three officers.’

‘And you’ve assaulted my client, Inspector.’ McLintock leaned forward. ‘Given he has committed no crimes, I’d say that’s a score draw.’

Sharon ignored the lawyer. ‘Edinburgh has a lot of bars for gay men to meet in.’

‘I’m not gay.’

‘Of course you’re not.’ Sharon untied her ponytail, letting her hair hang loose. She flicked one side behind her ear. ‘So, Mr Jeffries will confirm your story, right?’

‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’ Graham narrowed his eyes. ‘Wait a sec. You’re fitting me up for a crime because you think I’m gay?’

Cullen crouched down next to him, voice just loud enough for the microphone to pick up. ‘Mr Graham, someone’s attacking young men in Edinburgh. They spike their drinks and take them home. They rape them. Brutally. Each victim’s suffered serious injury.’

Graham swallowed, his Adam’s apple bulging. ‘It’s not me.’

‘Three of the victims met their assailant in the Liquid Lounge.’

‘So?’

‘You bought Mr Jeffries a drink in there. Spiked it with Rohypnol. You were going to take him home and rape him, weren’t you?’

McLintock gripped Cullen’s wrist. ‘Sergeant, given you’ve no evidence supporting these fanciful claims, I suggest you release my client.’

Sharon bunched up her hair. ‘Mr Graham, we’re holding you while we obtain further evidence.’

‘You’ve got to let me go. My wife doesn’t know I’m here!’

‘Your
wife?
’

Graham snorted and looked away. ‘Beth.’

Cullen shook off McLintock’s grip and stood up straight, his knees clicking. ‘Maybe we should have a word with her and see what she’s got to say about your nocturnal activities?’

Graham shrugged. ‘I don’t care, so long as you let her know I’m safe.’

*
 
*
 
*

Sharon stormed into the meeting room and locked eyes with Cullen, letting out a deep sigh. ‘Another barman who doesn’t know anything.’

‘Complete sodding waste of time.’ DI Colin Methven loomed over Cullen, jangling keys in his trouser pocket. The other hand rested on his forehead, his eyebrows shorn to stubble. ‘I don’t need this. It’s half past sodding eleven and I’m doing a triathlon in the morning.’

‘I’ll try to avoid detaining suspects at inconvenient times in future.’ Sharon leaned against the wall. ‘This is going to be a long night. Kyle’s wife’s coming in soon.’

Methven nodded. ‘I’m sure your own officers can support you.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘If we’re not charging him, we shouldn’t be holding him. He’s not a terrorist.’

‘So you’re washing your hands of this case?’ Sharon snorted, jaws clamped together. ‘He’s a suspect for three rapes.’

‘I have to agree with Campbell McLintock.’ Methven scowled at the door. ‘You’ve got precious little to go on, Inspector. DS Lorimer’s still in hospital, DS Cullen and DC McKeown both have bloody noses and DC Lindsay is having his nether regions probed by the duty doctor.’

‘Do you prefer it when it’s your own bollocks getting battered, Colin?’

‘You’re trying my patience,
Sharon
.’

‘I’ve got to conduct another dozen interviews like that. That eats up resource.’

‘If you arrest him, you can investigate his flat. That’s your most likely source of evidence.’

‘I’m aware of how to do my job,
Colin
. I’m just not arresting him yet.’

‘You’ve got insufficient evidence. He was hitting on men in a nightclub. It’s not a crime.’

‘He’s not likely to stash Rohypnol in his house. His
wife
might find it.’ Sharon crossed her arms. ‘This is nothing to do with you being mates with Mr McLintock, is it?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘He always seems to know what’s going on here.’

‘I’d suggest keeping that to yourself in future.’

Sharon held up her phone, the screen flashing up. ‘His wife’s just arrived, so I’ll bid you adieu.’ She tugged the glass door shut behind her, the mechanism clattering as she stormed across the empty office space.

Methven glared at Cullen. ‘Sergeant, I need you to extricate yourself from this case.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I’ve had strong reservations about seconding you to an investigation your — I hesitate to say “better” half — an investigation your
other
half’s running.’

Cullen sat forward, the chair creaking. He sucked in air reeking of whiteboard pen and Methven’s deodorant. ‘I trust you to manage me in the correct way, sir.’

‘And I do. Supporting a task force with our present resource shortage is a tall order. Luckily, we’ve suffered no detrimental effect to our own work stack. I’ll be reallocating you on Monday morning.’

‘Looking forward to it.’ Cullen got up and left the room, shutting the door. He trudged across the office, passing an army of locked computers all showing the Police Scotland screensaver.

The door to the Ladies screeched open. Sharon emerged from inside, scowling at it. ‘Someone needs to get that fixed.’

Cullen shrugged. ‘I suspect a can of WD40’ll break the budget.’

‘True.’ She chuckled as she looked back at the meeting room. ‘How’d it go with Crystal?’

‘Thanks for leaving me with him.’

‘He’s your boss. I just used him to borrow you.’

‘Well, I think you’ve lost me and the other two. Better hope Graham’s your guy.’

‘Brilliant.’ She dabbed her eyebrow and winced again. ‘You heading home?’

‘I’m meeting Buxton for a pint.’

‘Scott …’

‘It’ll be a soft drink, don’t worry. I’ll head after that.’

Cullen scanned around the newly refurbished Elm. Oak panelling, subtle spotlights and granite surfaces, craft beer taps lining the wall behind the bar. The serving hatch flopped down and a man with a thick beard passed a burger on a wooden chopping board to the barman. A pair of students sat at the piano, playing some Cockney music hall numbers.

Buxton was fiddling with his phone at the table by the window, a half-f glass of beer fizzing in front of him. He waved at Cullen and joined him at the bar, clutching his glass. ‘Evening, squire.’

‘Pint?’

‘Caesar Augustus, cheers.’ Buxton took a long drink. ‘You having one?’

‘Wish I was, mate.’ Cullen stared at the taps behind the bar and focused on the barman. ‘Is the ginger beer alcohol-free?’

‘Brewed it myself. It’s all about the sugar.’

‘Ginger beer and a pint of Caesar, then.’

The barman nodded and started pouring, facing away from them.

‘What’s that, five months now?’ Buxton took a sip. ‘It’s not like you were an alcoholic, though, is it?’

Cullen avoided eye contact, instead waving a hand at the piano. ‘That’s your sort of music, isn’t it?’

‘Takes me back to Lambeth, me old China.’ Buxton finished his pint and set the glass on the bar. ‘Your doctor didn’t tell you to stop?’

‘Sharon did.’

‘How does it feel?’

‘Odd. The weirdest thing is, I miss that … presentness, if that’s a word. Being in the moment. My head’s so full of shit these days. I’m worrying about what’s happened, what hasn’t happened.’

Buxton scratched his beard. ‘Not a problem I’ve got.’

‘Didn’t think it would be. Sharon says I should try mindfulness.’

‘And you call
me
a hipster.’

Cullen handed over a tenner and took his change. He grabbed his ginger.

Buxton led to his table, sipping his fresh pint, getting foam all over his beard. He slurped it off. ‘That’s lovely. Sure you don’t want any?’

Cullen perched on a stool. ‘I’m fine. How’s being back on the beat?’

‘Thinking about jacking it in, to be honest.’

Cullen sipped his ginger beer. Sharp and full of elderflower. He hated elderflower. ‘You serious?’

‘I’m not winding you up, mate. Being back in uniform after two years as Acting DC? It’s not good.’

‘Wait till you see what happens with this new permanent DC gig, mate.’ Cullen swirled his glass around, the ice cubes tinkling. ‘You did apply for it?’

‘That form took ages.’

‘But you finished it?’

‘Sent it to HR with, like, an hour to spare.’ Another sip. ‘Thought I’d get my tenure when you got your DS.’

‘Methven had to soak up the cost, didn’t he? We’ve been two heads short for a year and the criminals don’t take it any easier. New financial year and it’s just getting worse.’

‘What, more cops on the beat?’

‘Got it in one. Fewer detective jobs. Political shite galore.’

Buxton fixed a glare on Cullen. ‘I really need that job, mate.’

‘Leave it with me.’ Cullen grimaced through another sip of ginger beer. ‘Confident QPR’ll win the play-off final?’

*
 
*
 
*

Cullen shoved his leather jacket on top of his fleece on the coat rack.

‘Ma-wow!’ Fluffy sat in the sitting room doorway, glaring up at Cullen. ‘Ma-wow!’

Cullen crouched down and tickled his chin. ‘I take it that’s cat for “feed me, you bastard”.’

Fluffy reared up and rubbed against his cheek. ‘Ma-wow!’

‘So you do like me?’ Cullen stood up, knees creaking. He went into the kitchen area and flicked on the TV. Lower-league English football highlights played out on BBC One. He got a can of cat food from the fridge and forked it into a bowl on the counter. He hefted Fluffy up. ‘You’re not getting any lighter, mister.’

Fluffy spread out on all fours, furry pom-poms sticking out as he ate, purring away.

The flat door thunked open. Heels clicked on the laminate.

Cullen leaned back against the counter. ‘That you?’

Shoes thudded to the floor and Sharon stomped through the flat. ‘No, it’s the Easter bunny.’

‘Take it the interviews didn’t go as planned?’

Sharon reached into the fridge for a half-drunk bottle of wine. ‘Could say that.’

‘You’ve released him?’

‘I don’t care what Crystal bloody Methven says.’ She sniffed the wine, poured out a glass and took a long drink. ‘This is my case and I’ll charge who I want, when I want.’

‘Good luck with that.’

Fluffy chomped at a splodge of cat food. Half of it dropped onto the counter.

Cullen stared at her wine. ‘You back in tomorrow?’

‘No. I’ve asked Rhona to lead.’
 

‘Take it you’re not that convinced of his guilt?’

Her shoulders slumped. ‘Is it that obvious?’

‘Hey, hey.’ He went behind her and massaged her upper back, thumbs attacking tight flesh. ‘I’m almost cutting myself on your shoulder blades.’

‘Scott…’

‘You’re taking this too personally.’

‘And to think I used to worry about you doing the same.’

Cullen pecked her on the neck, wrapping his arms around her. ‘You’ll get this sick bastard, you know you will.’

‘Scott.’

Another kiss, further up. Hands on her hips. ‘Mm?’

She flinched. ‘Stop.’

‘Stop what?’

‘That.’ She stepped forward and smacked the glass down on the counter. ‘I’m not in the mood.’

Cullen raised his hands. ‘Sorry.’

‘
Sorry?
’

‘What’s up?’

‘What do you think, Scott?’

‘The baby?’

‘Of course it’s the baby.’

‘It’s been over a year.’

‘Scott, she’d be six months old now.’ She shut her eyes. ‘It takes years to get over something like that.’

‘Most people try again. Most people want it in the first place.’

‘What the hell’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing. I want you to be okay.’

‘I still feel—’ She glared at him. ‘I don’t know…’

‘You’re disgusted by me, right?’

‘It’s not you, Scott. It’s just … sex.’

He swallowed. ‘I don’t want to force myself on you.’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘What is it, then?’

‘I just don’t know. There’s just so much crap in my head. Stuff I can’t pick out from all the noise.’ She nibbled at a fingernail and took another sip of wine. ‘Can’t believe I let myself get into that situation in the first place.’