Cowboys and Indians (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 7) Page 6

Slap on the bum. ‘Shut up.’

  He blinked away tiredness. ‘Look, I’m exhausted and I haven’t—’

  Another slap. Searing pain.

  ‘Jesus, what’s up with you?’ He tried to wriggle free. Couldn’t. ‘I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’ She pinched his side. ‘Don’t make me get my whip out.’

  ‘Seriously, I’m knackered.’

  ‘You’re a very bad boy. Taking my car from me.’

  ‘Knock it off. Come on.’

  She hauled him over and straddled him, wearing some kind of bodice, pink frills against purple satin. She kissed his chin. Then his neck, then his chest. Kept going down. Rubbing his cock through his jeans. ‘Wakey, wakey.’

  ‘I told you, I’m kna—’

  A finger covered his mouth. ‘Shhh.’

  She snapped his belt off, the buckle clanking off the wooden floor. Pulled down the top button. Then unzipped his fly and hauled down his trousers. Then reached into his trunks. Wet lips over his flaccid cock.

  * * *

  A slap stung Cullen’s cheek. ‘Huh?’

  Another slap. ‘Scott, wake up.’

  He blinked at the dim light. Candles. Rose petals. His head throbbed, mouth dry. Eyes stinging, his contacts dry. ‘What happened?’

  ‘You fell asleep while I was giving you a blow job.’

  He rubbed his eyes. ‘Sorry.’

  She propped herself up on an elbow, left boob hanging out of the bodice. ‘Do you want me to punish you?’

  ‘Seriously, knock it off. I’ve had a shite day.’

  She tucked herself back in and hauled herself into a sitting position, resting against the headboard. ‘Two rejections in twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Not my fault I got called to work.’ He paused. ‘Not like the old days, is it? Used to be two or three times a night. Now we can’t seem to synchronise our libidos.’

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ She glowered at him. ‘Last night, you were all over me like Buxton at a wedding.’

  ‘And you were shattered. Now it’s my turn.’ He yawned. ‘Look, I’ve been out on the bloody streets all day, trying to identify a body.’

  ‘You don’t find me attractive anymore, do you?’

  Cullen ran a hand through his hair, his eyes watering. ‘It’s not that, at all.’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  ‘I’m exhausted. Really.’

  ‘It’s been months since you’ve been interested in me.’

  ‘What about last night?’

  ‘That’s different.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘It just is.’

  ‘Sharon, I still find you sexy as hell.’

  She looked away. ‘Right.’

  ‘I mean it. What’s going on in your head?’

  ‘I’ve been bored out of my mind. Doing work on my day off. Then I started reading that book…’ She shrugged. ‘Scott, I don’t want to put you under pressure, but I think we should move. Put it all behind us.’

  ‘It?’

  Her eyes darted around the room. ‘This is where…’

  ‘Shit, right.’ Cullen grabbed her hand and stroked her palm with a finger. ‘Let’s talk about this tomorrow.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Please?’

  ‘Try harder.’

  ‘Pretty please? Sugar on top and chocolate diamonds.’

  ‘Okay.’ She laughed and stabbed a finger at him. ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Sorry. It was nice what you were trying to do, but I am knackered.’ He ran a finger along the underside of his eyes. ‘Look at my bags.’

  ‘That’s hay fever. It’s oil seed rape season just now.’

  ‘I don’t get hay fever.’

  ‘Then it’s too much coffee.’

  ‘Man’s got to have a vice.’

  She knelt and hauled off her bodice, showing ribs and tight stomach. ‘Go to sleep, Scott.’

  Monday

  19th May 2014

  Ten

  Methven held up his notebook and glowered around the Incident Room. ‘Next is the Jonathan van de Merwe case, fresh in yesterday. First point to note is DCI Cargill is the Senior Investigating Officer.’ He glanced over to the side. ‘Alison, would you like a word?’

  ‘Thanks, Colin.’ DCI Alison Cargill stood by the entrance, dappled by early morning glare. Hands on wide hips. Forehead creased below her short fringe, the red hair not much longer than shoulder length. ‘We need to focus on getting our ducks in a row pretty quickly. Identifying the body so late has put us behind the curve, but I know you can do it. There will be press interest in this case, lots of it.’ She flashed a smile at Methven. ‘You should all note DI Methven’s Deputy SIO on this and I expect him to take point on the case. Understood?’

  Cullen gave a nod. Standard fare. He gazed around the room, his team spread out. Jain at the far side and Eva between them. ‘Any progress overnight, sir?’

  Methven checked his notebook. ‘The SOCOs are still going through Mr Van de Merwe’s residence.’

  ‘They’ve had twelve hours.’

  ‘As I’m sure you’ll recall from yesterday, it is a town house.’ Methven narrowed his eyes. ‘A large one at that. They’re struggling to finish it in a standard timeframe.’

  ‘Have they found anything?’

  ‘Nothing of note.’ Methven drew a breath through his nose. ‘His front door wasn’t just unlocked, it was open. From the lack of obvious signs of disturbance, we think it’d been that way since the early hours of the morning.’

  ‘I’d say that rules out suicide.’ Cullen rubbed his hands together. ‘Someone’s snatched him from his house in the middle of the night.’

  ‘Agreed. Determining who killed him is the primary activity of your team today.’ Methven focused on Cullen and nodded. ‘We have two possible suspects. Mr Van de Merwe’s ex-wife, Elsbeth, and an Amber Turner, the cause of his divorce. DS Cullen?’

  ‘DC Jain’s going to do some more digging, time permitting, but I’d say they’re fairly low priority. Of the two, Elsbeth’s looking more likely. He’s missed a few alimony payments and she thinks he hid money in some offshore accounts.’

  ‘That’s interesting. Follow the money, as they say.’

  ‘Quite. She mentioned a couple of colleagues, might be useful to speak to them. William Yardley and Wayne Broussard.’

  ‘Do it.’ Methven held up the front page of that morning’s Edinburgh Argus, the Scottish independence referendum taking second billing for once. Jonathan van de Merwe beamed out of the cover, dressed in a navy suit with red tie, looking presidential. ‘Our friends in the press have also identified the body. I much prefer dictating terms to our friends in the fourth estate. Our facial composite of his cloaked companion was supposed to go out with this.’ He folded his arms. ‘I’m not convinced this is independent of our investigation.’

  Cargill paced over and snatched the paper. ‘Are you saying we’ve got a leak?’

  ‘The byline is a Richard McAlpine.’ Methven looked around the room. ‘Does anyone know him?’

  Like I’d admit that here. Cullen checked his buzzing phone. A text from Sharon. Lunch today at 1? He typed a message to Rich. Who’s your source on VDM case?

  ‘DS Cullen?’ Methven raised an eyebrow, a lone hair spearing up. ‘I want you to visit Alba Bank. I’ve got James Anderson and his SOCOs analysing the office. Ask Henderson to introduce you to this Yardley and Broussard. Take DC Jain with you.’ He nodded at Cargill. ‘Anything else, Alison?’

  ‘I’m good.’

  ‘That’s us. Dismissed.’ Methven wandered over to the five-metre-wide whiteboard hanging from the wall.

  Cullen looked around the room at his team shuffling towards him. Jain wore a dark purple outfit. Eva Law patted her quiff. ‘Okay, I’ve been through HOLMES and sorted out our actions. Chantal, can you investigate the cocaine we found at his apartment?’

  ‘Once the SOCOs finish, aye.’ Jain scribbled in her notebook. ‘Must be a hundred grand of
coke in that bowl of his. I’ll round up some dealers, if you want?’

  ‘Wait for the forensics. Check into our suspects first.’ Cullen tilted his head at Eva. ‘And support DC Law with family and friends.’

  ‘As well as chum you to Alba Bank?’ Jain glanced at Eva. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I’ll get you out of it. You’re supervising the street teams.’

  ‘We finished yesterday, Scott.’

  ‘Now we’ve got an ID, we should speak to everyone again.’ Cullen stifled a yawn. ‘A name and a photograph might jog people’s memories better than my description.’

  Jain gave a salute. ‘Okay, boss.’

  ‘Cheers.’ Cullen joined Methven at the whiteboard, trying to decipher the scribbles and arrows. Most of his cases on the right-hand side were green, just a couple of reds. ‘We need more resource, sir. Stuart Murray’s still on leave. Leaves me two short.’

  Methven crouched to write something at the bottom. ‘Alison and I are on it.’

  ‘I’d like them before I head to Alba Bank.’

  ‘We’re going through proper channels, Sergeant. I’ll send them over to you if and when we secure any.’

  ‘Fine.’ Cullen crossed his arms. ‘I’m not taking Chantal with me to Alba Bank.’

  ‘You’re down to two leads. I want her backing you up there.’

  ‘Come on, sir. We’ve got—’

  ‘You’ve got a team. Use it.’

  DS Holdsworth lumbered over, clutching a printout. ‘Sir, I need to have a word.’

  ‘I’ll see you later.’ Cullen made to leave.

  Holdsworth blocked his exit. ‘Not so fast. It’s about you.’

  ‘What have I done now?’

  Holdsworth handed the actions sheet to Methven, glaring at Cullen. ‘His actions and resources aren’t balanced.’

  ‘Is that a surprise?’

  ‘You need to balance them, you buffoon.’

  ‘Buffoon?’ Cullen spun round to Methven. ‘You see what I’m dealing with here? I’m two heads short, means I can’t balance anything. Prioritising the team based on your instructions is as good as I can do.’

  Methven scanned down the list. ‘All of this needs worked on.’ He handed the sheet to Cullen. ‘Get on it.’

  ‘I can’t. I’ve got no resource to play with.’

  Methven held Cullen’s gaze, looking away first. ‘Leave it with us.’

  Cullen started away from the board and felt his phone buzz.

  A text from Rich. If you read the article, you’d see the source is close to the case.

  He tapped out a reply. Police? Waited for the reply.

  Two more guesses, caller.

  He stepped back towards Methven, glaring at the retreating Holdsworth. ‘Sir, there’s something else. Rich McAlpine used to be my flatmate.’

  ‘Sodding hell.’ Methven closed his eyes for a few seconds. ‘Did you leak the identity?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. But really, would I tell you if I did?’

  ‘Sergeant, you need to reassure me your cowboy days are behind you.’

  Cullen held out his hands. ‘I’m a signed-up sheriff’s deputy, sir.’

  ‘You’d better be.’ Methven replaced the cap on the pen. ‘So where did your chum get the story from?’

  ‘I’ll find out.’

  Eleven

  ‘Sergeant?’

  Cullen got to his feet and held out a hand.

  Alan Henderson marched across the Alba Bank reception area, paw outstretched, green eyes darting around. Shirtsleeves rolled up, suit jacket hung over a shoulder. Firm grip of the ex-military. ‘We meet again.’

  ‘This is DC Jain.’ Cullen gestured at her. ‘We wanted to speak to a William Yardley or Wayne Broussard.’

  ‘Let’s take a walk upstairs.’

  Cullen followed him down the corridor, Jain scowling at him.

  Henderson smiled at a few people in the winding queue outside Caffè Nero. The south face of the Alba Bank pyramid towered above their heads, the glass specked with early morning rain. A six-storey brick building dotted with windows met the peak above them. Four lifts ran up and down. He got in and hammered the button for Four.

  Cullen leaned against the back wall. The elevator ground up, looking out across Register House and the pair of hotels guarding North Bridge. ‘Quite some view.’

  ‘Comes at a cost.’ Henderson shook his head, his tongue darting over dry lips. ‘We’re considering selling up and relocating out west. John Lewis have first dibs on this site.’

  ‘Should you be telling us this?’

  ‘It’s an open secret.’ Henderson shrugged, swiping his ID badge through the lift door and striding across the tiled floor. ‘This is the pinnacle of the building for most of us. Sir Ronald has the top floor, Bill and Ailsa the one above this.’ He stopped by some police tape blocking the way and pointed round the corner. ‘This was VDM’s office. Don’t know what you’re expecting.’

  Cullen peered through the floor-to-ceiling glass at a team of SOCOs working away inside and glanced at Jain. ‘And Mr Yardley or Broussard?’

  Henderson waved down the corridor. ‘Lorna, can you come here?’

  A woman in her thirties strode over, dark hair tucked behind one ear. Knee-length skirt and leather boots, blouse done up to the second-top button. She smiled at Henderson. ‘What is it, sir?’ West-coast accent, maybe North Lanarkshire.

  ‘Lorna, can you arrange for William to come here?’

  ‘Will do, sir.’

  Henderson shook out his jacket and put it on. ‘I’ll have to love you and leave you, I’m afraid. Got a meeting.’

  ‘Of course.’ Cullen folded his arms, watching Henderson pace away from them, fiddling with his BlackBerry.

  Lorna frowned at Cullen and offered a hand. ‘Lorna Gilmour. I’m Jonathan’s PA.’

  ‘DS Cullen.’ He shook her hand. ‘This is DC Chantal Jain. We’ll need to have a word with you in due course.’

  ‘Certainly. I’ll just round up William.’ She walked back over to her desk in the corridor and picked up a phone.

  Cullen pointed at her desk, shaking his head. ‘Imagine having to sit there all day.’

  Jain smirked. ‘Beats sitting next to some mouth breather in an office.’

  ‘True.’

  Lorna reappeared. ‘Mr Yardley should be on his way over.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Cullen pocketed the sheet and stared into the room. A Smurf hoovered up the carpet contents near the door. ‘Think they’ll—’

  ‘Stop!’ A heavy man stormed down the corridor towards them, the paintings on the wall shaking with each bound. He stood huffing, hands resting on his hips, a chunky gold band on his left ring finger. Thin red hair scraped over in a parting, skin only a few shades lighter. Eyes shooting around the officers outside the room. ‘What the hell’s going on here?’ Southern American accent, maybe Louisiana. Deep voice. ‘Well?’

  ‘DS Scott Cullen.’ He got out his warrant card. ‘And you are?’

  ‘William Yardley.’

  ‘We’re investigating Mr Van de Merwe’s death. Can we have a word in private?’

  ‘What’s happening to Jon’s office?’

  ‘We’re performing standard forensic analysis. If you’re a regular in there, we’ll need a DNA sample from you.’

  Yardley glared at him, eyes tiny slits. ‘You’d better come to my office.’ He stomped off down the corridor and eased a door open. ‘In here.’ He leaned against the wall behind his desk and crossed his arms, his suit bulging at the chest. ‘Well?’

  Jain stood in the doorway.

  Cullen took his time sitting in front of the desk and unfolded his notebook. ‘Thanks for agreeing to see us, sir.’

  ‘I’ve not agreed shit. Jon’s lying on a slab and you punks are speaking to me?’

  ‘Us punks are trying to find out who killed him.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? And how you doing that?’

  ‘I’ve got two teams of forensic analysts working at his home
and in his office. Another press release will go out soon. We’ve identified two possible suspects and we’ve got twenty officers scouring the streets near where he was found.’

  ‘Again, why are you speaking to me?’

  ‘We spoke to Elsbeth van de Merwe last night. She mentioned you were a close friend of his.’

  ‘We were colleagues, that was it.’ Yardley tore off his suit jacket and placed it on his coat rack. ‘You know how much pressure’s on my shoulders, now Jon’s gone?’

  ‘I can imagine. Is there anything in Mr Van de Merwe’s private life we should be aware of?’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Any notable friends or acquaintances we should be speaking to?’

  ‘None spring to mind. Most of his friends are here, working for him. With him. He was like that.’

  ‘Mr Van de Merwe was behind on his spousal maintenance payments.’

  ‘Jon never talked about his private life.’

  ‘What about his financial arrangements?’

  ‘Look, buddy, I worked with him and played squash with him, that’s it.’ Yardley shut his eyes. Then stared over at the wall. ‘Wiped the court with me a few months back. Thought I was gonna have a heart attack.’

  ‘Witnesses place Mr Van de Merwe on Dean Bridge at half past three yesterday morning. Wandering around in his underpants.’

  Yardley’s mouth slackened. ‘What?’ He crumpled back against the wall, hammering a finger against his eyebrow. He blinked hard a couple of times. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘Why would he be out of his house in the middle of the night, dressed like that?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘We found his front door unlocked.’ Jain jotted another note. ‘It’s likely someone coerced him from his home.’

  ‘He’s an IT Programme Director. It’s not like he can open the vault at a branch.’

  ‘Does he have access to any security protocols?’

  Yardley shook his head. ‘Jon couldn’t log on without Lorna.’

  ‘Could anyone have blackmailed him?’

  ‘Nobody’s going to blackmail him over his weak backhand.’

  ‘There’s no dark secrets in his closet?’