Bottleneck (20 page)

"You better not plan on getting pregnant again."

"Scott..."

"Sorry. Coming up here was definitely the right thing to do, though. I had a good chat with my mum."

There was a long pause on the line. "And?"

"And that's all," said Cullen. "My head is still full of shite, I just don't know what I think about it."

"I miss you," said Sharon.

"Yeah, me too. You know, this is the first night we've spent apart since I moved in."

"Really?"

"You've got a ready-made replacement, though," said Cullen.

"Fluffy isn't ginger enough."

"Very funny."

"So, what are you doing tonight?" said Sharon. "Watching the football with your dad?"

"I'm meeting up with Richard for a pint," said Cullen.

"McAlpine?"

"No, he's still in Edinburgh," said Cullen. "Guthrie."

"As in DC Richard Guthrie?"

"Don't tell me you know him?"

"Not in a biblical sense," said Sharon. "I was on a course with him a few years ago. He's from Dundee, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he was based there but he got kicked out to Dalhousie," said Cullen. "I was at school with him."

"Spooky."

"It's weird that you know him," said Cullen. "Such a small world." He spotted Guthrie's approach. "I'll probably be back tomorrow to face the mighty Rarity. Better go. Love you."

"Love you, too."

Guthrie grinned as he saw Cullen. "Evening, Skinky."

Cullen smiled. "Evening, Goth."

"Fuck me, I've not heard that one in a long time," said Guthrie.

"You've grown out of all that Marilyn Manson shit, though, right?"

"Never."

Cullen could still picture him. "I take it your colleagues don't know about you wearing makeup?"

"No way." Guthrie led them inside, before ordering pints of Peroni.

Cullen found a table by the window overlooking the North Sea, the waves seeming larger this close.

The football was on the large screen - Liverpool dishing out a solid hammering to Newcastle. The place was dead, only a few middle-aged men too tight to pay for Sky nursing their solitary pint well into the second half.

Cullen raised his glass. "Cheers."

Guthrie reciprocated. He pointed at the football. "Can't believe how bad Aberdeen are doing."

Cullen nodded. "It's depressing, isn't it? I'm glad Brown is going. Derek McInnes should be good."

"Anyone other than Brown, right?"

"Definitely," said Cullen. "Good win against Hearts on Saturday, though."

"Aye, decent," said Guthrie.

"Do you still go?"

Guthrie nodded. "Still a season ticket holder for my sins. One of the best things about CID is that it's nine to five, give or take, so I get my weekends off for football."

"I'm supposed to be the same, but it never quite works out like that," said Cullen.

"You were always ambitious, though, Skinky."

Cullen shrugged. "I guess."

"You got a bird?" said Guthrie.

Cullen nodded. "Turns out you know her. Sharon McNeill."

Guthrie's eyes bulged. "Holy shit. Punching above your weight there, mate."

Cullen laughed.

"How's she doing?" said Guthrie.

"Well," said Cullen. "She's in line for a DI position."

"How does that make you feel?"

"I've been an ADS," said Cullen, "so I'm not jealous or anything."

"I heard you got demoted."

Cullen almost spat beer on the table. "How the fuck did you find that out?"

"There was a national announcement came out on the email this afternoon. After our wee chat earlier, I had to look. If you'd been working instead of arsing about in Dundee, you might have seen it."

"Must have been busy," said Cullen.

"How do you feel?"

"Fucked off, to be brutally honest," said Cullen.

"What are you going to do?"

Cullen took his pint past the halfway mark. "The way I see it, I've got to stop giving a fuck. Sharon can earn the money. She's going to be a DI, I'm happy to bide my time, keep things steady."

Guthrie grinned. "Proper little house husband."

"Something like that," said Cullen. "Enough about me, though. How's your love life?"

"It's on a ventilator, put it that way," said Guthrie. "I can feel my virginity growing back."

"That's my line," said Cullen.

"It's not like you've copyrighted it, though, is it?" said Guthrie. "I don't mind being single. Saves on arguments and stuff. See enough of that in the job."

"And your job prospects?"

"I'm happy as a DC," said Guthrie. "I'm doing a proper job, solving crimes, helping people. If I got promoted, I'd be managing half of Angus. I'd be like a supermarket area manager or something. I get paid the same as you and it's cheap as chips to live up here."

"Aye, Edinburgh's not cheap."

There was an explosion of sound from the football crowd as a penalty was awarded and a red card shown to the Newcastle goalkeeper.

"You still keep in touch with the other Richard?" said Guthrie.

"Mr McAlpine is very well. He moved back to Edinburgh last year. We were sharing a flat for a bit."

"Is he still doing all that gay shit?" said Guthrie.

"Fuck's sake, Goth, he's gay. Get over it."

"Hang on, you asked if I was still doing all that goth shit," said Guthrie. "That's a hate crime now."

"Fuck off it is," said Cullen.

Guthrie shook his head. "Still don't like it."

Cullen laughed. "I can see why you never left Dal."

"Why would you want to?" said Guthrie.

"Why indeed."

The front door opened and three men walked in. Cullen recognised them immediately, total wankers from their year at school. Matt MacLeod, Alan Thomson and Gregor Smith, all looking three sheets to the wind.

Guthrie looked round. "It's those arseholes."

"I've not seen them since I was at uni," said Cullen.

"They've got worse," said Guthrie. "MacLeod lives down your way now."

"Edinburgh?"

Guthrie nodded. "Still a wanker."

Even though there were plenty of empty tables, they sat down next to Cullen and Guthrie.

"Look who the cat dragged in," said MacLeod. "The big city boy is back in town."

"You live in Edinburgh, too," said Cullen.

"Aye, and I make a fucking load more cash than you do, you cunt," said MacLeod, stabbing a finger at Cullen. "You're a pig as well, aren't you, Skinky?"

"Whatever," said Cullen.

"Oink!"

Thomson and Smith started making pig noises.

Cullen got his warrant card out. "We can make this official."

MacLeod held his hands up like he was raising a handbag. "You not brought your boyfriend with you, Cullen?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Rich McAlpine," said MacLeod. "Someone told me you were living with him. Must be
nice
."

"I see you're still a total wanker, Matt."

"That the best you've got?" said MacLeod. He burped. "How's your sister, by the way?"

Cullen sunk the rest of his pint. "Come on, Goth, there are plenty of other pubs in this town."

"Still the best bag of chips in Scotland," said Cullen, munching noisily.

They were outside the chip shop on Church Street, leaning against the window as the staff closed up.

Guthrie tapped his belly. "That's why I'll never make a DS."

"One of many reasons."

"Ha ha," said Guthrie, his voice devoid of humour.

Cullen balled up his bag, feeling woozy from the beer and wine. "Can't believe we saw those pricks earlier."

"Thomson and Smith still live here," said Guthrie. "I've sorted them out a few times over the years, usually when the pool league gets a bit rowdy."

"What about MacLeod?"

"No idea," said Guthrie. "I've not seen him for years. Just knew he lived in Edinburgh. He did a bit of damage a few years back, walking on cars and shit, had to arrest and charge him. He dropped off the radar after that."

"Twat."

"Aye."

Cullen finished his bottle of Irn Bru then walked over to chuck it in the bin.

"Scott Cullen!"

Cullen turned around. The mad woman from the other night was pointing at him.

"You big fucking bully!"

Cullen's shoulders slumped. Here we go again.

She marched up to Cullen and started shouting at him again. "You bullied me!"

Guthrie got between them. "I'm warning you. Clear off or it's a night in the cells for you."

Her eyes danced between them, before she eventually walked off the way she'd come, glaring at Cullen as she went.

Cullen watched her enter a stairwell just down the road. "That's second time she's done that in the last week. I've no idea who she is or what I've done to her."

"She was in our year," said Guthrie.

"Still don't remember her."

"You sat next to her in French."

Cullen frowned, trying to mentally overlay the fat face of the adult onto the thinner one of the girl. "She's put on a lot of weight, then."

"Haven't we all?"

"What's all that bullying shit?" said Cullen.

"Beats me. You were a bit of a wanker at times."

"Why do I keep on bumping into her?" said Cullen. "Last time was just up the road at the Italian."

"She lives on this street," said Guthrie. "Maybe something to do with you investigating her brother's murder."

"What?"

Guthrie pointed a chip after her. "Audrey Strang."

"Of all the people to bloody bump into." Cullen started off after her.

Guthrie grabbed his shoulder, tugging him back. "What are you playing at, Skinky?"

"I need to speak to her."

"Not in this state."

"I'm not pissed."

"No, but you have had a fair few pints. Leave it till tomorrow."

Cullen looked down at the street, breathing hard. "Right, fine."

Guthrie balled up his own chip wrapper. "I need to get home. We'd best make an early start tomorrow. See you in the station first thing?"

"Aye."

Cullen was relieved there was no offer of a whisky in Guthrie's flat.

Tuesday

2nd April 2013
 

Cullen jolted awake. He had no idea where he was.

The dream of Marta Hunter again, her children's faces replaced by Matt MacLeod and his two accomplices.

He sat up and fumbled around on the bedside table, eventually touching a lamp. He had to run his fingers down the back of the unit to find the power button.

It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. He was back in his old room, heavily redecorated since he left twelve years ago.

His head stung slightly from the edges of a hangover, but he'd had the foresight to put a pint of water beside the bed. He drank it then checked his watch - it was just after eight.

He slumped back and rubbed his head. He'd needed the sleep but his body was telling him he could do with another few hours. He struggled out of bed and headed downstairs.

His parents were gone. Both would already be at work. There was a Post-It note on the kitchen table.
'Call your sister! Love, Mum.'
Michelle's mobile number was underneath.

Ignoring the note, he failed to find cartridges for their new espresso machine and settled for a mug of tea instead. He skipped breakfast, the chips still heavy in his stomach.

The dogs wandered through, looking for affection or leftover toast - Cullen didn't know which they'd prefer. He knelt down and patted them as one of them licked his face.

He sat at the table, reading the Angus edition of the Dundee
Courier
as he drank his tea. He kept seeing the Post-It, annoyed that it was him being told to call his sister.

Michelle had been an arse to him since she went to uni in Glasgow. Why should
he
bother? She was a year older. She was supposed to be the grown-up one.

Cullen shook his head and stabbed Michelle's number into his contacts, replacing the old one. It explained the lack of response the couple of times he had bothered to text.

He called Sharon.

"Did you have a good night?" she said.

"Sort of."

"I'm not even going to ask."

Cullen laughed. "It wasn't too heavy. Just a few pints, talking about football and putting the world to rights."

"I can well imagine."

"How are you doing?"

"Better," she said. "I'm over this bug, finally. I'm going to show Turnbull what's what."

"Remember not to push yourself too hard," said Cullen.

"Scott, I'm pregnant not disabled."

"I know," said Cullen. "I'm just saying. As it stands, I don't think either of us wants the decision taken out of our own hands, do we?"

"No," said Sharon, eventually. "When do you think you'll be back?"

"So, you actually missed me last night?"

"Of course," said Sharon, her voice sounding edgy.

Cullen knew not to push it. "I'll see how things are here. Got a lead or two, maybe, but nothing concrete. Should be back tonight hopefully."

"I'm looking forward to it."

"I meant what I said last night," said Cullen. "We do need to talk."

"I know we do."

"Can we do it somewhere other than the flat?" said Cullen. "I don't want you getting all territorial."

"I'm not territorial."

"You can be," said Cullen. "Look, let's go for dinner. Neutral venue and all that."

"Fine."

"I love you," said Cullen. "I'm looking forward to seeing you."

"Me too."

Cullen ended the call, still with no idea what to do about the baby.

Guthrie knocked on Audrey Patterson's door. No answer.

Cullen leaned against the tenement wall. "We should have spoken to her last night. She's not in now."

"We've got all day."

"You cleared to help me, then?"

"Aye. Got in at the back of seven and got through the last of the paperwork upstairs are chasing me for. Managed to palm last night's two burglaries off to uniform. By the looks of things, neither has anything to do with those fuckwits we bumped into last night."

"I'll believe it when you get a conviction," said Cullen, smiling.