Deep Sleeper E-Book

Paul Pilkington

• Herausgeber: Fast Paced Fiction
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Detective Paul Cullen Mysteries
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 269

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Deep Sleeper is about to depart...

When Detective Paul Cullen is tasked with heading up security on the maiden voyage of a new luxury sleeper train heading to Scotland, he thinks his luck is in.

But it soon becomes apparent that there are dark secrets and even darker intentions among the train’s high-profile passengers.

Deadly intentions.

Jump on board with DCI Paul Cullen of the British Transport Police in a series of gripping mysteries, perfect for fans of LJ Ross, Rachel Abbott, Peter James and Harlan Coben. Cullen is a dedicated and determined officer, loyal to his colleagues and close to his family. Spearheading the investigation of high profile crimes across the UK’s transport network, Cullen is a man you want on your side when things go wrong.
Deep Sleeper is the fourth novel in the Detective Paul Cullen mystery series.

Leseprobe

DEEP SLEEPER

DETECTIVE PAUL CULLEN MYSTERIES BOOK 4

PAUL PILKINGTON

First published 2023

Copyright © 2023 by Paul Pilkington

Published by Fast Paced Fiction

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-915367-30-3

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This novel is written in British (UK) English. British English words, spelling (favourite, colour, etc.) and grammar are used throughout.

Cover design by Jeanine Henning.

For all my readers, and particularly those thousand of you who pre-ordered this novel. I really appreciate your support - having readers is what makes writing worthwhile, so you are key to everything I do!

Deep Sleeper is about to depart.

I hope you enjoy the ride.

ALSO BY PAUL PILKINGTON

Detective Paul Cullen Mysteries:

Long Gone

Fallen Angel

Dead Ahead

Deep Sleeper

Emma Holden Trilogy:

The One You Love

The One You Fear

The One You Trust

Standalone Novels:

Someone to Save You

For Your Own Protection

CONTENTS

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Part II

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Part III

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Part IV

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Find Out More

Acknowledgments

About the Author

PARTI

1

Previously

In the Midwestern town of Hope, Kansas, Curtis Chesterfield skipped through the channels, thirty or more, as he sat in the dark living room. There was nothing on the television anymore. Unless you wanted to watch reality TV. He settled for an action movie, all explosions and car chases. He’d seen the movie a number of times, but even at a quarter past midnight he didn’t yet want to retire to bed, given his recent struggles with insomnia.

He would persevere with this second rate entertainment, until he felt himself falling asleep. Then he would hurry to bed (he was already in his pyjamas and had brushed his teeth), slip in under the covers next to his wife of forty years, Cindy, and pray for sleep to envelop him.

The doctor would surely prescribe medication, sleeping tablets, to help him on his way. But Curtis had resisted visiting and telling Dr Murdoch his troubles, because this town was small and, being the Mayor, he wanted to keep his personal life out of any spotlight.

It wasn’t that he distrusted the doctor, but there was the receptionist, the newly appointed practice nurse, and what about all those fellow townsfolk who happened to be in the waiting room?

Instead he’d ordered some herbal pills from the internet. According to the advert they were effective at treating a range of sleep disorders. Although Curtis knew that his nocturnal difficulties were merely the symptom of something which was much more difficult to deal with.

And of the real problem, he could certainly not tell anyone.

His life would be over.

He was dozing when the noise jolted him awake.

Must have been the TV.

But the movie had finished and had been replaced by a talkshow.

In his dreams then…

He cursed his luck that he’d actually managed to fall asleep, but just in the wrong place. In his half-woken state, he decided to grasp onto the opportunity that had been presented to him, and lay flat across the sofa, jabbing the remote control to kill the television. Maybe he would fall back asleep here, rather than ascend to the bedroom and risk waking up properly. He pulled one of Cindy’s knitted throws across him and closed his eyes.

Boom!

‘What the hell?’

That came from outside, surely. He jumped up from the sofa, and hurried towards the window, pulling back the curtains. There seemed to be a light coming from somewhere nearby.

Boom!

Not as loud as last time, but still extremely worrying. Without thinking about his state of dress, or any possible safety implications, Curtis headed for the door, scrambling for his shoes and grabbing a coat as he left the house.

As he raced out towards the light, just around the corner of their street, he came face to face with Max Thornton, his neighbour and childhood friend of over sixty years.

‘It’s coming from the rail track,’ Max gasped, resting his hands on his hips as he caught his breath. ‘Big explosions.’

‘Train crash?’ Curtis said, horrified. The town of Hope in Kansas was right next to one of the major trans-american railroad routes, linking east to west. The railroad was the reason the town had come into being, just over a hundred years ago. It was perfectly positioned as a freight stop for refuelling as the two-mile-long freight trains rolled across the country.

‘I think it’s happened again,’ Max replied.

The last accident had been over fifty years ago, when a ruptured fuel tank exploded and blew a waiting freight train sky high, killing the driver and three local workers.

One of them was Curtis’s grandfather.

Shortly after that, the refuelling facilities were removed - substituted for more modern, safer facilities further down the line - leaving Hope as just another midwest town along those thousands upon thousands of miles of track.

They both hurried around the corner as Curtis ignored the shooting pain from his troublesome right knee. Dogs were barking and lights started to pop on in the houses as the residents stirred from their slumber. Some were now at their top windows, looking out anxiously.

‘Dear God,’ Curtis cried, as they rounded the bend towards the rail track, just a hundred metres away from the town boundary. It was a scene of utter devastation. A freight train had derailed, with the front portion laying on its side. The engine itself looked undamaged, but the containers behind it were already ablaze and thick, black smoke was billowing from them, sending great plumes skyward.

It was only then that Curtis registered the smell.

‘Chemicals,’ Max said, sensing the same. ‘Cover your face!’

The two men pulled their t-shirts up towards their nose and Curtis held his coat against his mouth. They stopped there for a few seconds, before Curtis again sprung into action.

‘The driver,’ he said, setting off towards the trackside.

‘Curtis! No, it’s too dangerous!’ Max shouted behind him, but he was undeterred, and, with his knee now really disagreeing, hobbled onwards. He was the Mayor of this town, and the first on the scene. He had a duty to try and help. Fifty years earlier, brave residents had tried to save his grandfather and those other men, and he would do the same.

‘Curtis! Damn it!’ Max screamed, his voice now distant. ‘You’ll get yourself killed.’

As Curtis neared the train, the intense, chemical-fuelled heat radiated towards him like a moving wall. And the smell was so strong, it was burning his throat like cheap whiskey. Max was right - this was a suicide mission - there was no way he would be able to do anything, even if the driver and any other workers had survived the initial crash and explosions.

It was just too hot and the chemicals too acrid.

He had to stop.

But his body didn’t have a chance to catch up with his mind, and he was still moving forwards when the fireball engulfed the locomotive. The shockwave blasted Curtis backwards and he left the ground for several seconds, slamming down hard on the road.

The last thing he remembered was thinking that he finally could get some decent rest.

2

Present Day

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ Cullen asked, gazing anxiously at his former colleague. Tony Beswick, until recently a Detective Sergeant in the British Transport Police, was looking up in awe (or was that terror?) at the imposing structure of the London Eye with what appeared to be a tear in his eye.

‘I’m fine, Boss,’ he said, rather unconvincingly, pinching the bridge of his nose dry. ‘Just getting myself ready for the ride, mentally, you know.’

Unfortunately, Cullen did know…

‘You look like you’re about to face the executioner,’ Cullen quipped.

Tellingly, Tony didn’t crack a smile.

Cullen watched on as his friend continued with his death-row stare at the slowly-turning, huge wheel. ‘I don’t want you having another heart attack - especially not at the top of that thing.’

‘Don’t,’ Tony said. He thought on something, now looking even more anxious. ‘Do you think they have defibrillators in every pod? You know, in case something happens?’

‘I wouldn’t bet on it. Too expensive.’

Tony frowned, perturbed. ‘No, I guess not.’

Cullen felt bad as it looked like Tony was having second thoughts. It had been Cullen’s role to help his vertigo-suffering friend through this latest bucket-list challenge, not to put him off.

But still, he really didn’t want him having a coronary at over one hundred metres in the air, trapped inside a transparent pod with a bunch of random tourists, suspended above the Thames.

It had been several months since an off-duty Tony Beswick had collapsed on Oxford Street, in pursuit of a bag snatcher. Emergency surgery had saved his life, fitting a series of stents to re-open his blocked arteries, but it had been touch and go for a time. The heart scare had brought forward his retirement plans, with Cullen’s long-time partner taking the opportunity to leave the force and enjoy a well-earned rest.

Except, to Cullen’s surprise, Tony’s near death experience had prompted something of a character shift. Previously a self-defined “unadventurous” individual, Tony had drawn up a bucket list of challenges that he wanted to take on over the coming year.

Last week the life-long arachnophobe had handled a tarantula at London Zoo.

The previous month the shy introvert had given an entertaining and genuinely funny after-dinner talk at a police officers’ retirement event, down at City Hall in front of the Mayor and Chief Constable.

Cullen had been genuinely impressed, particularly when Tony had confided in him just how nervous he had been.

Cullen decided to give him one last way out, given that they were almost at the front of the queue.

‘It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind,’ he said, putting a hand on Tony’s shoulder. ‘It’s totally okay. You can just move on to the next challenge. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.’

‘Stop, you’re worrying me,’ Tony said.

‘Pardon?’

‘You’re talking like a therapist.’

Cullen laughed. ‘You’ve never been to a therapist. Have you?’

‘Saw them on TV.’

Cullen held up his hands in mock surrender and smiled. ‘I’m just here for you, Tony, whatever you decide to do.’

‘There you go again, Boss. Please stop it.’ Tony looked up again at the wheel, and gathered himself. ‘I’m fine,’ he told himself. ‘This will be fine. I’m fine.’

‘Fine,’ Cullen repeated. ‘As long as you’re happy.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ Tony replied in all seriousness. ‘Maybe once the pod is over that top bit.’

Cullen had to agree.

‘I really appreciate you doing this,’ Tony added. ‘I know you’re not the biggest fan of heights either, which is why I asked you. I wanted someone who could empathise.’

‘Happy to help. Sort of,’ Cullen only half-joked. It was true, he wasn’t great with heights, although he had nothing like the aversion that Tony Beswick suffered. ‘Sit in the centre of the pod; there’s a bench in the middle,’ Cullen recommended.

‘You’ve done your research?’

‘Made use of it when I went on it with Sarah,’ he admitted.

‘Oh, I didn’t know you’d been on it before.’ Tony looked disappointed that this wasn’t going to be a shared first experience.

‘It was a few years ago, maybe ten?’ Cullen wondered.

But the memories were strong. He’d hated that first half of the ride, as the pod moved ever-so-slowly towards the apex of the wheel.

‘You’ll particularly enjoy the second half of the ride,’ Cullen said. Last time, it was only as it had begun to descend that he’d started to relax and had actually enjoyed the view. ‘I promise.’

‘Thanks, Boss,’ Tony said. ‘Like I said, I do appreciate you coming with me. I’m ready.’

‘Let’s do this, then,’ Cullen said, as much to himself as his friend.

* * *

‘Are you okay, Boss?’

Paul stared down at the floor of the pod.

‘I’m fine,’ he replied, keeping his head stock-still and refraining from looking at Tony. His heart was hammering against his chest, and his throat felt tight. ‘Just needed a sit down, that’s all.’

They were three quarters of the way up the first half of the revolution of the London Eye, which meant that the worst was to come. He’d been absolutely fine during the early stages of the climb, and had actually been enjoying the view across the Thames and Central London. But at the turn of an angle Cullen had suddenly wobbled, the ground beneath his feet seeming to shift worryingly, and he retreated to the central seating area for respite.

Tony put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Just take it easy. We’ll be over the top soon.’

Over the top…

Please, let it be over!

Cullen nodded, sweat beading on his brow. He felt ridiculous, a six foot three inch former rugby player, sitting here on the bench of shame, alongside the other panicked people. Of course, he’d found it difficult last time with Sarah, but he’d hoped the second time around on the wheel would be easier, not worse.

He ventured to raise his head and looked across to his friend, who had moved back over to the edge of the pod, hands on its transparent surface as he gazed out.

Tony turned around, seeming to sense that he was being observed, and beamed back at Cullen with the excitement of a toddler.

In a spectacular role reversal, Tony appeared to be having the time of his life.

At least that was something.

Cullen’s pride got the better of him, so taking some steadying breaths, he attempted to stand, just as the pod was reaching the very top of the wheel. Muttering expletives, he took slow baby steps towards Tony, as if he was walking the plank of a pirate ship on a journey to the abyss.

‘Get a grip, Paul,’ he said to himself. ‘You can do this.’

And he did do it, reaching Tony just as the wheel reached its apex.

‘It’s just amazing,’ Tony said to Cullen who was now at his shoulder.

‘An amazing view,’ Cullen agreed, now finding the mid-air equivalent of his sea-legs.

‘I didn’t mean the view,’ Tony replied. ‘I mean the city - the greatest, most beautiful city in the world.’

‘Agreed,’ Cullen nodded, gazing out across the panorama of London’s built environment; shaped over hundreds of years by the teeming mass of people who lived and moved there.

A city which plague, fire and bombs had ravaged but not defeated.

Recent years had seen an explosion of new, gleaming, high-rise buildings with modern names such as The Shard and The Walkie Talkie, that co-existed with the old - St. Paul’s cathedral, St. Stephen’s Tower and Big Ben, the Tower of London, and neighbouring Tower Bridge.

And then there was the busy world below - the underground network with its thousands of miles of track, screeching trains ghosting through blackened tunnels and millions of passengers; non-stop movement from morning until night. It was where a lot of life in London happened, including criminal behaviour. Cullen’s role might have been national, leading the investigation of crimes across the UK rail network as Head of the British Transport Police’s Major and Serious Organised Crime department, but a disproportionate amount of time was spent on investigations across Central London, and involving the London tube network in particular.

The danger and problems of the capital brought excitement and job satisfaction like he had never known.

It was a city and a job that Cullen had fallen in love with.

Which made his current predicament all the more difficult.

‘Tony…’

‘Yes, Boss?’

He nearly told Tony Beswick there and then what had been weighing heavily on his mind, but now was not the time…

‘Nothing…’

Tony frowned but didn’t push his friend.

Cullen’s fear of heights had disappeared during his thoughts about the future, and he was now finally able to enjoy the ride.

He gazed at the hazy horizon, allowing himself to think about the future.

He would tell Tony today.

Once he had worked out what to say.

3

Previously

Hope Town Hall was packed to the rafters for the emergency meeting. It was three weeks to the day since the derailment had led to the night-time evacuation of the town’s two thousand residents, after chemicals being carried by the train were released into the environment to prevent an explosion that could have destroyed the town and sent a toxic cloud across most of the State.

Residents had been allowed back after a week, when the authorities had concluded that it was safe. But the local people were far from convinced. Many had suffered acute effects of the disaster - most commonly stinging eyes, sore throats and breathing issues. But once they returned, others complained of more insidious health problems that they attributed to the chemicals that had mostly sunk into the soil, but were also still visible on the surface in places.

And then there was a lingering smell, like some medieval miasma, that permeated through the town and into the homes, lives and lungs of the people.

‘As you know,’ the official on the stage from the US Environmental Protection Agency began, ‘since the incident we have carried out a range of in-depth tests. We would not have allowed you to return to your homes unless we had deemed it to be safe.’

A few shouts challenged his assertion, and the general noise level rose, as Curtis looked on from his stage-side wheelchair.

The damage wasn’t permanent, but the chair was needed for now. He had a badly bruised hip, swollen knees, and back spasms.

‘A few weeks off your feet will work wonders,’ the doctor had said, after they had concluded their investigations to rule out anything more serious.

‘Of course,’ the official continued, ‘we will continue to monitor for any possible long-term environmental and health impacts. But as far as we can tell, there is no risk.’

‘As far as you know,’ came a voice from the side of the stage.

The official turned towards the man, but said nothing. He returned to address the residents. ‘We will keep you informed of our ongoing investigations.’

He left the stage to a smattering of polite applause, which had been forced on the reticent audience by Curtis leading the claps. He might have his doubts about the authorities’ claims, but that was no reason to be impolite to their guest.

The next slot would be uncomfortable enough for the poor guy.

Curtis brought the microphone to his mouth, shifting in the chair as his back complained. ‘Thank you to Dr Peters. And now we’re going to hear from Professor Ben Brody, who is an independent environmental consultant, also very kindly looking into this for us. Professor Brody, the floor is yours.’

‘Thank you, Curtis,’ the man who had interrupted the official said confidently, as he took to the stage. The white-bearded former academic, in his mid sixties and with a reputation of being quite a maverick, had a track record in holding companies to account in the aftermath of similar incidents. He’d come highly recommended by the Mayor of Grangetown in Nebraska, where they had fought an oil company and won after a pipeline leak had polluted their groundwater, killing their livestock and ruining crop yields, possibly forever.

Ben Brody bounded up the steps and skipped onto the middle of the stage to begin his presentation, like a coiled spring released. The guy was short in stature, but made up for it in his louder than life personality. He wasn’t afraid of saying controversial things and taking on big interests, no matter how uncomfortable. Curtis already knew what he was going to say, and was still nervous about the reaction among his fellow townsfolk. It was certainly a high stakes strategy, to let Professor Brody loose in this way, but they had up until now zero joy from Deep Distribution, the rail freight company that was responsible.

The company hadn’t answered Curtis’s emails or returned his numerous phone calls.

And the public statement was professional and curt, with no real recognition of what the residents had, and were still going through, or acknowledgment of either liability or ethical responsibility.

The owner, the billionaire Daniel Deep, had been completely silent.

Nothing, either on official channels or social media.

That above everything had angered Curtis. The guy was busy tweeting about baseball and television shows, but hadn’t had the decency in those long three weeks to address the human and environmental catastrophe that had blighted Curtis’s beloved town and its people.

This was the start of the fight back.

There was a heavy press presence in the audience, invited by Curtis. Mostly regional, but also a couple of nationals too.

Word would certainly get around.

Just like it did in Grangetown.

‘Let Daniel Deep ignore this,’ Curtis muttered, as Professor Brody eyed the audience and prepared to tell all.

4

Present Day

‘You sure you can spare the time?’ Tony checked again, as they emerged from the tube and headed towards Leicester Square and the Underground bar.

‘I’ve done my fair share of extra hours recently’, Cullen replied, ‘and everyone knows how to find me if something kicks off.’

Tony nodded. He knew about the current work situation at BTP Headquarters and just how crazy things had been. Despite Tony’s retirement, Cullen had kept in close touch with his friend, who remained interested in the goings-on at HQ.

They crossed the busy square, dodging slow moving, sight-seeing tourists from all corners of the globe, and headed down the much quieter side street towards the transport-themed bar.

It had been over six months since Cullen had visited the place - when he’d brought the young journalist Zack Carter there during the Natalie Long investigation. But at one time the Underground had been a weekly haunt after their shift on a Friday evening. In those early days, Tony - even though he was the junior officer in rank - had taken Cullen under his wings and made him feel not only at ease, but also part of the family.

‘How long since you’ve been here?’ Cullen asked, as they reached the door.

‘Too long,’ Tony smiled. ‘I expect it’s changed a lot,’ he joked.

‘Oh yes,’ Cullen replied, grabbing hold of the handle and entering. ‘That disco ball and dance floor they’ve fitted really makes a difference.’

They entered the venue, with its framed London Underground posters on the walls, and old tube station sign over the bar. The decor was exactly the same as it was when Cullen had first visited those years ago, and unchanged from Tony’s early days of over a decade earlier.

That was its charm. Used by workers across London’s transport network - train and bus drivers, engineers, and yes, transport police colleagues - to unwind at the end of long and often filthy days.

‘Goodness, it’s quiet in here,’ Tony stated, as they emerged into the main area. It was practically deserted, save for a couple of older workers off in the corner, nursing pints.

‘Very,’ Cullen agreed. The place had seen a drop off in custom recently as younger workers chose not to carry on tradition. Nowadays it seemed almost more of a museum piece than a viable drinking establishment. Indeed, it only survived through a generous ex-railway engineer who had got lucky with the lottery a few years ago before leaving money to the place in his Will.

Even though Cullen was no longer a regular, it remained a place of good memories and comfort.

‘Tony!’ the long-time barman Mickey sang out when he saw the two approach. He was absolutely beaming. ‘Really great to see you - really, really great!’ He thrust out a thick, tattooed arm and they exchanged a vigorous but friendly shake.

‘Good to see you too, Mickey,’ Tony replied, actually blushing at the extreme reaction his appearance had provoked.

‘So,’ the barman said, ‘enjoying retirement? I heard via the grapevine you’d gone out to pasture.’

Cullen saw something flash across Tony’s face - discomfort maybe. He was feeling awkward, maybe. Even embarrassed?

Tony nodded. ‘Yes, I didn’t have much choice really,’ he said, still looking a little out of sorts. He patted at his chest. ‘My ticker called time on my career.’

Cullen took another glance at his friend.

He looked sad.

Very different to earlier and how his face had lit up with delight on the London Eye.

‘Well, when you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go, as my wife said before she threw me out!’ Mickey joked. ‘So, can I get you the usual? It’s on the house.’

They ordered and took their places in their usual, favourite bench seat. It was habit - they’d sat there the first time Cullen had visited, and not once deviated in the time since. Tucked away slightly from everyone else, it offered a vantage across the seating area. Cullen liked to keep half an eye out for things, even in a police-friendly venue such as this.

‘So, Tony, what’s up?’ Cullen said, looking carefully at his former police partner. ‘You look…deflated all of a sudden. Was it something that Mickey said?’

Tony tried to wave it away. ‘Oh, it’s nothing Boss.’ But he was so unconvincing in his denials that Cullen sensed that Tony did really want to talk about what was bothering him.

‘Spit it out, Tony,’ he probed. ‘What’s up?’

Tony smiled sadly. ‘Okay, okay.’ He took a moment to try and compose himself, before shaking his head. ‘I really miss the job,’ he said, visibly upset all of a sudden. ‘I really miss it.’ He looked at Paul, his eyes watery. ‘Come on, tell me I’m a daft sod and I should just move on with my life.’

Cullen smiled kindly. ‘You know I would never do that. You loved your job, and it’s a lot to lose, I understand,’ he said, his own situation playing a large part in his response.

Tony thought on that response, scratching at his scalp through thinning hair. ‘I actually dream about it, you know,’ he admitted, with a chuckle. ‘Not every night, but a lot of nights, I dream we’re out there, investigating crimes. Last night, we were investigating the disappearance of the Flying Scotsman.’

Cullen laughed. ‘Wow, now that is a high profile case. Did we find it?’

‘Woke up before it had been resolved,’ Tony revealed, with some disappointment. ‘But last week we did catch a serial killer who was targeting people on the Elizabeth Line.’

‘Of course…’

Tony settled into contemplative silence.

‘It’s normal,’ Cullen assured him. ‘You had a long career, and it meant a lot to you. You put your heart and soul into it. Surely it would be weirder, and more sad, if you could walk away and just forget about it, like none of it mattered?’

Tony nodded at that. ‘I wasn’t ready,’ he stated. ‘I thought I was, but I wasn’t. Brenda had been on at me for a few years, trying to get me to retire, but I’d resisted it, Paul. I didn’t want to leave. And then I had no choice.’ He patted his chest again. ‘I know it was the right thing to do - the sensible thing - but it doesn’t make it any easier.’

‘Of course it doesn’t.’

‘I’ve tried to keep myself busy,’ Tony continued. ‘First it was doing stuff around the house - Brenda had a long list that she’d been building up for me. So the first couple of months I was busy, and I didn’t really notice my career was over. But then the big jobs were done, I was sitting around the house twiddling my thumbs, listening to the clock ticking, and all I could see was this big lot of nothing stretching into the distance, until, you know, death.’

‘You’re not making retirement sound very appealing,’ Cullen joked softly.

‘It isn’t.’

‘But what about your challenges? The speeches, today?’

Tony shrugged. ‘Just trying to fill the void.’

Cullen didn’t quite know what to say. In truth, he could imagine what it felt like, to leave the job you loved, to lose your identity, and it didn’t feel good at all. ‘It will get better,’ he tried. ‘Book another holiday. You really enjoyed that cruise.’

‘A sticking plaster.’

‘You’ll find a way,’ Cullen continued. ‘It’s early days, and it will take time to get used to things. How about contacting the employee counselling service? They’re supposed to be pretty good with things like this.’

‘They’re the ones who suggested I set myself some challenges,’ Tony revealed, taking a big glug of beer.

‘Fair enough. Well, it sounds like you’re doing the right thing.’

‘I hope so. I am jealous of you, Paul,’ he said, taking Cullen by surprise.

‘Jealous?’

‘You’ve got years left,’ he said. ‘Fifteen, maybe twenty. When I think of all the adventures, all the excitement you’ll have at BTP here in London, I’d give anything to be in your position.’

Now it was Cullen’s face that darkened.

It was time to tell Tony the truth.

5

Present Day

‘What’s up, Boss?’ Tony said.

‘Nothing,’ Cullen replied, rather unconvincingly, surprised but not particularly disappointed that Tony had been so perceptive, and so quickly. 

‘You look pensive. Like something’s weighing heavy on your mind,’ his drinking partner added, taking a sip from the pint. He placed it down carefully on the table, all the time keeping his eyes on Cullen, knowing that he was right. ‘Either that, or it’s indigestion.’ 

‘Am I so obvious?’ Cullen asked, flipping and catching a beer mat, before repeating the feat with three stacked together. 

Tony smiled winningly. ‘You forget, I’m an experienced detective with over thirty years of dedicated service.’ 

‘I am pretty obvious though, aren’t I?’ Cullen ran a hand across his face. ‘Danny asked me the same question yesterday. I told him I was just tired.’ 

‘And he took that?’ 

Cullen smiled. ‘He had to, I guess.’  

Detective Inspector Danny Lomax, his deputy in the British Transport Police’s Serious and Organised Crime Unit, had nodded at the time, seemingly satisfied with the explanation, and Cullen had felt no compulsion to reveal what was really going on. At least not yet.

But Tony was different. He had worked closely with him for years, their families were friends. They’d holidayed together. Tony wasn’t just a colleague. 

He was the one person he would tell. 

‘So what’s wrong?’ Tony probed, scenting victory. ‘Issue with a case? I know how you sometimes get when things aren’t going the right way.’ 

Cullen shook his head. 

Tony suddenly looked more concerned. ‘Something with the family? Sarah’s okay?’ 

‘Sarah’s fine.’ 

His brow furrowed deeply. ‘You’re not well?’ 

‘Nothing like that,’ Cullen reassured his worried friend. ‘I’m fighting fit. At least as far as I know.’

Cullen was conscious not to take his health for granted. The fate of his friend, Philip, struck down in his forties with early onset dementia, had been a devastatingly hard lesson.  

Don’t take anything for granted.