by Ed James
He headed down Niddry Street and spotted a couple of squad cars alongside a police van halfway down the hill. A police cordon was set up around a nondescript entrance, guarded by Acting DC Simon Buxton. "Morning, Sarge," he said, his London accent out of place.
"Very funny," said Cullen. He nodded at Buxton's hair, freshly cut into the fashionable style David Beckham had been recently sporting - shaved at the back and sides with longer hair gelled and flicked out. Other footballers were copying and now it was percolating down to the plebs. "Just had that done?"
"Aye," said Buxton. "Needed a change, didn't I?"
Cullen nodded in agreement - his previous cut was the Britpop long fringe and side-lappers combination popular for about three weeks in the mid-nineties. "Definitely needed cut. Not sure about that style, though."
"For someone who's obsessed with other people's hair," said Buxton, "yours is pretty shit, mate."
"Aye, very good," said Cullen. "Anyway, you're keen tonight."
"Was just getting my coat after my haircut when Crystal Methven grabbed me," said Buxton. "Been in since six this morning, as well." He checked his watch. "Fourteen and a half hours. The OT would be good, but he'll no doubt mug me off on it, like always." He sniffed. "Besides, Chantal Jain is supposed to be taking over. Just on her way down now. Crystal didn't want an Acting DC manning this post for too long."
Cullen grimaced. "Where is he?"
Buxton handed him the clipboard. "He's downstairs, but you need to sign in."
"Fine," said Cullen, filling out the form. "What is this place?"
"Band rehearsal room," said Buxton. "Usually people pay by the hour, but you can rent these ones by the month. Huge waiting list, mate."
Cullen had never been one for guitar music, but knew Buxton had been in bands before joining the police. "Catch you later."
"That's for sure," said Buxton. "Crystal mentioned you're getting this case."
Cullen wasn't overly disappointed at the prospect of something interesting for a change. "Could do with something to get my teeth stuck into."
As he descended the steps, careful not to catch his coat on the whitewashed walls, Cullen was beginning to feel overworked. Aside from the domestic in Pilton, he had sixteen cases at various stages of completion. They weren't the sort that got the synapses firing, either, just required catching subhuman idiots through one of their many stupid mistakes.
At the foot of the stone steps, three flights down, Cullen put on a scene of crime overall and signed into the inner locus. There was an overpowering sense of damp, thick in the air. Cables ran down the stairs from the top to a series of arc lights just through the door at the bottom.
Cullen stepped into a long tunnel that seemed to stretch into infinity. It was regularly spaced with lanterns, which lit up the mould on the grey stone walls. Occasionally he passed bricked up entrances, which he figured were houses once.
Acting DI Colin Methven stood halfway round a slight kink in the path and nodded recognition.
"Good evening, sir," said Cullen, conscious the superior officer liked to be treated as such, even if his tenure was only Acting like Cullen's. Both of them were filling gaps until a formal Police Scotland structure was announced the following week. "What's happened?"
"There's a set of band rehearsal rooms just back there," said Methven. "Hired out by the ghost tour operator just down Niddry Street. One of the bands decided to go for a little wander under the city. Some sort of sodding dare." He rubbed at the stubble on his chin. "They found a body."
"Shite," said Cullen.
"Quite," said Methven. "They ran up to street level, dialled 999 and I got the call out. Sodding nightmare, Cullen. I can see this eating up the weekend and I'm doing a triathlon at Pitlochry on Saturday, plus I've got a dinner party."
"You'd better show me, then," said Cullen.
Methven led along the corridor. "This place would have been bustling about a hundred and fifty years ago. It was open to the sky before they built on top of it."
Cullen nodded slowly - he'd heard of the many abandoned streets under the Old Town, just didn't know it was so easy to get in without paying a tenner for the privilege. "Quite the history buff?" he said, thinking he'd stepped onto the set of Time Team.
"Man's got to have a passion," said Methven. "We're not sure, but we think these run for miles under here."
"Where to?"
"Probably a good way down the Royal Mile," said Methven. "Past the High Street, down the Canongate. But they'd go either side, as well. There are probably pub cellars abutting this path. It might even join up with Mary King's Close."
Jimmy Deeley, the city's pathologist, headed their way.
"Good evening, young Skywalker," said Deeley, stopping just shy of the body.
"No new names, please," said Cullen.
"Have it your way," said Deeley, a cheeky glint in his eye.
Cullen could see James Anderson, the usual SOCO he had to contend with, on his hands and knees examining the crime scene. He moved aside, giving Cullen a view of the corpse. It was just a skeleton propped up against the wall, pieces of flesh hanging off the skull. From the clothes, it looked like a man - jeans, t-shirt and big work boots.
Cullen was reminded of another case he'd worked where a body had been stashed in a barrel of whisky - this was worse. There was nothing left.
Cullen noticed Buxton appear behind Methven, conspicuously avoiding eye contact.
"Any idea who it is?" said Cullen.
"Nope," said Deeley.
"His wallet and phone are gone," said Methven.
Cullen stroked his chin. "Given we think he had a phone, he can't have been down here that long, right? Must have been years to get like that, mind."
"He's wearing a Jeff Buckley t-shirt," said Methven, "so it's not like he's from the Victorian era."
"How long, then?" said Cullen.
"Eighteen months by my reckoning," said Deeley.
Cullen couldn't believe it - there was barely any flesh left. "Is that all? It's a skeleton."
Deeley nodded. "It's very moist down here. A body would just rot, much quicker than being in a coffin, that's for certain." He grinned. "I've declared death, obviously, but anything else will have to wait until I get the body back to my lair."
"When will that be?" said Methven.
Deeley gave a chuckle and winked at Cullen. "At least I could ignore Colin's predecessor. This boy is dangerously competent."
"Quit with the charm offensive," said Methven. "When do we get answers?"
Deeley raised his eyebrows. "I'm afraid you're more likely to get more questions. I've got so little to be going on with. Still, at least we know how he died."
Cullen frowned. "How?"
Anderson got up and handed Cullen a bag containing a screwdriver. "This. Still got blood on it, though it's very dry and in danger of flaking off. Doubt I'll find any fingerprints."
Methven turned to Cullen. "Sergeant, I want someone on this immediately. I want a list of all screwdrivers sold in the Central Belt meeting that description."
Cullen nodded, looking at Buxton. "I'll get DC Jain on it," he said, though it had 'wild goose chase' written all over it.
"That's a blessed relief," said Buxton.
Methven wagged a finger at Cullen. "No favouritism here, Sergeant."
"Hardly," said Cullen, irritated by Methven. "Chantal's just a much better cop, that's all."
"Piss off," said Buxton, laughing.
Cullen grinned and turned back to Methven. "Who found the body?"
Methven jerked his thumb back in the direction they had come. "Bunch of students. Three boys, a band calling themselves Public Right of Way."
Cullen shook his head. "What a shite name."
"I've been in worse," said Buxton.
Cullen looked at Methven. "Are they still around?"
Methven nodded.
"I want to speak to them," said Cullen.
CHAPTER 4
Cullen relieved D
C Chantal Jain from her crime scene management duties at the front door, ensuring another competent officer took over.
"Great," said Chantal, as they walked down the first flight of steps, "I get to work for you again."
"It's as weird for me as it is you."
"You only got that job because your old boss was kicked off the force."
"That's not the only reason."
"Scott, you're just like all the rest as soon as you get a bit of power."
Cullen stopped outside the room, his blood burning. "I am not."
"Prove it," said Chantal, as she entered the band's room.
Two thirds of Public Right of Way sat around, posing like they were in a jeans advert. The third member leaned against the wall, appearing to be at least ten years older than the others who were clearly students. They all looked stunned.
The walls were the same whitewash as the corridor. Though it was only four metres by five, it was filled with equipment - Cullen figured there was barely enough room for the pretty boys to make rock star shapes with their instruments.
They got to their feet. "Is there any news?" said the first, dyed blonde hair in a long fringe tugged backwards.
Cullen held his hands up. "There's nothing yet," he said, immediately deciding he was going to be bad cop. "Can I get some names?"
Fringe spoke first. "Alistair Cameron."
"And what do you play, Alistair?" said Chantal, eyes looking him up and down.
Cullen struggled to keep his eyebrows down - she was flirting with him.
"Guitar and lead vocals," said Alistair.
"The talent, then?" said Chantal.
"I write all the songs," said the drummer, a heavy-set lad who was holding out a hand. "Roddie."
"Do you have a surname, Roddie?" said Cullen.
"Roddie Brown."
"Thank you," said Cullen. He turned his gaze towards the third member, the bassist, a blur of spiky dark hair and angular jawline. "And you?"
"Gary Moncrieff."
"Okay," said Cullen. He sat on a guitar amp and got his notebook out, making a point to click the pen slowly and precisely. "Now, you." He pointed at Alistair. "You found the body, right?"
"Aye," said Alistair, nervously tugging his fringe.
"What were you doing down there?" said Cullen.
They looked at each other nervously for a few seconds, before Alistair held up a copy of The List, the same issue Sharon had in the flat. "The boys dared me."
"Would you walk off the Forth Road Bridge if they dared you?" said Cullen.
Alistair shrugged. "Don't be daft. We had a bet on who would get us our first gig. Gary blagged us one in Bannerman's." He tugged the fringe behind his left ear and grinned at Chantal. "We're playing there at the weekend."
"And the dare was to go for a wander down the streets under the Old Town?" said Cullen, determined to keep Chantal from flirting.
"That's right," said Alistair.
"We had torches here from the last time there was a power cut," said Gary.
"Your guitars wouldn't work in a power cut," said Cullen.
"They were to get out," said Alistair, his face curled into a smug grin.
"Right," said Cullen, reddening slightly. "Go on."
"I don't know what else there is to say, really. We walked down the, I don't know what it is, street? We walked down that for a bit then we came across the screwdriver and then the body." Alistair shrugged. "That's pretty much it."
"Do you know who the body is?" said Cullen.
They all shook their heads, looking genuinely mystified.
Cullen nodded slowly. "Right. You can all head home tonight, but I want you to report to DC Jain at Leith Walk police station first thing tomorrow."
"But I've got work," said the drummer.
"I'm sure they'll understand," said Cullen. "You're helping the police with their inquiries. It's standard practice."
"Should be fine," said Roddie, looking like he had a difficult conversation with an unsympathetic boss ahead of him.
"And you two?" said Cullen, eyes all over them.
"Not a problem," said Alistair.
"Aye," said Gary.
"Right, off you go," said Cullen.
He turned and left them. Cullen checked the room across the corridor was empty, before heading inside with Chantal.
"They're like a walking Gap advert," said Cullen.
"I'm sure the blonde one works in Hollister on George Street."
"I wouldn't know," said Cullen.
"You've got some nice supermarket jumpers," said Chantal.
Cullen tried not to grin. "Were you flirting with them?"
"Are you jealous?" said Chantal, arching a pencilled eyebrow.
Cullen laughed. "Hardly."
"Anyway, you proved my point," said Chantal.
"How?"
"Power trip," said Chantal. "Typical."
"Whatever," said Cullen.
"What now, boss man?"
"Best find out where Crystal has got to."
CHAPTER 5
Methven was down at the bottom of the stairs, keeping Anderson from heading off somewhere else. Cullen's presence meant Methven relinquished his grip on the goateed SOCO, letting him trudge off upstairs.
Methven looked over. "Now what can I do for you, Sergeant?" he said, his eyes closed for a few seconds in the way that so irked Cullen.
"We've spoken to that band," said Cullen. "I reckon none of them have anything to do with it."
"Really?" said Methven, his eyes on Chantal.
"I'd concur, sir," she said. "We've got them coming in tomorrow to give detailed statements. I'll do a background check, but I doubt they have anything to do with what's happened here."
"Fine," said Methven. "Dismissed." He grabbed Cullen's arm. "Not you, Sergeant."
Cullen watched Chantal ascend, a grin no doubt plastered on her face at him being stuck there.
"Are you keeping her in check?" said Methven.
"Do I need to?" said Cullen. "She's one of the best officers we've got."
"Is that so?" said Methven. "Nothing to do with how she looks? I know your reputation."
"Not my type," said Cullen, "besides I'm taken and she's best mates with my other half."
"Right," said Methven. "We're going to be working very closely on this, I suspect, so I'd appreciate if you kept your cowboy antics to an absolute minimum."
"Fine," said Cullen. "Wasn't aware I'd been naughty again."
Methven pointed a finger at him. "Watch your sodding lip. There's a big change coming next week, just you remember that."
"What are you saying, sir?" said Cullen.
"The restructure isn't a hundred per cent cast in stone yet," said Methven. "There are a few malleable parts."
The pending changes had played on Cullen's mind for the last few months. As of Monday, Lothian & Borders would disappear, along with all its siblings, to be replaced by Police Scotland, a national police force. The rumour mill in the station had predictably run riot, but nothing concrete had emerged, at least not that Cullen had heard.
"I'll bear that in mind, sir," said Cullen.
"Remember your position is only Acting," said Methven.
"So is yours," said Cullen.
Methven slowly shook his head. "Right. I'm afraid all leave is cancelled until we've got a result on this case."
"Fine," said Cullen. "I've none planned until May."
"I include weekends in that," said Methven.
Cullen swore under his breath. "I've got a weekend away booked, sir."
"Well, you'll just have to cancel it," said Methven.
He started up the stone steps to Niddry Street, leaving Cullen to fume in the harsh glow of the arc lights.
CHAPTER 6
Cullen wandered slowly uphill to the top of Niddry Street before turning right down the Royal Mile, his mind lost in thoughts of how many streets lay underneath the city, maybe even below their flat.
Sharon was going to kil
l him. They'd not had a day off together for months, one or both of them being dragged into work on a Saturday or Sunday for one reason or another. This was sacrosanct, everyone knew it, and Methven had pissed all over it.
Inside, Sharon was sitting on the sofa, flicking through the channels. "The wanderer returns."
"Wish I'd been wandering," said Cullen, as he slumped down alongside her. "Instead I've been stuck under the city with Methven."
He gave her a blow-by-blow account of his evening, stopping short of telling her about the cancellation of the weekend.
"You're as good as him, you know," said Sharon. "You'll show him."
Cullen shrugged. "Yeah. Thing is, he's cancelled my weekend unless we get a result."
"He's what?" she said, mouth hanging open.
"He didn't give me a choice," said Cullen. "He implied my position after the restructure might be impacted by it."
"Wanker," said Sharon, clenching her fists.
"Me or Methven?" said Cullen.
"I'll let you decide.
Eventually, she smiled. "Him, of course." She sighed. "I suppose I'll have to see what Chantal is up to this weekend."
"Bad news," said Cullen. "She and Buxton are working for me."
Sharon shook her head. "He's only Acting. The power has gone to his head."
"Do you think it's because you're both going for that DI position?" said Cullen.
"Has to be. He's been trying to get at me for months, chipping away. If it was up to Cargill he'd have got it months ago. Fortunately, it's up to Turnbull."
"Here's hoping," said Cullen. He checked his watch. It was just after midnight. "I need to get to bed."
"Do you want me in it?" said Sharon, gently stroking his arm.
"Unless you've already had your little ginger lover in there."
Sharon laughed. "He's asleep on the radiator bed. The coast is clear."
They fell about laughing as they tiptoed to the bedroom.
