Bottleneck (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 5)

by Ed James

  "What did he study there?" said Buxton.

  "Chemical Engineering," said Norma.

  "What about friends?" said Buxton.

  "He was always with his band," said Norma. "Not too many people left in the town that he was friends with. He cut himself off from them over time. They all just drifted apart."

  "Why was that?" said Cullen.

  "You should know," said Norma. "You're the same."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "You're a Dalhousie laddie, aren't you?" said Norma. "I very much doubt you've looked back since you moved away."

  Cullen couldn't remember the woman. "I suppose not. Was there any specific reason he left?"

  Norma seemed to think it through, then slowly shook her head. "Just liked his Edinburgh life more. He was much more at home there."

  "Was there anyone your son fell out with in Dalhousie?" said Buxton.

  "James was bullied at school a bit," said Norma. "He was a very sensitive flower, just liked his books and playing his guitar. He was never one for sport. He really came into his own when he moved through to Edinburgh."

  "Can I ask what you thought happened to James?" said Buxton.

  "As I said, he was very good at cutting himself off from people if he'd had enough of them," said Norma. "He hadn't been home in months when he was reported missing. We'd not had a row as such, but we hadn't spoken to him on the phone for a couple of weeks."

  "He was reported missing by Alex Hughes, who we understand was in his band," said Cullen.

  Norma smiled. "Ah, Alex. He's a lovely laddie. He was very pally with James. He was sure something had happened to him. He used to call me up and talk about my boy."

  "We're struggling to get hold of Alex," said Cullen. "Do you have any contact details for him?"

  Norma gave them a mobile number.

  "Can I ask what happened to James's possessions?" said Cullen. "Guitars, CDs, computers, that sort of thing?"

  "Most of his stuff was in Edinburgh," she said. "The police went through it all at the time. They gave it back after a couple of weeks."

  "Do you still have it?" said Cullen.

  Norma nodded. "I'm afraid I've turned his old bedroom into a bit of a shrine. It's exactly the same as when he left."

  Cullen heard the front door open. A male voice called from the other side of the house. "I'm home!"

  Norma looked concerned. "That's my George."

  Taggart sprang into action. "Mrs Strang, if I may suggest you and I help your husband come to terms with the news, while my colleagues take a look at your son's bedroom?"

  "That's a good idea." Norma looked Cullen up and down. "I know precisely everything that's in there. It's the first left at the top of the stairs."

  Cullen and Buxton entered the hall and started climbing the steps, watching Norma and Taggart head off her husband.

  "Has something happened?" said George Strang.

  Cullen's heart sank when he watched the man's face lose all colour, his eyes darting to Taggart and both of them on the staircase.

  CHAPTER 17

  James Strang's bedroom was like most teenagers of a certain era, even though he was twenty-six when he died. The walls were covered in music posters - Jeff Buckley, The Stooges, Muse and the classic, doe-eyed, black-and-white Kurt Cobain shot. He noticed a strange one by the window, some guy wearing a t-shirt that said 'Who the fuck is Mick Jagger?'.

  Beside the single bed was a large Marshall stack, mostly black with gold controls, a blue Fender guitar sitting on a stand in front of it.

  "I always wanted a Telecaster," said Buxton. "That is a beautiful guitar."

  "Thought you played bass?" said Cullen.

  Buxton shrugged. "I can play guitar as well."

  "Were you like this when you were a rock star?" said Cullen.

  "All the posters and stuff?" said Buxton.

  "Aye."

  Buxton shook his head. "Lived with my bird, didn't I? We had a few pictures from IKEA and Habitat, that was it."

  Opposite the amp stood a large CD rack, a stack of LPs resting on top. Cullen looked through, surprised someone younger than him wasn't purely into iPods and MP3s. The records were similar to the posters on the wall, plus a few others Cullen knew better - Massive Attack, Portishead, Underworld - as well as some he couldn't stand or didn't know - Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, The Beatles, Scott Walker, Neil Young.

  "This boy must have been gay," said Buxton.

  "How do you mean?" said Cullen.

  "The posters are all blokes," said Buxton. "He was in his twenties, prime of his life and he didn't have a single picture of a bird up."

  "He wasn't."

  They looked over at the door - Norma Strang stood there, hands on hips.

  Cullen shot a look at Buxton. "I'm sorry. DC Buxton shouldn't have said that."

  "It's fine," said Norma.

  "How is your husband?" said Cullen.

  "Your colleague is helping him. I was just getting in the way." She sat on the bed and inspected her nails. "I often wondered the same thing about my son, of course, but he had a couple of girlfriends I knew about."

  "Were any serious?" said Cullen.

  "Nobody serious enough to bring home and introduce to us."

  "What about not serious?" said Cullen.

  Norma smiled. "There was someone he was interested in. I think her name was Jane or Jan or something."

  Cullen noted it down before taking a good look at the room. "Are these all the possessions he had with him in Edinburgh?"

  "Yes," said Norma. "There were a few things he'd left here, some of his more embarrassing CDs I think. They're up in the loft."

  Cullen nodded, surprised how calm the woman was, but then again she was an Angus wifie. They built them differently up here - his own mother would be the same if anything happened to him or Michelle. "Did James keep a journal?"

  "Not that I know of," said Norma, shaking her head. "The police weren't able to get much off his laptop."

  Cullen noticed the machine on the desk, quite a dated model, blacks and reds compared with the silver sheen of the one Sharon had just bought.

  "I'd like to take this in as evidence," said Cullen, knowing it would mean a trip to Charlie Kidd, their Forensic IT Analyst.

  "That's fine," said Norma. "If it will help you."

  As Cullen hefted the laptop - heavier than he first thought - he noticed a cache of unmarked CDs at the back of the desk. He put the laptop down and inspected them - they appeared to be The Invisibles CDs. He realised they knew next to nothing about the band, what they sounded like, other than what David Johnson and Beth Williamson had told them. "Can I take a copy of the CDs?"

  "Take those," said Norma. "George put them on his computer a long time ago."

  "I think that's probably all from us just now," said Cullen, handing her a card. "In case there's anything else, please give me a call in the first instance."

  "I will do," said Norma.

  "We'll leave you in the capable hands of PC Taggart," said Cullen.

  They crept down the stairs, leaving Norma Strang in her son's bedroom staring into space.

  Out on the street, Cullen dialled the new Alex Hughes number. It rang for a while, not even going to voicemail. He pocketed his phone.

  "Sorry for getting caught talking about her son like that," said Buxton.

  "She didn't seem to mind," said Cullen. "I wouldn't make a habit of it, though."

  "I'm not a homophobe, mate. It was a genuine question."

  "Okay." Cullen pointed back at the house. "What do you think of him?"

  "Seen his type a lot in the music scene," said Buxton. "Introverted guy, plays his guitar, listens to loud music, then becomes a rock star when he's pissed on stage."

  "Guess so," said Cullen, leaning back against his car. "We've got no suspects and we still can't get hold of Alex Hughes."

  "Reckon he's one?" said Buxton.

  "Why call it in if you'd killed someone?" said Cullen.

  Bux
ton shrugged. "Good point. What are we doing now?"

  Cullen thought it through for a few seconds. "You're going to the local station to ask around, see if he's got himself into mischief and been run out of town or anything."

  "You hooking up with an old flame or something, Shagger?" said Buxton, a leery look in his eye.

  "Worse," said Cullen. "I'm taking my parents out for dinner."

  CHAPTER 18

  "He does know me and Sharon were supposed to be coming up tonight, right?" said Cullen.

  "You know your father, Scott," said Cullen's mother. "In fact, he's very much like his son." She took a sip of wine. "They're very busy just now and they've got a lot of deals going on. He's called a way a lot." She reached over the table and prodded him in the chest. "Anyway, the first I knew you weren't coming to stay was when you turned up on my doorstep an hour ago. I've lots of food in for the weekend. You'll have to take it home with you."

  "Fine," said Cullen. "Suits me."

  "A weekend with the pair of you would have been nice. How is Sharon?"

  "She's got a stinker of a cold," said Cullen. "Doesn't look like we'd have been able to come up anyway. As it is, I'm going to be stuck in this case for the whole weekend."

  "I worry about you, son. There's too much pressure on you."

  "Aye, well," said Cullen, "I'm an Acting DS now and I'm not letting it go without a fight. Besides Sharon wants a new house. I've got a lot of responsibility, people reporting to me."

  "That's good."

  The waiter brought their food - pizza for his mother and a salad for Cullen, though it looked like the less healthy option with the amount of olive oil, cheese and pesto drizzled all over it.

  His mother daintily cut into her pizza. "Have you spoken to your sister recently?"

  "I knew this was coming," said Cullen, rolling his eyes.

  "Well, have you?"

  "It's up to Michelle to get in touch with me," said Cullen. "I've tried loads of times."

  "Scott, your sister lived in Edinburgh for a whole year and you didn't meet up with her once. It's not like you live out in the countryside, you're on the Royal Mile. Now she's working in Glasgow, I don't see how you'll ever do it."

  Cullen ate a forkful of tuna and lettuce leaves. "She's ignoring me. She even unfriended me on Schoolbook. That's just petty."

  "Will you at least try again for me? I think she's hurt."

  "She shouldn't be so bloody precious," said Cullen, shaking his head, feeling the anger surge. "I didn't do anything wrong, nothing Dad wouldn't have said."

  "That's a bit of an exaggeration, Scott."

  "How is the old bugger?" said Cullen, desperate to change the subject.

  "You know your father," she said, "he won't stop playing his games, he's always up to something. And I'm not talking about computer games, though he's finally stopped playing that infernal Xbox so often."

  "That'll be where I get it from," said Cullen.

  "Well, it's certainly not from me," said his mother, eyes wide.

  "Do you know a James Strang?" said Cullen.

  "I know his parents. He disappeared, didn't he? They were devastated by it."

  "You knew?" said Cullen.

  "Is that why you're here?"

  Cullen nodded. "Found his body in Edinburgh. Shouldn't really talk about it." He took a drink of lemonade. "Do they have any ideas what happened to him?"

  His mum smiled. "Am I a witness in this case?"

  "At the moment, I could do with anything," said Cullen. "The guy was three years younger than me, I don't remember him. He'd still have been a wee laddie when I left Dalhousie."

  "I'll see what I can dig up on the grapevine."

  Cullen's phone started buzzing - a text from Buxton, chasing him up. "I'll have to go back to Edinburgh just after this," he said, finishing his salad, a puddle of green goop at the bottom.

  "No time for a coffee?"

  "Wish I did," said Cullen.

  "Well, this has been nice," she said. "Thanks for seeing me. It's a shame you can't come through, but I understand. You're forgiven for that time you were in Carnoustie and didn't call."

  "I hope I don't get a bollocking for this," said Cullen, putting a twenty on the table.

  His mother smacked his hand. "You put that away, Scott Cullen. This is my treat."

  Cullen smiled. He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. "I promise we'll be through soon."

  "You make sure you fulfil that promise."

  Cullen left the restaurant, feeling a tight knot in his stomach. Walking towards the car, he thought back to how much simpler life was when he was younger, part of him wishing he could go back.

  The old town looked exactly as he remembered it, the same shops, same restaurants and people. One of the things he loved about Edinburgh was how much change there was. Dalhousie, despite his old man's best efforts, was stuck in a rut, at least in the town centre.

  "Scott Cullen?"

  Across the road, a plump woman in her early thirties was pointing at him. She came towards him, finger stabbing the air, a car swerving out of her way.

  "You fucking arsehole!"

  "I'm sorry?" said Cullen.

  "You fucking arsehole!"

  She tried to slap him but he grabbed her hand.

  "You fuck off away from me, Scott Cullen!"

  Cullen got his warrant card out. "I'm a police officer. Unless you clear off, I'll arrest you."

  She took a long look at Cullen then marched off in the direction she'd come from.

  Cullen had absolutely no idea who she was.

  CHAPTER 19

  Back at Leith Walk station, Methven had been busy. He'd acquired an Incident Room and, though it was the smallest of the three, all four walls were covered in whiteboard paint.

  They'd put several photos of Strang on the wall though no connecting arrows had yet been drawn. Cullen inspected the pictures - they were taken over the course of two years, but Strang had aged, lines appearing on his otherwise fresh face and hair greying at the sides.

  He was good looking, in a fey way. His face was long and thin and seemed to be symmetrical. His brown hair was spiked up in most of the pictures, the sides shaved ever closer as more grey appeared.

  Buxton and Chantal stood around while Methven doodled on one of the walls. Cullen joined them.

  "So, who have we got?" said Methven. "James Strang. AKA Jimi Danger."

  "That's just been confirmed," said Chantal. "Anderson finished his DNA test. Strang was done for a breach of the peace in his student days. The DNA was on file."

  "That's a result," said Buxton.

  "Would have been nice to know when we spoke to his parents, though," said Cullen.

  Chantal waved the paper in front of Cullen's face. "It's only just come through. Besides, you and Simon barrelled in oblivious to anything else."

  Cullen tried to decide whether to make something of it.

  Methven made the decision for him. "The post mortem is back. There is sufficient evidence to confirm the screwdriver is the murder weapon. The blood on the handle matches the DNA on file and the flecks of blood on the t-shirt."

  He rubbed his stomach through his pristine white shirt. "The state of decay meant there was very little to perform an autopsy on. That said, the initial forensics report is of some interest."

  He pointed to a photo of a pair of jeans, blown up to twice life size and occupying almost a whole wall. Cullen thought that sort of expense would soon be killed off by the new Chief Constable of Police Scotland, a notorious penny-pincher from his days in Strathclyde.

  Methven indicated dark marks at the bottom of the jeans with his pen, an expensive-looking ballpoint. "There are traces that show the body was dragged from somewhere. These are wholly inconsistent with usual wear patterns and there is sufficient blood mixed in to confirm our suspicions."

  Cullen was irritated that Methven was taking over his investigation. "Which are?"

  "It looks like he wasn't killed where the
body was found," said Chantal.

  Cullen frowned. "The steps are stone. Somebody should have seen something, the trail would have been visible."

  "That's a good point," said Methven. "Our killer was lucky here. Nobody was looking at the steps or the passageway that far down. We visited the room Strang's band used. It was the only one on the bottom level so it's possible nobody else would have been down. We should check with the band who shared their room. Chantal?"

  She nodded.

  "Didn't the original investigating team look into this?" said Cullen.

  Methven gave a shrug. "We'd need to ask them, but I very much doubt it. The time allocation for a MisPer is very different to a murder investigation. They wouldn't have had access to detectives, let alone forensics."

  "Besides, they thought he ran away," said Chantal. "They wouldn't have searched these band rooms."

  "I want to speak to the investigating officers," said Cullen.

  "Fine," said Methven. "Just don't labour it too much."

  "As if I would," said Cullen, with a wry grin.

  Methven grunted. "We currently have no suspects."

  "I'd agree with that," said Cullen.

  "What about that guy in the band with him, Johnson?" said Buxton. "The stuff about the t-shirt weirded me out."

  Cullen looked at Chantal and Methven then tapped a photo of the remains. "What Simon is alluding to, is the Jeff Buckley t-shirt was a gift from David Johnson, the bass player."

  "Come on, Constable," said Methven, "that's hardly enough to suspect someone of murder?"

  Buxton shrugged. "It's just odd."

  "Let's move on," said Methven, turning back to his mind map. "We've only got five direct connections. His parents are two and the three bandmates."

  "There's another," said Cullen. "His parents mentioned a girl called Jane. We don't know anything else about her."

  Methven wrote it down. "Right. Hold that thought for now." He looked at the whiteboard. "We've spoken to two of the band already, is that correct?"

  Cullen nodded. "David Johnson and Beth Williamson. We need to get Beth in to give a formal statement. The Johnson interview transcript should be with us tomorrow."