by Ed James
"Is MacLeod still inside?" said Cullen.
"He is," said McKeown. "We've been sat here since seven this morning. We relieved a couple of boys from Leith Walk who were here from ten last night." He checked his watch. "Should be knocking off in a few hours, but this is approved overtime so I'm not turning that down in a hurry."
"I want to bring him into the station," said Cullen.
McKeown looked disappointed. "So why is he under surveillance, then?"
"To make sure he didn't piss off," said Cullen. "I'm starting to get a better picture of how he fits into the case."
"Right."
"One of you stay outside," said Cullen, "one come up with me."
"Fine," said McKeown.
Cullen led them across the road, lined with tiny front gardens, at best a metre wide. The stair door was open, the intercom lying on the patch of weeds outside the ground floor flat.
Cullen nodded at Edwards. "You stay here."
They jogged up the stairs, heading to MacLeod's flat on the top floor. Cullen knocked on the door. "Mr MacLeod, it's the police."
MacLeod opened it. He stood in his dressing gown, looking tired. He blinked. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"I need to ask you a few questions," said Cullen.
"You've had your go at me, Skinky. Try someone else from school."
McKeown frowned at Cullen.
Cullen struggled to keep it formal and professional. "We need to ask you some further questions, Mr MacLeod."
MacLeod stared at him for a few seconds. "In you come, then."
Cullen glared at him. "Down the station."
"Mind if I get dressed, then?"
"Be my guest."
MacLeod went inside.
"Charming," said McKeown.
"Tell me about it," said Cullen.
"You two got previous?"
"In a manner of speaking," said Cullen. "Can you and Edwards take him in your car? I'll meet you down at Leith Walk."
"Sure thing."
The door bundled open again. MacLeod wore jeans and a shirt, carrying a navy coat with him. He locked his flat door behind him.
"I'm ready for my interrogation, boys."
CHAPTER 80
Cullen and Buxton sat in the interview room, the PCSO standing guard by the door. MacLeod had dragged things out, making them wait for his lawyer to turn up.
Cullen didn't particularly like MacLeod - quite the opposite in fact - but he was only under suspicion and not under arrest yet. The flicker of possibility of being a suspect meant everything had to be done by the book.
"Mr MacLeod," said Cullen, "can you confirm the reason you returned to Edinburgh last night?"
"My flat was ready for me to move back in. That's why."
"Nothing to do with the coast being clear?" said Cullen.
MacLeod sat back and folded his arms. "No comment."
"Can you confirm for the record you were acquainted with a James Strang?" said Buxton.
"No comment."
"Mr Strang went to school with you in Dalhousie," said Buxton.
"No comment."
"Mr Strang was three years below you."
"No comment."
That had become a common tactic in Scotland since a famous case made it mandatory for a lawyer to be in attendance. Gone were the days of getting the suspect alone to slip up on the record before legal counsel was involved.
Cullen lost his patience. "Mr MacLeod," he said, struggling to keep his voice level, "we have you on record in a previous interview discussing Mr Strang's whereabouts, so please cease the no comment."
MacLeod looked at his lawyer, who nodded. "Fine, I knew him."
"It would appear Mr Strang died in horrific circumstances," said Cullen. "We believe he was stabbed with a screwdriver and left to bleed out."
MacLeod's mouth hung open as he tried to keep his cool. "And what's changed since yesterday?"
"How well did you know Mr Strang?"
"As I told you," said MacLeod, "I knew him to speak to. If I saw him in the pub, he's the sort of guy I'd have a wee chat with. We weren't particularly close."
Cullen let the space grow, waiting for MacLeod to fill it.
"I'd spoken to him maybe twice since I moved to Edinburgh. Once in HMV, once in a pub. That was it."
"You know he was involved in the music scene, don't you?" said Cullen.
"So?"
"At school, his band supported yours once, correct?" said Cullen.
MacLeod laughed. "Man, you lot are desperate. Yes, I played bass in a band when I was seventeen. We were bloody awful. We played Oasis and Robbie Williams and Stereophonics songs really, really badly. I haven't touched a musical instrument since. I've barely listened to anything with a guitar. I'm mainly into dance music these days. Is that enough for you?"
"You knew nothing about Mr Strang's music career?" said Cullen.
"I think he spammed me when I saw him in the pub that one time," said MacLeod. "He gave me a flyer for a gig, tried to sell me a CD. As it happened, a mate's band was playing that night, so I ended up being there anyway."
Cullen perked up. "And yet you insist you only met him in Edinburgh on two occasions?"
MacLeod lost his cool. He looked at his lawyer, who barely seemed interested. "Look, I didn't speak to Strang at that gig. He was always surrounded by his groupies and hangers on."
"Would anyone be able to verify that?"
MacLeod tightened his arms around him. "Am I a suspect here?"
"We haven't cautioned you yet." Cullen flicked back a few pages in his notebook. "So, you didn't speak to Mr Strang at all that night?"
"Have you got a hearing problem?" said MacLeod. "I did see him a couple of other times, but I didn't speak to him on either occasion."
Cullen looked at Buxton. "Now we're getting somewhere." He looked back at MacLeod. "Can you expand on these sightings?"
MacLeod stared at the tabletop. "My mate's band was supporting Jimi's. I don't even know what they were called."
"The Invisibles," said Buxton.
"Right," said MacLeod. "The Invisibles. My mate used to be in that whole scene. They'd go to gigs and clubs and stuff. He dragged me along a few times." His eyes sparked and he sat forward, bouncing his clenched fist off his lips then pointing at Cullen. "He was with that Mike Roberts both times."
Cullen scowled. "The singer in Expect Delays?"
"Aye," said MacLeod. "He's on the cover of The List this fortnight, right?"
Cullen's mouth was dry. "Did they know each other?"
MacLeod shrugged. "How on earth am I supposed to know that?" He shook his head. "I saw them in a club together a few times, that's it."
Cullen terminated the interview. "We'll be in touch."
"Am I in the clear here?" said MacLeod.
"Mr MacLeod, I don't particularly like you," said Cullen, "but I am not and have not been treating you as a suspect in this case. I am merely looking for leads."
"It feels very much like I'm being prosecuted," said MacLeod.
"Maybe you're guilty of something else."
MacLeod didn't reply.
Cullen left him and his lawyer in the room, instructing the PCSO to see them out.
In the corridor, Cullen paced ahead.
Buxton caught up with him. "What are you thinking?"
"Have you read The List this week?" said Cullen.
"No, why?"
"The interview with Expect Delays," said Cullen. "That's where that band got the notion to head down into the hidden street under the Old Town."
"The Hidden Street is an Expect Delays album," said Buxton.
"Exactly," said Cullen. "It's where the name comes from."
Buxton frowned. "Wait, are you saying Mike Roberts is a suspect?"
Cullen stood and thought it through, trying to tie the loose strands together.
Could he have killed Strang?
When Cullen first went through to Glasgow, Roberts was being interviewed. He was t
he last person due to see Hughes before he died.
"Either way," said Cullen, "we're heading back to Glasgow. I better tell Rarity."
He marched off in the direction of his superior officer.
CHAPTER 81
Rarity wasn't comfortable making the decision herself, so it went through layers of management - Methven, Cargill, then finally Turnbull - with Cullen making his case each time and finally obtaining permission to interview Roberts, providing Bain approved it.
Cullen stormed into the Glasgow CID office, heading straight for Bain.
Bain looked up and grinned. "Sundance, now there's a fuckin' sight for sore eyes. I need my car washed."
"Very funny."
"Who's your boyfriend?" said Bain, scowling at Buxton.
"ADC Simon Buxton. I worked for you for six months. Sir."
Bain raised his eyebrows then looked around the room to see who amongst his team had heard. Only McCrea. "This you apologising is it, Sundance?"
"What for?"
"You fuckin' know," said Bain. "Telling me to go fuck myself."
"I would apologise if I said it," said Cullen. "I didn't, so I won't."
Bain's fingers drummed on the desk. "Well, if that's how you want to play it."
"Spreading stories about me doesn't make it any more true," said Cullen.
"I heard you," said McCrea.
"You didn't," said Cullen, still not one hundred per cent sure.
Bain scowled. "What are you here for, Cullen?"
"I need to speak to you about Mike Roberts."
"Who?"
"You interviewed him a couple of days ago," said Cullen. "The singer in Expect Delays."
"Red fuckin' herring, Sundance," said Bain. "Forget it. We've moved on."
"When you had him in did you ask him about James Strang?"
"Why the fuck would I?" said Bain. "You hadn't told us about your case yet, had you?"
McCrea bellowed with laughter, overdoing it in Cullen's eyes.
"We need to speak to him," said Cullen.
"Our case is locked down," said Bain. "It was a drug money killing. As you well know, we've got a boy in downstairs who's away to confess. You'd know if you bothered attending any of my briefings since your ill-disciplined performance this morning."
"I've just spoken to our other suspect," said Cullen. "He's put us onto Mike Roberts."
"Here we fuckin' go." Bain put his head in his hands. "Another merry wee jig from Cullen."
"Roberts and Strang were friends," said Cullen, ignoring Bain. "There was an interview in The List with Roberts about the street where Strang's body was found."
"You're off on one again." Bain laughed. "Might set up a popcorn stand. Make a fuckin' killing."
"I'm serious," said Cullen. "There is a definite link between them. On my way here I was putting together a semblance of a motive."
"So, you're falling for this other suspect's stories, right?"
"He didn't give us the link," said Cullen. "It's called deduction, sir." His anger hadn't abated since their earlier altercation. "Look, after everything we've been through together, you should know by now to listen to me."
Bain rubbed his top lip for a few seconds. "Right, Sundance, you get your shot at him."
"Are you sure, gaffer?" said McCrea.
"Not really," said Bain, "but fuck it, it's Cullen's funeral."
"I'm not happy, sir," said McCrea. "We've got a dead-cert conviction with Nicholls downstairs. From what you've told me about Cullen, he'll do everything he can to stop it."
"I've got nothing to do with your case," said Cullen, "other than being told to be here because of some fucking politics." He turned to Bain. "I need to speak to Roberts. I've got approval from Turnbull to speak to him on my own. He wants to make sure we do things properly. He won't tolerate any obstruction."
Bain rubbed his top lip again then looked at McCrea. "What do you reckon?"
"Your call, gaffer. I've told you what I think."
Bain stared at the ceiling for a while. "Fine," he eventually said. "Just don't piss him or any lawyers off, cos I'll get the fuckin' blame."
"And that's not a wise move," said McCrea.
"Don't worry." Bain held his hand up. "I'll be in there with him to make sure there's no funny business."
"I know where the funny business will come from," said Cullen.
"I'm warning you, Sundance." Bain pointed his finger at him. "No fuckin' about here." He looked at McCrea. "Find something for Cullen's wee boyfriend to do, preferably something he can't fuck up. And get some gorillas in woolly suits to bring Roberts in."
McCrea slammed the door as he left the room.
"Do I not get to sit in on this?" said Buxton.
"No chance," said Bain.
"Great," said Buxton. "Nice wasted trip."
Bain pointed at Cullen. "Remember, Constable. No fuckin' about with this."
"None at all."
Bain shook his head then followed McCrea out of the room.
Buxton leaned in close. "If you fuck this up, you'll never be able to forget it."
"Don't I know it."
CHAPTER 82
Cullen and Bain had come to a loose agreement while they waited for Roberts to be brought in. Just like MacLeod, he'd insisted on bringing his solicitor with him, the same pinstriped thirty-something Cullen had seen him with the other day. From his attire, he suspected Douglas McGuire specialised in the music industry rather than criminal law.
Roberts played with his hair, tugging it forward. "Can we make this quick?"
Cullen could see the lack of roots at the front - definitely a comb-forward. "I'm sorry?"
"You might have heard I'm playing a gig at Hampden Park tonight," said Roberts. "I'm supporting U2 in my home town, you know?"
"Thought you were from Edinburgh," said Cullen.
Roberts shrugged. "Whatever. Just need to get out of here, don't I?"
Cullen adjusted his collar. "This is a serious police matter. I'm sure you'll have sound checked already."
"Aye, don't worry about it," said Roberts. "It's not like it's the most important day of my life or anything."
McGuire perked up. "This had better lead to something critical for your investigation, otherwise my client will have grounds to lodge a complaint."
"On what basis?" said Bain.
"As stated, my client is preparing to play an important concert tonight," said McGuire. "I would rather you didn't waste his precious and expensive time here with this charade."
"Who says we're wasting his time?" said Bain.
"I shall be the judge of that," said McGuire.
Bain held his gaze for a few seconds. "I don't want any disruption. Your client is here to assist us. I'd hope finding the killer of a mate is motivation enough for him."
"Very well," said McGuire.
Cullen cleared his throat. "Mr Roberts, do you know one James Strang, also known as Jimi Danger?"
Roberts snorted. "Sure, I knew Jimi."
"You do know he's dead, don't you?" said Cullen.
"Dead?" Roberts frowned. "I know he disappeared a few years back."
"We found his body last week," said Cullen. "In Edinburgh."
"Oh aye?" Roberts looked bored.
"It was close to somewhere you knew," said Cullen. "A set of medieval streets under the Old Town."
Roberts laughed. "Are you serious? I'm playing the biggest gig of my life tonight and you've got me in here to talk about some crap Neeraj said in a magazine?"
Bain sat back and folded his arms, a smirk flickering on his face.
"Is this correct?" said McGuire.
"We're investigating a likely connection in the case," said Cullen. "When was the last time you saw Mr Strang?"
Roberts threw his arms in the air. "I don't know, do I? That's ancient history, man."
"Can you try and think?" said Cullen.
"DI Bain," said McGuire. "My client is doing his utmost to assist here. He can't recollect so I'
m asking you to desist."
"Please try," said Cullen.
"It was probably when he played that gig where he cut himself up," said Roberts. "That was extreme, you know? It wasn't a pretty sight."
"That was definitely the last time?" said Cullen.
"If that's what my client says, then it's what happened."
"I remain to be convinced," said Cullen. "We believe you were friends with Mr Strang. How did he seem around the time he disappeared?"
"I've no idea," said Roberts.
"Take some time," said Cullen. "Try and remember. It might be important."
Roberts leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs, staring into space for a few seconds. "I think he was fine."
"I gather you used to drink with Mr Strang?" said Cullen.
"For a bit, aye," said Roberts. "We used to go out clubbing together. Jimi was a good guy, could always attract the ladies, that's for sure."
"How was your friendship?" said Cullen.
"Fine, I think," said Roberts.
"He wasn't annoyed with you about anything?" said Cullen. "No fights?"
"No." Roberts tapped his watch.
"I believe you were due to meet with an Alex Hughes on the evening of Wednesday the twenty seventh of March," said Cullen.
"Woah woah woah." Roberts made 'time out' hand gestures.
"My client has already answered questions on that matter," said McGuire.
"Agreed," said Bain.
"I find it interesting you've got strong connections to victims in two murder cases," said Cullen.
Roberts started laughing. "I could name ten bands you could get in here. Aren't you going to bring Neeraj in given he started all this?"
McGuire got to his feet. "My client has to get to the stadium for his concert." He fastened his suit jacket. "Unless you have any concrete questions for him, I suggest you let him get back? I don't need to remind you precisely how much money is resting on this particular event, including public money for policing?"
"I think we've probably asked enough of Mr Roberts for one day," said Bain. "Do you have any other questions, Constable?"
Cullen didn't know what else he could do. "Fine. We'll be in touch."
