by Ed James
Cullen looked up from Sharon’s profile. His team stood there, Buxton, Eva and Chantal Jain. ‘Shite, the update.’ He folded up the profile and took a second to think as they sat. ‘You should all know we’ve got Simon working for us on secondment for a few days. Let’s get straight into your updates. Eva?’
She flipped open her notebook and reattached the elastic at the bottom. ‘Chantal asked me to look into Elsbeth van de Merwe. Don’t think there’s much there, though. Before Edinburgh, she lived in London. Three last-known addresses all check out.’
‘And Amber?’
‘Going to check the alibi this afternoon.’ She turned the page. ‘The street team have spoken to his neighbours and people at the sports club. They’ve re-interviewed everyone we did yesterday. Neighbours say he kept himself to himself.’
‘This is a summary.’ Jain passed over a sheet of paper. ‘Guy doesn’t have many friends.’
‘Tallies with what I hear.’ Cullen checked the page. ‘Three lines?’
‘There’s just not a lot on this guy.’
‘Have we got anyone running over his Schoolbook profile? Twitter? LinkedIn?’
‘Charlie Kidd’s pulling Schoolbook for me.’ Jain adjusted her scrunchy. ‘I’ve had a look at the others this morning. My sister posts absolutely everything that happens to her. Photos, updates, location, the whole lot. Van de Merwe’s the complete opposite.’
‘So he’s quiet?’
‘No Twitter account. LinkedIn has three hundred-odd contacts, but it’s all recruitment agents, that kind of thing.’
‘Can you and Eva dig into that? Just see if there’s anything anomalous.’ Cullen noted the action. ‘What about his drugs?’
‘Still with the SOCOs for analysis. They’re confident we can track them back to a dealer.’
‘That’s unusually bold for them.’
‘That Owen guy bored the tits off me about this new machine the drug squad paid for. I’ll let you know when they get anything.’
‘What else?’
‘I’ve looked through his bank accounts.’ Jain held up another sheet. ‘The only thing was a payment for a hundred grand, later reversed.’
‘Where did it come from?’
‘Don’t know. Could be a genuine error.’
‘Could be something else, though. We know he might’ve been messing about with offshore accounts.’
‘Still nowhere on that.’
‘Right. Keep digging.’ Cullen glanced over at Eva. ‘Have you got hold of Michaela Queen yet?’
‘Nowhere on that, Sarge. Her and this Wayne Broussard.’
Cullen stared at Eva. ‘Have you called him?’
‘The number you gave me went straight to voicemail. Message was recent, though, said it was a week ago last Friday.’
‘Thanks for that.’ Cullen stood up and stretched out. ‘Another update at six, okay?’
Jain folded her arms. ‘What have you two got to share?’
‘Basically, Van de Merwe was running a big IT project. Nine-figure budget. Lots of staff, including two third-party suppliers. Don’t think there’s much in it, with the possible exception of our old chum Rob Thomson.’ Cullen nodded at Buxton. ‘Simon can tell you all about it. I need to update Methven.’
‘Anything else you want from us, Sarge?’
‘Get me copies of the street team’s statements. Cheers.’
Jain made a note. ‘I’ll see what your last slave died of.’
* * *
Bain finished the last of his energy drink, “WakeyWakey” graffitied in green on the side. He crushed it and chucked it at Methven’s office bin. A spray dribbled across the carpet. ‘Doesn’t feel like you’re doing much, Sundance.’
Cullen held his gaze, fists clenched. ‘I seem to be the only one doing anything.’
‘Same old fuckin’ Messiah complex.’ Bain scratched his moustache, flakes of skin wafting up into the air conditioning. ‘Got your work cut out with this boy, Col.’
‘Keep your opinions to yourself, Brian.’ Methven got up from his desk and strolled over to the whiteboard. ‘Can we go through our list of suspects, please?’
‘That’s the thing, sir.’ Cullen leaned back in his chair. ‘They’re all suspects.’
‘They can’t all be.’
‘Every single person we’ve met at Alba Bank has some kind of a grudge against Van de Merwe.’
‘You’ve got motives, Sundance. Just fuckin’ missing the means and opportunity.’
‘I’m serious. We’ve been there all morning…’ Cullen drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘There’s something going on. Haven’t got to the bottom of it. But we will.’
Methven uncapped a pen. ‘Start with the basics.’
‘Well, it sounds like the programme’s in a mess, for starters. Delays to the schedule, arguments over ownership and delivery. Fights with IT and the delivery partner. Sounds like Van de Merwe was pushing things too far.’
Methven clenched his eyes shut. He opened them, narrow slits. ‘Neither Mr Yardley nor Mr Henderson mentioned this when we spoke to them.’
‘They’re not likely to. We got this from Vivek Sadozai and Rob Thomson.’
‘Why are we hearing different opinions?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to work out, sir.’ Cullen glanced at Bain. ‘We need to speak to Michaela Queen, their equivalent of DS Holdsworth.’
Bain narrowed his eyes. ‘What else’s that Thomson boy been saying?’
‘Just how bad it’s been.’
‘That’s fuckin’ helpful.’
Methven smacked the pen down on the board’s rim. ‘Brian, do you ever stop swearing?’
Bain smirked. ‘Just in front of brass, Col.’
Cullen gritted his teeth. ‘Thomson told us Van de Merwe was trying to sack IMC, the offshore company.’
Methven jotted it on the board. ‘That can’t be drilling, can it?’
Bain coughed into his hand, eyes betraying a laugh. ‘Offshore IT development, Col.’
‘Right, right.’ Methven noted it, his ears reddening. ‘What did this Vivek have to say on the matter?’
‘He blamed the mess on Schneider Consulting and Rob Thomson.’
Methven tapped the pen against his teeth. ‘Well, I can see where you’re coming from. Lots of angles here.’
‘Van de Merwe’s management team is full of people he’s worked with before. Jobs for the boys.’
‘Not necessarily a bad thing, Sergeant.’
‘It’s open to abuse, though. Lots of conflicts of interest.’ Cullen checked his notebook. ‘Deeley’s still ruling out suicide?’
‘Like that case we had at New Year, we’re lacking a note, amongst other things.’
‘There are easier ways to top yourself than taking a header off that fuckin’ bridge.’ Bain stood up and leaned against the wall, hands in pockets. ‘Lot of people have survived that fall over the years.’
‘Indeed.’ Methven prodded the whiteboard, eyes on Cullen. ‘What’s next, Sergeant?’
‘Still need to speak to Wayne Broussard.’ Cullen glanced round at Bain, fiddling with his phone. ‘What about you?’
‘DS Bain wanted to review the crime scene and the body before we move on.’
Bain tapped his nose. ‘How I like to work, Sundance.’
Cullen clenched his teeth. ‘Well, I’ll see what evidence I can rustle up here.’
Fifteen
Cullen powered across the station’s top floor, heading for the Forensic Support Unit. A flash of white hair to the right caught his eye.
Eva Law was chatting to a wiry man, fizzing with energy. Tommy Smith, Phone Squad.
Cullen tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Are you trying to get her to join your poetry club, Tommy?’
He spun round and grinned. ‘She’s already a member.’
She shrugged. ‘I did English lit at university.’
Cullen raised his eyebrows. ‘So did I. Doesn’t mean I want to hear Tommy reciting Burns every week.’
/>
Eva pointed at Smith’s desk, a bagged mobile connected to a laptop. ‘Tommy’s pulling the calls from Van de Merwe’s personal and work phones. We’ll get the call log by six o’clock.’
Smith winked at her. ‘Always pays to keep a pretty young lady in your debt.’
She batted his arm. ‘Tommy!’
Cullen thumbed over to the back of the room. ‘Need you elsewhere, Eva.’
‘Right, sure.’ She raised her eyebrows and followed Cullen across the room. ‘Tommy’s a good guy.’
‘Just don’t endure a bottle of whisky with him. And keep on top of him.’
‘I prefer doggy style, Sarge.’
‘Jesus Christ.’
Charlie Kidd rolled his eyes at their approach. He shook out his ponytail, greasy dark hair willowing out. His black T-shirt showed an egg shouting “Come and have a go if you think you’re soft enough” in pink lettering. ‘You can get to fuck, Cullen.’
He grinned at him. ‘No way to treat an old friend.’
‘Piss off. I’m always in the shite whenever you’re around.’ Kidd folded his arms across the egg’s face. ‘The Schoolbook extract’s already running. I’ll send it down once it’s finished, okay?’
‘Sounds good.’
‘It’s not just that we’re after.’ Cullen rested on the edge of the desk. ‘You guys are Forensic Support, right?’
‘Oh, here we go.’ Kidd let out a deep sigh. ‘Aye.’
‘So if I needed to trace some offshore money…’
‘Big Paul’s the liaison with City of London police.’ Kidd sniffed. ‘But I’ll see what I can do, so long as I don’t have to speak to you, Cullen.’
‘Charming. Eva’s your man. Woman.’
Eva smiled at Kidd. ‘Mrs Van de Merwe reckons he had some offshore accounts.’
‘I’ll see what I can dig up.’
‘Good man.’ Cullen play-punched his shoulder. ‘Have you got his computers in yet?’
‘Just going through his personal laptop. It’s a monster. Might see if I can acquire it after we’re finished with it.’
‘Got anything off it?’
‘Emails should be with Eva in about an hour.’ Kidd winked at her. ‘He gives you all the good jobs, eh?’
She flicked up her eyebrows. ‘Don’t I know it.’
Cullen scanned around the desk. No sign of it… ‘What about the work computer?’
‘Eh?’
‘He works in an office, Charlie.’ Cullen folded his arms. ‘Anderson said he sent his work machine up here.’
Kidd logged onto his machine and tapped the keyboard. ‘Well, our SOCO chums haven’t delivered it yet.’
* * *
Weasel Bob looked up from his clipboard, bum fluff covering his pointy face. He grimaced. ‘If you’re trying to hassle Anderson, he’s not here.’
Cullen leaned against the counter. ‘Where is he?’
‘I could tell you, but it’ll cost you.’
‘Quit with the games.’
‘I’m serious.’ Bob thumbed behind him. ‘Get your wee lassie to clear off.’
Cullen glanced over at Eva. ‘She’s right here?’
‘I mean Chantal, you numpty. She’s annoying young Owen through the back.’
Cullen hefted up the partition and stormed through to the lab round the corner.
Jain skulked in the window, scowling at a male SOCO. She glanced at Cullen. ‘Sarge, he’s not playing nice.’
‘I’m not playing nice?’ Owen ran a hand over his bald head. ‘You’ll get the drugs analysis once I’ve finished the priority work.’
Cullen kept his focus on Jain. ‘What’s higher than this?’
‘Drug squad work.’ Owen shrugged. ‘Orders came down from the Chief Constable.’
‘How long’s it going to take?’
‘At least until the weekend.’
Cullen folded his arms. ‘We’ve not got that long.’
Owen scratched the back of his head. ‘Tough shite, mate.’
‘This could be important. Any chance you could speed it up?’
‘Your patter’s still shite, Cullen.’ Owen glowered at him. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Charlie Kidd’s not received Van de Merwe’s work laptop yet.’
‘Better shift that forward.’ Owen scrawled on a yellow notepad. ‘You lot owe me, I swear.’
‘Is Anderson back there?’
‘You’re going over my head?’
Cullen raised his palms. ‘It’s about something else.’
‘What?’
‘The office search, for starters.’ Cullen shrugged. ‘Weas— Bob said he was here.’
Owen frowned and clicked his fingers. ‘Think he went out to the boy’s house.’
‘Why?’
‘Closing things off with Crystal and the wanker.’
‘The wanker?’
‘Your old mate Bain.’
* * *
‘The Scenes of Crime van isn’t here.’ Cullen pulled in on Belford Road, a few spaces away from the town house. ‘Is he winding us up?’
‘Think they buggered the suspension in the other two.’ Jain let her seatbelt ride up. ‘Chief won’t sign off on repairs until the second half of the year.’
‘What’s this force coming to?’
‘Can’t be called a police service if our techies can’t get to crime scenes, can it?’
Cullen got out onto the street and set off towards the house, school kids screaming and shouting nearby, the reek of the brewery pungent from a couple of miles away.
Chantal stopped by the gate.
Cullen’s mobile blasted out New Order. He mouthed ‘Methven’ at Jain as he put it to his head. ‘Afternoon, sir.’
‘Where the sodding hell are you?’
‘I’m back at the crime scene.’
‘And what the hell are you doing there?’
‘Looking for Anderson.’
‘Why?’
‘We’re running low on leads, sir. I’ve not got an update on the office.’
‘Bain and I have just left there. He was planning on finishing the town house this evening. I need to tally up some statements with you.’
‘Can we catch up afterwards?’
‘Back of six.’
‘Fine…’ Cullen killed the call and pocketed his phone, glaring at Jain. ‘You’ll tell me when I start irritating the living shit out of everyone about not getting a DI post, right?’
‘Like that’ll stop you.’ Jain grinned. ‘Working for Crystal that much fun?’
‘And then some.’ Cullen gazed up at the house. ‘Might as well have a proper look around while we’re here.’
Jain opened the front door, markers dotting the entrance hall, cataloguing stains on the tiles. ‘What the hell’s this supposed to show?’
‘Work creation?’ Cullen looked up at the dark staircase, polished cherrywood. ‘I only searched downstairs yesterday. Let’s try upstairs.’
‘That massive bowl of coke still makes me laugh.’
Cullen glanced over as he climbed up, the wood creaking beneath his feet. ‘Laugh how?’
‘Guy’s having a midlife crisis.’ Jain giggled. ‘Enough coke to burn out his septum. Eva said he’s got a Ferrari.’
Cullen stopped at the top of the stairs. ‘Shut up.’
‘They’re looking at it down in Fettes.’
‘What, for coke hidden in the chassis?’
‘Hardly. Just in case there’s any DNA in there.’
‘Figures.’ Cullen stared down the long hall. An antique chair looked out across north Edinburgh. The stairs at the end crept up into the attic conversion, two doors on each side. ‘Can’t believe this is all for one guy.’
‘Money, money, money. Crystal said he was on a million a year?’
‘That’s right.’ Cullen opened the first door on the right. ‘I’ll take this side.’
‘Sure.’ She wandered off down the corridor.
He entered an office, cables and wires entw
ining a large desk in the middle. Where his laptop had been. IKEA filing cabinets lined the walls. He tried a few of them. Nothing much to see.
‘Scott!’
He shot back into the hall.
‘In here!’ Jain’s voice came from the first room. He pushed into it. She sprawled on the bed, head pressed against the wall.
Cullen joined her, clocking a series of scores on the metal frame. ‘What’s up?’
‘I can hear something from the next room.’
‘Did you check the door?’
‘Aye, it didn’t open.’
‘Locked?’
‘That or the handle’s just a facing. Like when windows got boarded up years ago.’
Cullen looked around. A tall closet towered next to the bed. He opened it. Just suits, shirts and—
‘Wait a minute.’ He stepped inside. A dark panel filled the left side, two metres tall. He tried to nudge it open. Nothing happened. Gave it a harder push.
It slid up.
Anderson blinked at the light, his SOCO suit trailing from his waist, sweat dripping from his forehead. The walls and floor in the room behind him were painted jet black. ‘Thank Christ.’
Sixteen
Cullen stepped inside the room, his Tyvek suit crinkling. The mask misted against his breath. His shoes touched something spongy. ‘Always said you’d end up in a padded cell.’
Anderson snorted. ‘Cheeky bastard.’
Cullen shone his torch across the wall. ‘What’s all that stuff?’
‘Leather covered in rubberised paint. You can get it all from ScrewFix or B&Q.’
‘Shite.’ Cullen shuffled forward to let Jain in and ran a hand across the surface. ‘What were you doing in here after you got trapped?’
‘Banging the walls, phoning people.’ Anderson held up his mobile. ‘Bloody thing’s a Faraday cage. No mobile signal. Guy wants to get away from— Don’t let that door SHUT!’
Jain caught it. ‘Calm down, boys.’ She shook her head as she wedged a drawer in the panel. ‘Crystal and Bain are on their way back.’
Anderson let her past and flicked on his light. ‘Can’t believe that prick’s back. He’s even worse than you, Cullen.’
