Dyed in the Wool (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 4)

by Ed James

  "At seven in the morning?" Methven's hands jangled away in his pocket. He held Cullen's gaze for ten or so seconds before Cullen had to break off. "I can sodding smell the booze off you from here, Cullen. You were out drinking last night, weren't you?"

  Cullen looked away then gave a slight nod. "Yes."

  Methven shook his head. "When did you get home?"

  "After one. I slept in. The alarm didn't go off."

  "Cullen, can I just sodding remind you we're working a double murder investigation here. You get to go drinking when we've brought someone in and charged them, not when we're in the middle of it. Especially when you've just taken two days off."

  "They were after nine days back-to-back."

  "You look like crap."

  "I just broke up with my girlfriend. It goes with the territory."

  "DS McNeill?"

  Cullen nodded.

  Methven gripped the edge of the table. "I really don't like it when officers get involved with each other. It always ends up like this. It's no excuse, you know? DC Caldwell's going through a divorce. I don't see her out on the town in sodding nightclubs or what have you."

  Cullen looked away, across the canteen. "I'm sorry."

  Methven closed his eyes, hand jangling. "Before I took you on, I'd heard a lot about you. You were promising, you got results, but you might be out of control. Well, I've confirmed it now. I don't think DI Cargill or DCI Turnbull realise how out of control you are, Cullen."

  "I'm not out of control, I'm just going through a rough patch."

  "Alcohol abuse isn't the best way to deal with rough patches."

  "I'm not an alcoholic."

  Methven's large eyebrows furrowed. "Did I say you were?"

  "No." Cullen grimaced.

  "We all like a drink, don't get me wrong, but there's a time and a place for everything. Don't let it dominate you."

  "Okay."

  Methven pointed a finger at him. "I covered for you at the briefing this morning. It'll be the first and only time, okay? If you don't buck your ideas up, DI Cargill and DCI Turnbull will be told about this. It's all documented."

  "This will be the last time."

  "It better be. Given the state you're in, I assume you're not fit for normal duties."

  "I can do my job. Besides, I think I need something to take my mind off it. I'll be fine once I've got a coffee in me."

  Methven looked him up and down. "You might want to wash your face and brush your hair while you're at it." He got out his notebook and flipped back a couple of pages. "Your actions for the day, assuming you're actually capable of working, are as follows. The door-to-door in the street came in and it looks like Aitken didn't return home on Tuesday night. We've backed that up with the forensics."

  "So he was abducted?"

  "We don't know that. What I need is for you and Buxton to do some digging. Find out if he disappeared or ran away. The last sighting was at work on Tuesday."

  Cullen jotted it down in his notebook. "I'll get onto it."

  Methven pointed at him. "I'm serious about this, this is the last sodding time I ever cover for you. You'll be dropped in the muck so sodding fast, you won't know what's hit you."

  CHAPTER 32

  Cullen filled up his desk with prints of phone records over the previous fortnight - Aitken on the left and Souness on the right.

  He cross-traced their contact, noticing they'd made a number of calls to each other, mainly Aitken to Souness. There was a spike in frequency on Tuesday, starting about ten a.m., but which came to a sudden stop just after five. He looked through the previous weeks that he had in a loose pile and noticed their regular phone contact was two or three times a day.

  There were two mobile numbers he couldn't square off against contacts. He called Tommy Smith in the Phone Squad, an old acquaintance.

  "All right, buddy? How can I help?"

  "Morning, Tommy. How do you know I'm looking for help?"

  "I don't think you're interested in my Lothian & Borders poetry club."

  "No, you've got me." Cullen laughed.

  "You sound a bit rough. Been hitting the whisky?"

  "Jaegermeister and Red Bull."

  "Oh dear. My youngest is a fiend for the old Jaegerbomb."

  "Tommy, I've got some phone numbers I need to trace. I've come up empty on my own searches, so I was wondering if you could help."

  "Sure thing, buddy."

  Cullen read out the two numbers.

  "Give me a minute there, I need to stick this on mute, all right?"

  Cullen leaned back on his chair. His eyes were stinging. His head was throbbing. He still felt pissed. He knew well enough 'never again' meant 'until the weekend', but this time he might actually mean it.

  "All right, buddy? Got something back. They're Pay As You Go SIM cards, delivered to a shop in Ravencraig, imaginatively enough called Ravencraig News."

  Cullen sat forward in the seat. "Both of them were?"

  "That's right. Consecutive serial numbers, but they only acquire the network number when they connect first time. Definitely bought at the same time, though."

  ***

  "You shouldn't be working if you're too pissed to drive." Buxton pulled into the kerb outside the shop, just off the main drag in Ravencraig.

  "Relax, Budgie."

  "Would you stop it with that? You're becoming a right bloody hypocrite, mate. You're pissed off with Bain calling you Sundance, but you've got a million and one names for people. Budgie, Britpop, Shagger, God knows what else."

  "Sorry. I must seem like a dick."

  "You do. I'm sorry but that's the God's honest truth."

  "Okay."

  "Now, are you sure you're okay to do this?"

  "Relax, I'm fine." Cullen felt anything but.

  "Don't think Methven thought that way. He was still raging when he came back to the Incident Room."

  "Was he?" Cullen stared out of the window. "Let's go and see what this shop's got to say."

  Cullen hadn't phoned ahead for fear of warning the proprietor. They trudged into the shop and joined a queue.

  The guy behind the till looked Polish - he had dark hair and the classic Slavic look. He screwed his eyes up at an old lady at the front. "That's the seventh time in the last month my paper's not turned up."

  Cullen grabbed a bottle of Lucozade as they waited.

  The next two customers quickly bought stuff with exact change.

  Cullen paid for the Lucozade then held out his warrant card. His hand was shaking, so he put it back in his pocket.

  "How I help, Officers?"

  "You can start by giving your name."

  "Sure, it is Marcin Wdowski."

  "We've got two phone numbers we've traced to Pay As You Go SIM cards delivered to this address. Do you keep a record of sales?"

  "I not." Wdowski tapped his head. "I have steel trap mind."

  "How many do you sell each month?"

  "Maybe five."

  "Do you ever sell more than one at a time?"

  Wdowski nodded. "It happen. Time to time."

  Cullen got out his notebook, flipping through to the notes he'd taken on the call records. The first phone was calling Aitken three weeks previously - he could assume the card was bought that week. "What about around about the eighteenth of September?"

  Wdowski laughed. "You funny man. How I suppose remember that long ago?"

  Buxton looked around the shop. "Do you have CCTV?"

  "No I not. Too much money."

  "Thought you had a steel trap mind?"

  Wdowski laughed again. "You very funny man. You should be on stage like that John Bishop. He very funny."

  Cullen folded his arms. "I'm serious. Do you remember anyone in that week?"

  "Lot of people. Give me minute." Wdowski cradled his hands, holding them up to his nose. He stood like that for some time.

  Cullen looked around - the queue behind them was ten deep now. A couple of people left the shop, shaking their heads
and swearing.

  "I remember now." Wdowski stabbed a finger in the air. "Was boy with, how you say, hat that is part of jumper?"

  "A hoodie?"

  Wdowski smiled. "Yes, that it. Man with hood bought two card. Was middle of afternoon, so I not busy. I remember him."

  "What did he look like?"

  "Hood was low. I not see he face too good. He white, that all I say."

  "What accent did he have?" Cullen frowned. "Was it like mine or like yours?"

  Wdowski shook his head. "He not speak to me. He pay cash then go."

  Buxton pointed to the shelf behind Wdowski. "Did he not ask for them?"

  Wdowski smiled, exposing gappy teeth. "He point like you. He grunt. Say 'card'. I ask him if phone card. He shake head. I ask him if SIM card. He nod. I give him card."

  Cullen handed Wdowski a card. "Give me a phone if anything else comes to you or the man in the hood comes back."

  Wdowski nodded. "I do that."

  Cullen led them back out, stopping by the car. He opened the Lucozade and downed half of the bottle in one go. "What do you think?"

  "It could be the same guys that set fire to the lock-ups. Worth looking into."

  "Hoodies torching the garage and hoodies buying disposable mobile phones. Methven's going to kill me for this."

  "You reckon? He seems like a proper geezer to me."

  "He's got it in for me."

  "That hangover's making you paranoid."

  "It's making my day shite."

  "What next?"

  "What we're supposed to be doing. Let's try and pick up the trail from when Aitken went missing after his work on Tuesday."

  ***

  "What's the plan, then, Morse?" Buxton switched off the ignition.

  Cullen laughed. "You're hardly Lewis, are you?" He watched the lunchtime crowds walk about, some heading to a coffee shop on the corner, some to a burger van and others into Drummond House, where Aitken had worked.

  "This ain't Oxford, that's for sure."

  "Have you been there?"

  "I went to university there."

  Cullen scowled. "Shut up."

  "God's honest truth, did PPE at Hertford College."

  "Didn't know you could do PE at Oxford."

  Buxton laughed. "PPE is Politics, Philosophy and Economics."

  "Thought you'd be working in the City with a degree from Oxford?"

  "Moved up here after I graduated. The bird I was seeing was from Edinburgh, wanted to move back, so I came with her. I was in a band for a few years. Both things broke up at the same time. Tell you, the band was a harder break-up than the girl."

  "And you joined the police then?"

  "Yeah, I was just working in a shitty office, selling pensions. Decided to do something with my life."

  "Why not go back south and work in the City?"

  "Cos it's full of wankers. I'm from London, I know what goes on there. I'm keeping as far away as possible."

  "It's very noble, if I actually believed it."

  "Believe what you like. It's the truth."

  "What did you play?"

  "Bass."

  "Brilliant. You'll need to show me it some time."

  "Sixty-four Fender Precision. Worth a fucking mint, I tell you. Should really sell it, but I just can't bring myself to."

  "So you didn't get signed?"

  "Just about did. Couple of labels were interested in us but it never came to nothing. Fucking annoying."

  "I still don't believe it." Cullen opened his door. "Come on, let's speak to the security guard."

  They trudged over the road, the cutting wind carrying a few falling leaves, heading to the security barrier.

  Cullen rapped on the glass.

  The guard looked up. "You again?"

  "Afraid so. We're investigating the murder of an Alexander Aitken who worked in this building."

  The guard's face contorted in concentration. "The name rings a bell."

  "Does he have a parking space?"

  The guard gave a nod. "That'll be it." He rummaged around in a clipboard on the desk. "Aye, his motor's been left here for the last few days."

  "In the car park?"

  "Aye, son, in the car park. A blue Subaru Impreza WRX. Lovely motor. Been left overnight since Tuesday. We normally report them after a week."

  Cullen whipped out his mobile and called Methven, ready to break some good news for once.

  ***

  Cullen stood in the canteen putting milk into his and Buxton's builder's teas, using a small wooden stirrer to mash the teabag against the side of the paper cup.

  "Scott."

  Cullen looked up.

  Sharon. "How are you?"

  "Fine."

  "There's no need to be like that."

  "Really?" He put the lids on the cups, noticing Caldwell lurking in the distance. He started off towards the stairs.

  Sharon grabbed his arm. "We need to talk this through properly."

  He looked down at her hand then up at her face. "No, we don't."

  "Come on."

  "Is that another conquest you've got?"

  Sharon glanced at Caldwell. "You're one to talk. We need to sit down and discuss this."

  "I've said all I'm going to say. I'll collect my stuff on Saturday. That's it."

  Sharon slowly loosened her grip on his arm then shook her head.

  Cullen walked out of the canteen, feeling a pang of guilt. She knew it was over and yet she still persisted.

  He needed to get out. He just needed a sideways move to a place with more opportunities. It'd be better in the long run. Maybe St Leonard's. He knew how it worked, knew the faces and the area they covered. That was the only way to get away from her.

  Cullen entered the CCTV room, handing Buxton his tea.

  Methven folded his arms. "You've not got me one again?"

  Cullen smiled. "I'm not psychic."

  "You need the gift of foresight."

  Cullen almost laughed. "How can I help, Sarge?"

  "I was just asking Simon how it was going down here. I hope you've not been sleeping off that sodding hangover."

  "Hardly. We've been over the CCTV footage from the Gyle. Might be on to something."

  "Go on."

  "We need to verify it from the other footage, but we think we've got Aitken leaving work at quarter past four and getting into a Land Rover Discovery." Cullen nodded at Buxton. "Show him."

  Buxton pressed play on the machine. Xander Aitken walked through the revolving doors at the front of Drummond House, a tiny figure in a grey landscape of cars, concrete and tarmac.

  Aitken walked through the car park, out through the pedestrian entrance by the parking barrier. He then vanished off the screen. Buxton switched to a camera looking down South Gyle Crescent.

  Aitken leaned into the passenger window of an old Land Rover before getting in.

  "This is excellent work, boys. Do you have a license plate?"

  "Just away to process it now." Buxton flipped to another view - the camera facing across the roundabout towards the Gyle Centre. He put a freeze-frame image on screen of the dark grey Land Rover. "It's a bit of an odd one, though. Just a string of five numbers."

  Methven got to his feet. "Don't let me hold you back."

  "Just be a second." Buxton switched to the Police National Computer and entered the license number. "Says it was scrapped in two thousand five."

  Methven collapsed into a desk chair. "What? Can you contact the owner?"

  "Will do." Buxton went through another couple of screens. "It's nobody we know, if that's what you were hoping."

  "This is still good, guys."

  "We can get an ANPR search done on it." Cullen blew on his tea. "It'll trace where this car's gone after here."

  "Cracking idea. Get onto it."

  "Knowing them, it'll be an overnight return."

  "That's fine." Methven fixed his eyes on Cullen. "I'm starting to see why Turnbull might think you're a rising star."


  Cullen tried to ignore the sarcasm in his voice.

  CHAPTER 33

  Just after five, Cullen's phone chirruped - a reminder to meet up with Alison Carnegie that evening, just after six. Shite. He could really do with going to bed. He got to his feet and stretched out. "Think that's me done."

  Buxton scowled at him. "Really?"

  "Aye. I've got the Automatic Number Plate Recognition search kicked off. Naismith reckons it's an overnight turnaround time."

  "Okay. See you tomorrow."

  Cullen left the CCTV room, making for the stairwell, hearing footsteps in front of him.

  As he got out into the car park, he saw Caldwell unlocking her car. He jogged and caught up with her. "Is this you going back to your love nest with Bill?"

  She stopped and glared at him. "Stop it, Scott. I'm going home, yes. To Bill, yes. You don't need to be so nasty. I'm not Sharon."

  "That's harsh."

  "Is it? You're being outrageous. You've no idea how upset you're making her."

  "I'm not making her feel anything."

  "Really? What you said earlier was below the belt as well. Are you saying I look like a lesbian because I'm so tall? Well, newsflash for you, Captain Caveman, I know lots of short lesbians."

  "I'm not a homophobe."

  "I keep hearing that from you. Your behaviour stinks."

  "I don't like being lied to."

  Caldwell laughed. "Scott, you're the biggest liar I know." She turned, got in her car and drove off.

  ***

  Cullen was early for once. He checked his watch - Alison was running ten minutes late already. He had a lemon and lime drink, which he'd almost finished. He took the last mouthful of a meatball melt, sating his hunger.

  The cafe was bright and airy and they were playing some chilled techno which helped Cullen's mood slightly.

  "Hey, Scott."

  He looked up, stunned at how much she'd aged in just fourteen months. She looked ten years older, her hair streaked with grey, skin pale and lined. Her eyes darted around the room, surrounded by deep rings.

  He got up and offered her his hand. "Can I get you anything?"