Ghost in the Machine (Scott Cullen)

by Ed James

  Sian Saunders was standing in the doorway. Tall and thin, with bright orange hair tied back in a long ponytail. She had an intense look in her eyes.

  "Come in," she muttered. "I've just got back." She turned around, went back into the flat.

  The inside of her flat was roasting; it felt like the heating was on full blast, despite it being the middle of summer. The flat was furnished in garish colours; three of the living room walls were cream with the other painted fluorescent green. The carpet was beige with bright pink swirls. Cullen recognised the sofas from IKEA.

  "I'm in here," Sian called.

  He followed the voice through to the kitchen. She was making tea, distractedly mashing the teabag against the side of the cup. There was a half-empty bottle of red wine on the counter, beside a takeaway pizza box. The units were cream with a bright turquoise paint on the walls.

  Sian was fussing by the kettle. "I'm just back from work," she said. "Simon told me Gail's disappeared, so I've taken a half day. I was just going to head off over to their house after I've had a cup of tea. Can I get you anything?"

  "Tea," said Cullen. "With milk, thanks."

  She made him a cup of tea, mashed the teabag then tossed it into the sink. She tipped in some milk from a carton that was sitting on the counter.

  Sian put their cups on a tray and led the way through to the living room, Cullen following. She sat down in the armchair, folding her legs up under her. Cullen sat on the settee opposite. There was a good view out of the window, across the train line, looking up to Tranent, perched on the hill the other side of the A1.

  Cullen took out his notebook. "Ms Saunders, can you tell me about your movements last night? You and Mrs McBride."

  "We were at a bar in town."

  "Which bar was this?" he asked.

  "Eh, the one on the corner of Rose Street, at the St Andrews Square end. Grape, I think it's called."

  "Is this a regular meeting on a Sunday?" asked Cullen.

  "No. I was away at the weekend, so we didn't go out on Friday. We were both in work yesterday, so we went out last night instead."

  "And you left the bar together?"

  "Aye, we got the last train home," she said. "We'd only meant to have a couple of glasses, but ended up getting sloshed."

  "So what time was the last train?"

  "Just after eleven. Five past, I think."

  "So the last time you saw Mrs McBride was when she got off the train?" asked Cullen.

  "Aye, well I watched her walk up the path to the road, but aye."

  "Did you see anyone suspicious get off the train?" he asked. "Anyone lurking at the station?"

  "No," she said, quickly. "I wasnae looking, mind," she added.

  He took a mouthful of tea, far too weak for him. "Did Simon McBride call you this morning?" he asked.

  "Aye, back of eight. I was just getting to work. He said she'd no come home. He didnae seem too bothered, ken?" She sat back and folded her arms. "Things havnae been great between them."

  From the way Simon McBride seemed earlier, Cullen could understand why.

  "How do you mean, not great?"

  "Well, she was pretty fed up with him."

  "Had she talked about leaving him?" he asked.

  "A couple of times. She was talking about it last night."

  "What sort of thing?"

  "It is definitely on the cards, like."

  "Do you have any reason to suspect her husband of foul play?" he asked.

  "No. Simon's... Well, he's not the sharpest card in the deck."

  "How do you mean?"

  "Well, he's good at his job. He sells pensions, but all he's into is football and rugby. He's not got a bad bone in his body, really. I ken him fairly well, he'd never harm her."

  "I see. Do you think he had any suspicions that Gail was thinking of leaving him?"

  "I doubt it."

  "How do you think he would react if she did?"

  "Gail's his life," she said. "He'd just fall to pieces. He'd struggle to cope. She practically babies him, looks after him, does all the cooking, washing and cleaning and that, ken? He loves her to bits, but she's... Well."

  Cullen handed her his card. "Okay, Ms Saunders, I'll be in touch."

  twenty-seven

  Cullen leaned against the side of his car and called Bain.

  "Hello there, Sundance," answered Bain. "How's sunny Musselburgh?"

  "I'm in Prestonpans now," said Cullen.

  "Okay, how is sunny Prestonpans then?"

  "Yeah, great. I've just been speaking to the friend she was out with. I'm pretty much done here."

  "Oh aye?"

  "Gail McBride was out in Edinburgh with a friend last night," said Cullen. "The friend says that she saw her off the North Berwick train at Musselburgh. She's gone missing in the three hundred metres between the train station and her house. Her husband had gone to bed after the football last night. She didn't come back."

  "I see. And you believe him?"

  "I've no reason not to," replied Cullen.

  "And this pal said she saw her off the train and that's it?"

  "That's what she said. I'll maybe re-interview her later. She was a bit shell-shocked this morning."

  "Best time to get them, I usually find," said Bain. "Take it you've confirmed all this, aye?"

  "With the friend anyway. We could probably do with checking a few other sources."

  "So what do you think happened?" asked Bain.

  Cullen stood up and started pacing along the pavement. "I think there are probably three possibilities. One, she was attacked on the way home from the station. Two, she's run away. Three, the husband's killed her when she got home."

  "Go on."

  "The friend confirmed that there had been problems between Gail and the husband. Gail has talked about leaving. So, I'd say it's most likely that she's run away. The husband seems like he's a bit dim. I'm not sure it's an act, put it that way. I'm struggling to imagine him planning to kill her, or anything like that. Could have been a spur of the moment sort of thing, I suppose. It's not like there's a load of blood and a dismembered body in a ditch. If he did kill her, he's done a good job of covering up, and he just doesn't seem capable."

  "Right. So basically, any one of your three could have happened?"

  Cullen took a deep breath and thought it through. "I suppose so."

  "Do you think it could be linked to Caroline and Debi?" asked Bain, after a long pause.

  Cullen thought about it for a few seconds. "Doesn't look likely, but there's a few things I'd like to look into."

  "And if you were a gambling man?" asked Bain.

  "I am one," replied Cullen. "If I had to put money on it, I would say that she left him. It's the likeliest scenario, I'd say."

  Bain sighed with relief. "Jim's shitting himself that we've got another one. Good work. I'll get some officers on to it. I've palmed this off on to Wilko. I've got my fuckin' plate full with this case as it is, and he's doing bugger all other than get in my way."

  "What about me?" asked Cullen.

  "Wilko is on his way out. Get back over to Musselburgh."

  "So I'm one of the officers then?"

  "Aye. And try not to use your initiative till Wilko gets there, Sundance."

  Cullen found Wilkinson sitting in a panda car around the corner from Musselburgh train station. He parked along the road, got out and went over. The window in the car was wound down, Wilkinson smoking an untipped cigarette, TalkSport blaring away, a Scouser railing against Liverpool's pre-season form, the noise bleeding down the street. Cullen slid into the passenger seat. Wilkinson ignored him, taking a long drag on his cigarette and laughing at what the caller was saying.

  "There's no way they'll finish top four this season," said Wilkinson, "they've had their time."

  "Thought you'd be more a Rugby League guy," said Cullen.

  "What, you mean cos I'm a fat bastard?" Wilkinson let out a cackle. "Can't bloody stand it. That or Rugby Union. I'm L
eeds United through and through."

  "Bain asked me to report to you," said Cullen.

  Wilkinson laughed. "So he did." He took another drag, took his time exhaling. He held up the Evening News, the still of Martin Webb at the supermarket beneath the headline "Caroline Killer: Photo". "Still the main story," he said. "Poor Debi's not getting the coverage she deserves. And Caroline a single mother, too." He tutted.

  "Okay. What do you want me to do?" asked Cullen.

  "Needed another body to go door-to-door," said Wilkinson. "And Bain sent you."

  As Cullen was formulating an objection, Wilkinson reached over and picked up an Airwave, the latest generation Police radio, and called for PC Campbell. "I want you to pair up with Vicky Campbell. She's a good cop and no mistaking." Cullen wasn't too chuffed by being paired up with the ball buster from Simon McBride's house. "You pair are to do the houses leading away from the McBride's on that side," said Wilkinson, his hand gesturing round the crescent.

  "Anything specific you want asked?"

  "No, just use that initiative that DI Bain praises you for," said Wilkinson, as he turned the radio up. "Now, out you get."

  Cullen got out and walked back to his car. He reached in and retrieved the roll he'd bought from a petrol station in Wallyford on the way back over. He leaned against the side of his car and ate his roll as he waited.

  PC Campbell eventually appeared. Her smile had no warmth to it. "DC Cullen," was all she said.

  "Let's get this over with, then," he muttered.

  Cullen checked his watch. It was just after one. They'd managed to visit eighteen houses in an hour and a half, and had absolutely nothing useful to show for it. Campbell had agreed that she would pick up the remainder, and make some return visits that evening. She had gone back to Simon McBride's house to check on any updates at that end.

  "So that's it?" asked Wilkinson. "Nothing. Nothing at all?"

  "Afraid so," said Cullen.

  Cullen was sitting in the squad car with Wilkinson and had just informed him of the lack of progress they'd made. He had no idea what Wilkinson had actually been doing all that time, other than sitting on his arse.

  "I'm going to head back to the station," added Cullen. "I don't think you need a DC for this, not when I've got other actions Bain wants me to close down."

  Wilkinson grunted. "Go and see McAllister before you leave."

  "McAllister?"

  "Aye. I've had him looking for anyone who was on the last train yesterday. He's on the platform, bottom of the hill."

  "What's he doing down there?" asked Cullen.

  "Speaking to people getting off the train, what do you think, Curran?"

  "And what do you want me to do?" spat Cullen back.

  Wilkinson looked at him for a few seconds. "See what he's found."

  "Can't you do that?"

  "No. I'm managing."

  Cullen reluctantly walked off for the train station.

  He could see the new Queen Margaret's University campus sprawl on the other side of the tracks. Looking down the hill, he saw a train pulling off, a group of about twenty people starting the march up the hill. Cullen moved out of the way at the top of the hill and let them past.

  As he waited, he spotted McAllister with a young PC, standing in the middle of the path up from the platform. They were talking to a woman who looked mid-30s, but dressed mid-20s. Cullen started down the hill towards them. The woman he had been speaking to started up the hill as Cullen approached.

  "DC Cullen," said McAllister. "Heard you'd be sniffing around."

  McAllister's protégé moved away towards the platform.

  "Wilkinson's asked me to see how you were doing," said Cullen.

  "Snooping around, are you? Going to grass me up to Bain again?"

  Cullen sighed. "Not unless you've been messing about again. I'm just doing DI Wilkinson's job for him."

  McAllister actually laughed. "He's like that."

  "Well? Have you made any progress?"

  McAllister shrugged. "Spoken to five people now who were on the last train. That lassie I was just speaking to was one of them. None of them saw anything. A couple actually recognised this Gail lassie, mainly by her face, not her name. They didn't see her on the train last night."

  Cullen frowned. "Really? So it doesn't look like she was on it?"

  "Christ knows," said McAllister, raising his hands in the air. "I'm wasting my bloody time here. Most of them would have been pissed, wouldn't remember if their husband or wife was on that train, sitting next to them. I mean this is bloody Musselburgh, hardly the smartest bit of the Lothians." He yawned. "I doubt that I'll get anything until later on, when the commuter crowd start heading home."

  "I guess you're right," said Cullen. "Have you told Wilkinson?"

  "What's the point? He's just listening to the radio."

  Cullen grudgingly smiled at the PC.

  He climbed back up the hill and paced over to the patrol car. Wilkinson snapped the radio off as Cullen got back in. The car stank of stale cigarette smoke. Cullen wound down the window on his side. A gentle breeze started to flow between the two windows.

  "Did you get anything, Curran?"

  Cullen took a deep breath and decided not to correct him. "McAllister's found a few people who were on the train," he said. "None of them saw Gail."

  "Did any of them know her, like?"

  "Yeah. Two of them knew her by sight. They didn't see her."

  "That's interesting."

  "This doesn't feel right," said Cullen.

  "How come?"

  "Well, Sian Saunders told me that Gail got off the train at Musselburgh. Now, Willie's found five people who were on that train. Two of them knew her, but nobody saw her getting off."

  "Were they in different carriages?" asked the DI.

  "Don't know," said Cullen. "Wouldn't have thought it's an issue, though, there's only one way out, up that hill. It's not exactly a big station."

  Wilkinson looked out of the window, distracted. "Aye, it's a bit funny, Curran."

  Cullen tried to avoid getting irritated by Wilkinson's continual mispronunciation of his name.

  "I don't imagine there'd be a lot of folk on the train at that time of night, maybe twenty at most getting off at Musselburgh."

  Wilkinson looked around. "So what?"

  "I think there's something going on here. We've got people going door-to-door and nobody's seen or heard anything."

  "There's still a fair amount left to check, though."

  "Do you think she was on the train or not?" asked Cullen.

  "I've no idea, hopefully McAllister will unearth something."

  "I think you need to look into this a bit harder."

  Wilkinson glared at him. "Yeah, well, I'm the Senior Investigating Officer here. And I'm not far off handing this back to uniform. Wild goose chase." He checked his watch. "I've got a date with a pint of lager in a couple of hours, so can you piss off back to Bain?"

  "I really don't know what you're talking about, I'm sorry."

  Cullen was on the phone to Tommy Atkins, friend 34 of Caroline's. He knew her from school in Carnoustie and had been called by Caldwell on Saturday afternoon. Contacting people had been much slower the second time around - people were either less available than on a Saturday and Sunday, or were now irritated at being called again. They had selected a subset of people, but it appeared to contain all of the harder-to-contact friends.

  Atkins gave Cullen a rambling story about how he had returned to live in the area, and how he still kept in touch with people from school. In Cullen's mind, Atkins should have been a good source to validate that the death threats had been made.

  "So you are saying that you have never heard of any threats made by Rob Thomson against Caroline Adamson?" asked Cullen.

  "I am. More than happy to put it in a statement."

  Cullen was tempted. He was getting irritated by the singular lack of confirmation. He thanked Atkins and hung up.

  T
his whole Caroline story wasn't stacking up. Bain had Rob Thomson in his sights and the main piece of evidence he had was the death threats. Everything else wasn't even circumstantial - sightings of a man who loosely fitted his description. He looked over at Caldwell, who was just wrapping up a call.

  His phone rang.

  "Cullen."

  "DC Cullen? This is Margaret Armstrong. We spoke the other day about Caroline."

  Cullen sat forward. He couldn't work out why she'd called, other than Dave Watson or Charlie Kidd blundering in there to have a look at Caroline's work PC. "Is this about my Technical Support colleagues?" he asked.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Charlie Kidd or Dave Watson were going to have a look at Caroline's work computer. There may be some important information left on it."

  "No, no," she said, "they've just left with Caroline's machine." She paused for a moment. "The reason I'm calling is... Well, I had a visit from your Asian colleague yesterday at home. I can't recall her name, but I found your business card, and well. I'm sorry, I'm not handling this as well as I should."

  "It's okay," said Cullen, "take your time."

  "Thank you. Your colleague was asking me some questions about Alistair Cruikshank."

  Cullen recalled the name from the previous afternoon. McNeill and Chantal Jain had uncovered someone from Caroline's past, the man who had been objectionable about Caroline's divorce on religious grounds, and who Caroline had got sacked.

  "Have you remembered something?" asked Cullen.

  "No, Mr Cullen," said Armstrong, "he was here, at the office. He's just left."

  twenty-eight

  Jain came back into Armstrong's office with a cup of water and handed it to her. "There you go."

  Armstrong's face was flushed when Cullen and Jain arrived, sitting at her desk, and struggling to speak.

  Cullen had quickly found Chantal Jain at the station. She'd been navigating the labyrinthine Northern Constabulary divisional structure, trying to find out who to speak to in the Highlands in order to track Alistair Cruikshank down.