Ghost in the Machine (Scott Cullen)

by Ed James

  As Cullen pushed open the Elm's front door, his phone rang - Alison. He let it ring out. He couldn't be bothered with that just now.

  The Elm was absolutely rammed. Cullen recognised a few faces at various tables, but his attention was drawn to the bar. Bain was holding court - Irvine, Wilkinson and Holdsworth all hanging on his every word, along with an irritated-looking McNeill. Keith Miller was sitting at a table with Willie McAllister.

  Cullen's phone bleeped that he had a new text; Alison must have left a voicemail.

  "Sundance!" called Bain from the bar. He was already three sheets to the wind; he held up his glass in toast. "Well done, Scott Cullen, you cracked the case." Wilkinson looked bemused as he raised his glass.

  Bain turned round to the barman and ordered a pint of Stella for Cullen.

  "How have I cracked the case?" asked Cullen.

  "You just linked him to Gail McBride," said Bain. "That's fuckin' good work."

  "How did you find out?"

  "Irvine just told me. Really good effort. Think I can charge Thomson with killing Gail McBride as well, now."

  "You know my thoughts on that," said Cullen.

  "None of that, Sundance. We're celebrating. It's not often that we catch the fucker in the act, and this time we have."

  Bain handed him his pint.

  "Where's Jim?" asked McNeill.

  "Updating the Chief Constable just now. Should be over soon. It's his card behind the bar."

  She took a sip of wine. "I take it you're pleased, then?"

  Bain grinned. "Oh yes."

  He turned round and started chatting to Irvine about the Rangers match, Cullen gathering that Rangers had won.

  Cullen backed away from the bar and started on his pint, sinking half of it in two quick gulps.

  "You've done well," said McNeill, moving over to join him.

  He shrugged. "I don't think I have."

  "If Jim's on a conference call with the Chief Constable, you'll be getting credit at that level. There's not that many of us get that sort of attention."

  She was standing close to him, her eyes locked on his. Cullen wasn't sure what to think or do.

  "Come on, Sharon, I've made sure that the wrong man is tried for this. Well, maybe not even the wrong man. It's just that someone is going to be tried for the murders without real evidence. And I'm the one that's given Bain most of the evidence he's using. That's he's misusing, even abusing."

  "But, he was caught red-handed," she said.

  "Have we got any witnesses to him stabbing her? No. He left work at the back of seven, right?"

  "Aye," she said. "Got it on CCTV."

  "We arrived at the flat at eight o'clock," said Cullen. "That's a hell of a lot of activity for one hour. He walked home from work, killed his girlfriend, then we get a 999, our boys pop round, catch him."

  She closed her eyes. "I don't have the energy for this, Scott," she said. "If you're right, the best we can hope for is that it gets thrown out of court."

  Maybe she was right, he thought. Maybe he was pushing this too hard. Maybe he needed a break.

  He sighed. "I'm not happy about it."

  "Me neither. Just try and enjoy the limelight for now. We'll sort something out tomorrow."

  "I finally got hold of Duncan Wilson," he said. "He told me that he heard about the death threats from Kim Milne."

  "Seriously?"

  "Yeah, he used to work with her at Alba Bank."

  "The plot thickens."

  "Well, here's cheers," he said. He held up his glass and she clinked it with hers.

  "This doesn't get you off that drink, by the way, DC Cullen," she said, raising an eyebrow.

  "I'd hoped that it hadn't," he replied. "Let's set a date and time."

  "Tomorrow after work?"

  "Fine by me."

  "Good."

  She drank, all the while keeping her eyes locked on his.

  Cullen spotted Jim Turnbull enter the pub. The DCI clocked Bain's group and headed over. McNeill hustled Cullen into the group.

  "DC Cullen," said Turnbull, eyes aglow, "I gather that you're responsible for a lot of the progress in the case?"

  "Aye, well," he said, "I noticed a few links along the way. I can't take all of the credit."

  "Nonsense! Brian, get this man another drink. I'll have a pint of Directors."

  Bain went to the bar and ordered.

  Turnbull patted McNeill on the back. "You're doing a great job of coaching young Cullen here, Sharon."

  She grinned. "Thanks."

  "I was just saying to Bill Duffin that we need more young officers like the pair of you, especially Detective Sergeants that are looking to better the Police Service, rather than merely their own careers - those that are taking a long view of things."

  Bain and company slipped back to the bar, leaving Cullen with McNeill and Turnbull.

  "Thanks," McNeill murmured, flirting with Turnbull even more blatantly than she'd flirted with Cullen.

  "You should think about going for a DI job, Sharon," he said, "you've clearly got the skills."

  "I'll bear it in mind," she replied. "But I've only been a DS for a year."

  "We've got ways and means of promoting people that demonstrate key behaviours, Sharon. Officers that deliver on our targets, you know that."

  Cullen went to the bar to fetch their pints. Bain leaned over and spoke to him.

  "Keep an eye on that one, Sundance, she'll shag anything to get ahead. Just you watch."

  Bain turned away before Cullen could reply. He went back and handed Turnbull his pint. He took it without looking, totally engrossed in the world of Sharon McNeill.

  Cullen noticed that McAllister had left Miller on his own. He moved over, neither McNeill nor Turnbull noticing his departure. Sitting down next to Miller, Cullen sipped his pint and tried to figure out what was going on.

  He was getting tied in to Bain's vendetta in a way that he didn't like. In the upper echelons of Lothian and Borders, his name was being bandied about as the officer who'd pulled everything together. But the real clincher was Thomson being caught with Kim's blood on his hands, and not from anything Cullen had done. Was Bain trying to spread the blame should the collar go pear-shaped?

  "All right, Scotty," slurred Miller, "didnae notice you there, my man."

  "Aye, I've only been sitting here for about five minutes, Keith."

  Miller didn't just look fucked, he was fucked. If Bain was three sheets to the wind, Miller was the whole ream. He had taken the free bar as an opportunity to consume as much as possible, as quickly as possible, and as stupidly as possible. The table was covered in empty beer and whisky glasses.

  "You're a good copper, you know that?" slurred Miller. "That's what everyone is sayin'."

  "Thanks."

  Miller rummaged around on the table, looking for something else to drink. There was a glass of white wine on the far edge, the last remnants of some ice cubes floating on the top.

  "Seen Caldwell?" asked Cullen.

  "She pissed off home instead of comin' here, eh?" Miller burped. "Spoke to Jim earlier, by the way, did I tell you?"

  "No?"

  "Aye, he's making me a proper DC."

  "When?"

  "Early September he said."

  Cullen could not believe it. He'd worked with Miller for a while now and had come to realise that he was completely useless. There were a significant number of competent officers who were miles better than Miller, but who were in the wrong roles. Caldwell was a shining example.

  Cullen held his glass up. "Congratulations."

  Miller tried to clink glasses but missed.

  "We got tonked tonight, by the way," he said. "Five nil, eh? Fuck sake, man." He threw back some wine. "Messi was superb. Best player I've ever seen." Miller leaned in, laughed conspiratorially. "Dinnae tell the gaffer, right, but I went to the match."

  Cullen rolled his eyes. "Keith, for Christ's sake, you were supposed to be watching that house for us."
/>   "Aye, I was, but there wasnae anybody there."

  Cullen wondered if he should tell Bain. "You shouldn't do stuff like that, Keith."

  "Aye, well. Nothing bad happened, eh no?"

  Cullen knew that there was no telling him. He might have to tell Turnbull.

  "Look who it is!" Willie McAllister clutched two pints of lager. "It's Robocop!" He sat down and handed a pint to Miller.

  "Willie," said Cullen, grudgingly.

  "You're the hero of the hour, pal, everyone loves you," said McAllister. "No idea why you're sitting here with us plebs. That DCI of yours is over there. Why don't you go lick his arse, get yourself a nice promotion out of it?"

  Cullen clutched the pint glass tightly, barely controlling his anger. He put his pint down on the table and got up.

  "Catch you later, Keith."

  He left the pub, his mind thinking of two things; a curry, and a bottle of wine.

  Cullen carried the plastic bag up the stairs, the smell wafting out. He was starving, the beer hadn't exactly helped. He'd had a few handfuls of Bombay mix in the Prince's Balti as he waited, but it only made him hungrier. As he unlocked the door to the flat, he noticed that the lights were on. He checked his watch; quarter to eleven.

  He opened the door; Dawn was sitting at the table talking to someone. A girl. She turned around.

  "Alison."

  She got up. "Scott."

  "Where've you been?" asked Dawn.

  "At work. You know how it is." He couldn't look Alison in the eye. He took off his jacket, put the bag down on the table. "Where's Johnny? Tom?" he asked, turning his gaze to Dawn.

  "They were off to the Hibs match," said Dawn. "I'm off to bed. Goodnight, Alison. Nice meeting you."

  Dawn went into Johnny's room, leaving Cullen with Alison.

  Alison walked over to him. Standing there, just the two of them, Cullen felt like he could do something, like there was an opportunity.

  "Listen, I'm sorry about having to dash off like that the other night," he said. "I've been really busy with work."

  "I understand."

  "It's genuine, believe me. I'm working on this murder case. I wish I could tell you about it."

  "It must be hard. Katie gave me your address, suggested I might as well come over."

  "She did, did she?"

  "Uh-huh." She bit her lip. "Scott, I really like you. I understand about your job and... Well, I'm here."

  Shite, he thought. Shite, shite, shite. What should he do? She looked good. She was here, throwing herself at him. He could get into something with her. He made a snap decision.

  "Alison, thanks for coming over," he said. "I appreciate it." He paused. "But I'm just not looking to get involved with anyone just now."

  Her glare almost cut him in two. "What?"

  "I'm sorry, I'm really not. It's the truth."

  "Then why the hell did your friend there talk to me for the last hour and a half about how sweet you are and how you're looking to settle down?"

  Cullen closed his eyes. "That's just Dawn, all right? She means well, but I'm just too busy for a relationship just now."

  She held his gaze for a few moments more, then shook her head. "Katie was right about you."

  "I wouldn't listen to her," he said. "She was shagging that accountant behind my back."

  "Maybe if she saw your front more often she wouldn't have had to."

  "What was all that stuff on Schoolbook," he said, "saying that you're in a relationship with me?"

  She slapped his face. "Scott, we slept together and went on a date, that's pretty close."

  "Not to me."

  She snatched up her jacket and made for the door, tears flowing down her face.

  "You don't know what you're missing, Scott."

  As the door slam echoed in the flat, he sat down and put his head in his hands. He knew all too well what he was missing, and that, well, he didn't want it and wouldn't miss it.

  Not one bit.

  "Cullen, you are a stupid bastard," shouted Bain.

  He'd just told him about making friends with Martin Webb on Schoolbook, expecting praise.

  "You've probably jeopardised any chance of getting a conviction. A police officer does not get involved in a case. You've been like this all along, doing stupid shite for the last three months."

  "But I can-"

  "But nothing." Spittle was all over his chin. "This is the sort of thing I'd expect from Monkey Boy Miller, not from you. I know you've put in for a DS position. I will make fuckin' sure that you don't get one. You'll stay a DC forever, son, that's if they don't chuck you off the fuckin' force."

  Cullen woke with a start.

  It was just a nightmare.

  He sat up, relieved but with a deep ache in his gut and a throbbing head. He picked up a glass of water from the bedside table and took a sip.

  He couldn't get it out of his head. The Bain in his dream was right - he was a stupid bastard. What had he been thinking?

  Christ knew what the consequences of that stupidity would be.

  Wednesday

  4th August 2011

  forty-five

  Cullen sat down at his desk at 8.50am and tore the lid off the double-strength coffee he'd bought from the canteen. The Incident Room was deserted - no doubt the result of fifty-odd hangovers.

  He'd spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, continually waking up with the recurring vision of Bain taking any hope of a promotion away from him. Ironic, he thought, given that he had no great ambitions of promotion, not for a few years at least - it must be all the talk of Bain chasing a promotion. The dream sometimes had a Glaswegian taking his job away, which he figured was Strathclyde coming in and stealing the case from Bain - sometimes it was a cockney and the Met.

  He took a big gulp of the burnt-tasting coffee and noticed a piece of paper on his keyboard. It was a note from one of the desk sergeants downstairs.

  'DC Cullen - A Duncan Wilson came in for a meeting at 7.45. I let him go at 8.30. Sgt Mullen. 8.35'

  Scribbled in the corner was another note. 'Call Tommy Smith'.

  Cullen crumpled it up. He was past caring now. Bain had got his collar - maybe McNeill was right. He'd done some good work, tied things together, chased down some key leads and contributed to the arrest. One conviction for four counts of murder was what they wanted at the top.

  "Morning, Scotty," grumbled Keith Miller. He looked totally destroyed.

  "Late night I take it," said Cullen.

  "Aye. Ended up in the Liquid Lounge till two."

  "Was Bain still with you?"

  Miller shrugged. "No idea." He looked at Cullen's coffee. "Jesus, that smells bad."

  "Filter with two extra shots. They call it a red eye."

  "Smells like they burnt it. How can you drink that?" Miller took out a four pack of Lucozade Sport and two cans of Red Bull. "Magic tonic this - the gaffer told me about it."

  "I'm not surprised." Cullen suddenly had an idea. "When you've had your tonic, can you go and get a statement from Duncan Wilson about these death threats. He told me it was Kim Milne that told him. I want you to check."

  Miller slouched down in his chair, his eyes shut. "Aye, okay," he muttered.

  Cullen checked his watch. "Bain time."

  "Okay, I'll keep it brief this morning, as we're all feeling a bit tender," said Bain, standing at the front of the Incident Room.

  He took a drink from a mug; Cullen wondered if it was the same potion that Miller was drinking.

  Cullen was leaning against the side wall by the large window. He looked around the room and all he saw was hangover. None quite as bad as Miller, but nobody was particularly fresh. That said, he didn't feel on top form with his dire lack of sleep. Hopefully, his indiscretion with Martin Webb would not come to light.

  "First, Cullen has managed to dig up a connection between Rob Thomson and Gail McBride. I've spoken to the Procurator Fiscal and she's happy to add Gail's murder to the list of charges. Well done, Co
nstable."

  Cullen felt the room looking at him again. He wondered if anyone had noticed his early exit the previous evening.

  "Second, Jimmy Deeley pulled a late shift last night and completed Kim Milne's post mortem. We had already proved that Caroline and Debi were killed by the same person, and that same person also killed Kim Milne. The Post Mortem is our key piece of evidence - same MO, traces of the same murder weapon - that links him to the rest of the murders. Good work to all involved in securing this evidence."

  Cullen could see a game plan forming. There was a wealth of circumstantial evidence that could be deemed to connect Thomson to the killings but, using the similarity of the murders, they could add something which appeared to be hard evidence, and make the case against much stronger and seemingly backed up by facts.

  Bain wasn't mentioning the links to Schoolbook, about how the killer had used the same method to lure his victims online.

  "Jimmy Anderson has submitted a draft report of their search of Thomson and Milne's flat. The only thing of note is that there is damage to the wallpaper by the flat's front door, probably caused by fingernails. This shows that there must have been a struggle. We can make the assumption that Rob Thomson pushed her inside the flat, she fell and scratched the wall - we found paint under her nails. We can also assume that she would have screamed or made a noise. If she did, a neighbour could have heard and then made the 999 call. Cullen couldn't find any of the neighbours who would take responsibility for the call, but I'm not too concerned about this. One of the key challenges we face is raising the awareness of domestic incidents, and anonymity is a part of that. Therefore, nobody owning up to making the call is not unexpected."

  Cullen imagined that Bain would have liked to speak to whoever made the call to close out some more hard evidence. Cullen himself still felt that there was something not quite right with the call, something just out of reach.

  "Finally, today is evidence day. I want you all to check your statements and notebooks, make sure that everything is consistent and supports the case. We've done a great job here, four murders solved. You'll all be aware of the pressure we're under due to rising crime figures in Lothian and Borders. This result helps to ensure that the public has faith in the ability of the police to bring killers to justice." He took a long drink from the mug. "Dismissed."