Ghost in the Machine: An edge-of-your-seat serial killer thriller (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 1)

by Ed James

  "I hate Aberdeen."

  Cullen tried to smile. "I take it you're a Rangers fan?"

  Bain grunted.

  The rivalry between Aberdeen and Rangers stemmed back to before Cullen was even born. In the eighties, Aberdeen were one of the best teams in Europe - let alone Scotland - under Alex Ferguson but their fortunes had declined greatly since.

  Cullen tried to engage Bain. "You go to Ibrox much?"

  "Every game when I lived through there," said Bain. "Chance would be a fine thing these days."

  "You fancy coming along to the Barca game then, Gaffer?" said Miller.

  Bain glared at him. "I'd rather lose a bollock than stand in a stadium full of smack-head Hibs fans with a fuckin' ticket your brother's nicked off somebody."

  "Suit yourself."

  They sat in silence for a bit, drinking. Cullen caught McNeill's eye over Bain's shoulder.

  Bain looked at Cullen. "I was on the phone to some boy in Bathgate earlier. You came over from F Troop, didn't you?"

  "Aye." Cullen knew F Troop meant F Division - West Lothian. He only recently found out it was a reference to an old American TV series about a bunch of idiot soldiers in the American civil war. "I was in uniform there for six years. Livingston, Broxburn and Bathgate. Then I was an Acting DC at St Leonards."

  Bain sat back, his arms folded. "St Leonards, eh?"

  "I was in DI Ally Davenport's team," said Cullen.

  Bain nodded. "Never heard of him." He put his glass back down. "How do you think you're getting on?"

  Cullen had been in Bain's team for just over three months and had yet to have anything resembling a formal one-to-one, despite Bain's continual references to it.

  "Well, it's early days." Cullen took a sip of his pint trying to buy time. "I've had a lot of autonomy and we got a result with the last case. It's why I wanted to join CID."

  Bain sneered. "You're an idealist, then?"

  "As opposed to what?"

  "A realist," said Bain. "There are generally two types of detective. There's your idealist, and then there's your realist. The idealist feels like they're born to be this great detective, the realist just gets there by being one."

  "So which type are you, then?"

  Bain's eyes flickered with menace. "I'll let you decide that."

  Cullen kept his mouth shut.

  Bain smirked. "Definitely an idealist." He picked up his glass and finished it, then slammed it on the table. "Whose round is it?"

  Cullen glanced at his pint, at least half full. "I'll get them in. Tennent's again?"

  They both nodded.

  "All right boys?"

  Cullen swung round. DI Paul Wilkinson, his shirt untucked, his trousers stained, looking a total mess.

  "All right, Wilko." Bain raised his glass. "Did you win?"

  Wilkinson was the other DI who reported to DCI Turnbull. "Too right I did," he said in his Yorkshire accent, his ruddy face almost glowing. "Those bastards were trying to use some Jock rules - two shots carry, bollocks like that."

  "I'm just off to the bar," said Cullen, "can I get you a drink?"

  "Stella."

  Cullen went to the bar and ordered. He checked his watch - he could really do with pissing off soon. He needed to go back to the station and change before he met his flatmates. He had half a mind to just leave and get an early pint on his own somewhere else, especially now Wilkinson had joined them.

  "Having a good time there?"

  McNeill.

  Cullen shrugged. "Not exactly. You've managed to get out of it pretty easily."

  "Chantal's just broken up with her boyfriend. Needs to get a lot off her chest."

  "A likely tale."

  The barmaid gave Cullen his change.

  McNeill ordered two glasses of rosé. "How's it going with the stag party?"

  Cullen shrugged. "I could think of a million places I'd rather be."

  "I'd invite you over but I wouldn't want to break my own cover," said McNeill.

  Cullen smiled. "Catch you later." He picked up the tray of pints and headed back to the table full of idiots.

  seventeen

  Cullen walked along Rose Street, finding his flatmates outside the Slippery Chopper. Johnny and Tom sat at an outside table with Johnny's girlfriend, Dawn, an array of empty glasses in front of them. The sun was out, in total contrast to the rest of the day.

  Tom raised his empty glass. Cullen nodded and Tom went inside.

  Cullen nodded at the glasses. "Been here a while I see."

  "It's a nice night, like." Johnny was skinny and almost as short as Dawn. "You been out with work?"

  "Sadly," said Cullen. "Just an hour of bollocks and three pints."

  Dawn laughed. "Your boss still giving you hassle?"

  "Not just me," said Cullen.

  Tom returned clutching two pints in his giant hands. "Here you are." He handed Cullen a Stella and sat his bulk down.

  Cullen took a big drink. "Cheers."

  "Should be a good night tonight," said Tom.

  "Yeah, should be good." In truth, Cullen's head was still with Caroline Adamson and her disappearance. Sitting with Bain, Miller and Wilkinson had only heightened his sense of frustration.

  "How's your new t-shirt?" said Tom.

  "I like it." Cullen had changed out of his suit back at the station. He opened his jacket to show it to the others, a DJ scratching a record, wearing a policeman's helmet, On the Beat emblazoned in large letters.

  Dawn laughed and looked over at Tom. "How's that going?"

  Tom looked bashful. "Going all right. Those t-shirts pretty much keep me in beer money."

  "And you drink like a fish," said Cullen.

  Dawn laughed. "How's your flat-hunting going?"

  Cullen took another drink. "Can't say it's really going anywhere."

  "Don't see why you want to move out," said Tom.

  "Not all of us are lucky enough to inherit money from our gran and get a staff mortgage at Alba Bank," said Cullen.

  "My flat's tripled in value since I bought it," said Tom.

  "Precisely," said Cullen.

  "Fancy going for a look on Sunday?" said Dawn. "We're going."

  "Maybe." Cullen didn't know if he could be arsed with flat hunting. "You getting any joy?"

  "None at all," said Dawn. "The market's totally dead."

  "It's depressing." Cullen drank some more. "Who are we meeting tonight?"

  "Becky," said Dawn. "It's her birthday."

  Cullen got worried. "Katie's not going to be there, is she?"

  "I don't know." Dawn shared a look with Johnny.

  Katie was the reason Cullen moved in to Tom's flat four years previously. He'd gone out with her all the way through university but they started to drift apart after he joined the police and eventually split up, mostly at her insistence.

  Cullen sunk the last of his pint and stood up. "I'm off to the bar."

  He went inside, deciding the last thing he needed tonight was to see Katie.

  ***

  Hours later in the Liquid Room, Cullen waited at the counter while the staff flirted with each other. He looked across the bar and locked eyes with Katie. She came over. He looked away.

  "Hi Scott," she said, all friendly.

  "Katie." Cullen looked at the barmaid, willing her to hurry up getting his drinks.

  Katie moved over beside him. "We've just got here," she said, struggling to be heard over the music. "I can't see Becky anywhere. Do you know where she is?"

  "They were over on the dance floor."

  "It's nice to see you, Scott."

  Cullen just shrugged.

  "I like your t-shirt." She ran her hand through her hair, seeming nervous.

  He looked away.

  She came right up to him and spoke into his ear. "Look, Scott, there's no need to be so hostile, okay?"

  "Yeah, whatever."

  The barmaid handed him his drink in a plastic cup, and a bottle of water. By the time he'd paid, Katie wa
s getting served.

  As Cullen moved away from the bar, Katie turned and looked at him. "I'm sorry about what happened between us. Can't we be friends?"

  "I don't think we can." Cullen walked away from the bar, looking for somewhere to sit and be alone.

  Finding a seat at a table near the back of the room, he downed the water in one. His mouth was drying up - the dancing had made him sweat, the sweating had made him almost sober.

  He was tired, feeling battered by the workload. He'd done the months as an ADC, on top of the years as a PC, but it hadn't prepared him for the long, relentless shifts he was now facing. He was thrown into it, drowning in exhaustion but at the same time expected to be at the top of his game. It was supposed to be nine to five.

  He looked over at the dance floor, clutching his vodka and watching the crowd dancing. Johnny had Dawn straddling him. Beside them, Tom had his fist in the air, pumping to the beat. Cullen could see Becky dancing with a group of people he didn't recognise.

  One of the girls was pretty, short dark hair held back off her face with a hair clip, wearing a tight silver kimono.

  He spotted Katie heading over to join the group, holding hands with a short guy, his hand casually placed on her bottom.

  Cullen turned away and sipped at the vodka.

  "How's it going?"

  He looked up. Dawn.

  "Okay," said Cullen.

  "It's not, is it?" She sat next to him.

  Cullen looked away. "Not really." He crunched some ice. "Katie's here."

  "She's moved on, you know?"

  Cullen nodded. "I know. She tried to ram it in my face earlier."

  "Maybe it's time for you to find a girl and settle down."

  "Yeah, right," said Cullen. "My job and the hours I work aren't exactly giving me much opportunity for finding the right one."

  "At least you know you want to."

  Cullen laughed. "True." He took a deep breath. "I need a new start, Dawn. I'm almost thirty and here I am in some shitty nightclub with the same old people from university."

  "Are you bored of us?"

  "It's not that. I just need to move on, as you say."

  "Cheer up, you bugger," she said.

  "Look, the music is shit tonight and I'm nowhere near drunk enough," said Cullen.

  "You need a Jaegerbomb."

  eighteen

  Cullen linked his arm with Dawn's as they walked up South Bridge, heading away from the centre, in the middle of a group of people he didn't recognise, trying to get a taxi to a house party somewhere. He had no idea where Tom and Johnny were. The guy Katie had her arms around earlier shouted something, then ran off laughing.

  Two taxis pulled up and they got into one. Tom and Johnny appeared from somewhere and joined them.

  Katie's boyfriend climbed in as well. He called an address out to the driver. "Party at ours."

  "You're going out with Katie, aren't you?" said Cullen after a while.

  The guy held out his hand. "Steven. And we're not just going out, mate. We're engaged."

  Cullen ignored the hand. He looked at Dawn, looked at Johnny, looked at Tom. They all looked away.

  Why had nobody told him?

  ***

  Cullen stood at the kitchen sink in Katie and Steven's flat on Grange Loan, drinking from a can of Red Stripe he'd taken from the fridge. Shit French house music spewed out of the speakers. Tom was standing by the sofa in front of Cullen, playing the ten-pin bowling game on the Wii. The big lummox had almost smashed into the TV twice already. Johnny sat on another sofa, Dawn sprawled all over him.

  Katie and Steven stood by the door, laughing with kimono girl and another couple.

  Cullen burped and tasted Red Bull and Jaegermeister. He took a swig of beer and looked out of the window. There was a good view across the back of the tenements, the communal lawn lit up by lights in the flats exactly like all of the others he'd ever been in. This was turning out just like so many other nights, except without a drunken fumble with some random girl.

  He looked back into the room. Kimono girl was reaching into the fridge for a drink. She looked up at him and smiled. Cullen raised his can, and returned the smile.

  "Hiya, I'm Alison."

  Cullen recalled someone saying they shared the flat with a girl called Alison who worked with Steven. "Scott."

  "Ah, so you're Scott."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Let's just say Katie's mentioned you once or twice," said Alison.

  "She has, has she? I sincerely hope she's not been honest."

  Alison laughed. "So, I hear you're a policeman, then?"

  "I am." Cullen took another slug of beer.

  She raised an eyebrow. "I love a man in uniform," she said, licking her lips.

  Cullen laughed - she was even more pissed than he was. That was an awful line. "Yeah, well, I'm a detective so I don't actually wear a uniform any more. Just a suit."

  "Oh, didn't know that," said Alison. "So you, what, catch murderers, is that right?"

  "Supposedly."

  "Are you on a case just now?"

  "Yeah, supposed to be," said Cullen. "I'm off tomorrow so I won't be catching anyone."

  She leaned against the counter, supported by her arms. Cullen caught Katie scowling at him from across the room.

  "So you're like Taggart then?" said Alison.

  "The reality of it is very different from TV," said Cullen. "Long hours, frustration, dealing with a boss who wants to kill you."

  "It's very glamorous on the telly."

  "It's not like that in reality," said Cullen. "Crawling around murder scenes in a big white suit, chasing loose ends, dealing with wankers. I almost got stabbed this morning. That's the reality. And don't get me started on the books. Half of them have a DCI or a bloody ACC running round investigating crimes. All they really do is massage statistics and give crime prevention seminars. It's a joke. It's people like me who do all the work and get none of the thanks." He took a swig from his can, looking her up and down just as she did the same. He moved closer, Katie was looking over at them, even more disapproving than before.

  Fuck it, he thought. He leaned over and kissed her.

  ***

  Cullen opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

  Where was he?

  What was that noise?

  His mobile.

  He struggled out of the bed, almost tripping up, his head throbbing. He rummaged around in the pile of clothes, dug under the t-shirt, under the silver kimono, fumbled with his jeans, reached in the wrong pocket, then the correct one, all the while his head battered away. The clock on the bedside cabinet said ten thirty - he hadn't a clue when he'd got to sleep.

  He answered the phone without checking the display.

  "Sundance?"

  Bain.

  "What is it?"

  "You better get your arse over here." Bain sounded agitated. "We've found Caroline Adamson."

  Cullen sat back. "How is she?"

  "She's fuckin' dead."

  Saturday

  30th July 2011

  nineteen

  Bain's 'here' was the Jackson Hotel on Minto Street. Cullen had been in the function room as a student in full Highland dress - kilt, sporran, jacket, the lot - and he'd hated it. The night itself was a disaster, mainly due to a row he had with Katie.

  Cullen walked from Alison's flat, just over a mile away, feeling guilty for leaving her asleep in bed. He'd left his mobile number, but it didn't stop him feeling shallow.

  Katie had really wound him up - he hadn't expected her engagement and she'd just flaunted it, her paws all over that guy. So, he'd slept with her flatmate in retaliation. Smart move.

  Fuck, was he tired. He checked his watch as he entered the hotel - just before eleven.

  He followed the signs down the corridor towards the room where they'd found Caroline's body, number 20 on the ground floor. The place was rammed with Scene of Crime Officers, dressed in their white overalls, loo
king to Cullen like they were almost finished their examination.

  He vaguely recognised a short man with a goatee and slicked back hair heading into the room, as he put on his own set of overalls and signed into the crime scene.

  He spotted Bain and McNeill standing in the hallway outside the room, looking out of the window to the car park at the back, Bain's hand stroking his moustache. An officer wearing overalls and holding a clipboard stood beside them.

  Cullen caught his own reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall in the corridor - he looked even worse than he felt and that was like he'd died twice over.

  He approached them. "Sir."

  "Sundance, I've told you before - just call me Brian." Bain turned round. His eyes just about popped out on stalks. "Jesus Christ, Cullen, what the fuck have you been up to?"

  "I was out clubbing."

  "You should have bloody said, Sundance."

  McNeill looked at his t-shirt and laughed.

  "What happened here?" said Cullen.

  "Cleaner found her," said Bain.

  McNeill picked up the thread. "There was a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door since Wednesday night. She came in this morning to clean. They've got a policy of disturbing after two days." She paused. "She got lucky today, though."

  "Aye, some jokers from your old patch came sniffing around," said Bain, alluding to St Leonards. "One of them recognised Caroline from the photograph in the press release we sent out last night. We've just completed a handover from them."

  "Jesus," said Cullen. "Have the parents been told?"

  Bain scowled at him. "I do know how to run a murder investigation, Cullen. Yes, they have. A local teuchter plod is on their way round to the house as we speak."

  "Where's the body?" said Cullen. "Can I have a look?"

  "In there." Bain nodded into the room. "Jimmy Deeley's just about ready to take her up to the morgue after we've finished. The SOCO boys are done with her now."

  "What's the cause of death?" said Cullen.

  "Don't know yet," said Bain. "There was a fuck of a lot of blood in there, though. Looks like a stabbing."