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

by Ed James

  "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 before climbing back up the hill and pacing over to the patrol car. Wilkinson snapped the radio off as Cullen got back in. The car stank of stale cigarette smoke, so 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. None of them saw Gail."

  "Did any of them know her, like?"

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

  "That's interesting," said Wilkinson.

  "This doesn't feel right."

  "How come?"

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

  "Were they in different carriages?"

  "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," said Cullen. "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," said Wilkinson.

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

  "I've no idea. Hopefully McAllister will unearth something."

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

  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?"

  fifty-one

  Cullen was on the phone to Colin Green, friend thirty-four of Caroline's. Green knew her from school in Carnoustie and had already been called by Caldwell on Saturday afternoon.

  Contacting people was much slower the second time around - they 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.

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

  "So you're saying you never heard of any threats made by Rob Thomson against Caroline Adamson?" said Cullen.

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

  Cullen was tempted, becoming irritated by the singular lack of confirmation. He thanked him and hung up.

  This whole death threat story wasn't stacking up. Bain had Rob Thomson in his sights with the main piece of evidence being the death threats. Everything else wasn't even circumstantial - sightings of a man who loosely fitted his description.

  He looked over at Caldwell, just wrapping up a call. His phone rang.

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

  Cullen sat forward on his seat - 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?"

  "I'm sorry?" said Armstrong.

  "They were going to have a look at Caroline's work computer. There may be some important information left on it."

  "No, no, they left an hour ago with Caroline's machine." Armstrong 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," said Armstrong. "Your colleague was asking me some questions about Alistair Cruikshank."

  Cullen recalled the name from the previous afternoon - McNeill and Chantal had uncovered someone from Caroline's past, the man who'd been objectionable about her divorce on religious grounds and who Caroline got sacked. "Have you remembered something?"

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

  fifty-two

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

  Armstrong took the most delicate of sips. "Thank you." She was sitting at her desk when Cullen and McNeill arrived, face flushed and struggling to speak.

  "Can you tell us what happened with Mr Cruikshank?" said McNeill.

  Armstrong's hands were fiddling with the St Christopher at her neck. "I'm sorry, I just can't help but think he killed Caroline and Debi and now he's been here."

  Cullen nodded. "We don't know whether Mr Cruikshank was even in the city at the time of either attack. Can you tell us about your encounter from the start?"

  "Okay." Armstrong took a deep breath. "I was just going through some paperwork when there was a knock on my door."

  She pushed the glass of water away. "It was Alistair. He stood there smiling, as if to say 'Look who it is'. I nearly fainted, I can tell you." She gulped down some more water, a trickle slipping down the side of the cup. "I just thought he was here for me. We had to get rid of him after all that business with Caroline, I found it very hard. I struggled with the guilt. Just seeing him there like that absolutely terrified me."

  "Did Mr Cruikshank say anything to you?" said Cullen.

  "Why yes." Armstrong regained some of her composure. "He was most effusive. He was talking about atoning for his sins, that he'd resolved what had happened between him and Caroline and a few other things."

  "Did he say what he was doing in Edinburgh?" said Cullen.

  "Yes, he's here for some sort of divinity conference," said Armstrong. "You know he's studying to be a minister in whatever church he's in. He studied divinity here before at the university. I think he said the conference was on 'redemption'."

  Cullen shared a look with McNeill - she raised an eyebrow. "Do you have any idea where he might be staying?"

  "He mentioned something about staying at the Minto Hotel," said Armstrong.

  It was Cullen's turn to raise an eyebrow - it was right next door to the Jackson Hotel, where Caroline was found.

  ***

  McNeill parked outside the Minto. What would once have been the front garden of a Victorian house was now the car park of a heavily extended hotel. Cullen noticed the police markings were still up at the Jackson Hotel, a few doors down.

  "You lead," said Cullen, as they got out of the car.

  "You're such a gentleman, Scott."

  "I just can't figure out who would choose to stay here," said Cullen.

  "Parents of students at the university halls round the corner?" said McNeill.

  "Maybe," said Cullen. "It's nowhere near any big businesses, though, and it's not particularly cheap."

  "It'll be rammed during the festival."

  "Yeah, but that's only one month of the year."

  McNeill shrugged and entered the hotel. She showed the receptionist her warrant card. "Do you have an Alistair Cruikshank staying here?"

  The receptionist nodded. "We do indeed."

  "Do you know if he's in?" said McNeill.

  "I don't believe so. He's been out all day." The receptionist gestured behind her at the rack of keys. "He left his key this morning."

  "Okay," said McNeill. "Would w
e be able to have a look around his room?"

  The receptionist frowned. "I'm not sure that's allowed."

  McNeill glared at her. "This is related to what happened just down the road." She didn't have to mention the name of the Jackson.

  "I see." The receptionist bit her lip. "Okay, but please don't touch anything. This is just a look around."

  McNeill held her hands up. "That's perfect."

  The receptionist led them to a room at the back of the hotel on the ground floor. Cullen's heart was in his mouth - he had a sudden vision of Gail McBride naked and dead in the room, that he and Wilkinson were wrong, that Cruikshank was the killer and had struck again.

  The receptionist opened the door.

  The room was empty.

  Cullen felt a flutter of relief. There was a suitcase on the stand at the end of the bed, a tweed jacket on the back of a chair and a copy of the Bible sitting on the desk. The room looked out onto what was left of the garden at the rear.

  "Mind if I look in the bathroom?" said Cullen.

  The receptionist's eyes kept flicking back to the door. "Just a check, okay?"

  "Sure thing," said Cullen.

  He wandered into the small enclave in the rear of the room, one of the smallest bathrooms he'd ever seen. A green leather wash bag was on the sink, a toothbrush placed behind the taps. He touched the bristles, bone dry. He went back through.

  "Have you pair seen enough?" said the receptionist.

  McNeill left her card, instructing her to call if Cruikshank returned.

  fifty-three

  "Can't you just stick to one fuckin' task, Cullen?" said Bain.

  Cullen and McNeill were back in the Incident Room, standing by the whiteboard with Bain.

  "If you actually gave me a task you'd let me finish," said Cullen.

  "You fuckin' what?" said Bain.

  Cullen tried and failed to bite his tongue. "On this case, you've given me task after task after task, each time throwing me on to something new before I'm even half way through."

  Bain glared at him. "If you'd just fuckin' found Caroline Adamson when I assigned you that case."

  "She was already dead a day and a half when you assigned me it," said Cullen.

  Bain didn't have a response. He glared at McNeill instead. "So you're telling me we now have two valid suspects in this case."

  "I'd say your other suspect is a bit flimsy," said Cullen.

  Bain pointed at him. "Shut your fuckin' mouth, Sundance, all right? What's got into you?"

  Cullen said nothing, just looked away. Most of the officers in the room were staring at them and listening in. He was fed up with Bain. He was busting a gut on this case and getting no thanks for it.

  "I'd say Alistair Cruikshank's a valid suspect," said McNeill. "He definitely has a motive, I suppose, and Margaret Armstrong was seriously shaken up by his visit."

  Bain rubbed his temple. "I want you and Chantal to get to the bottom of this, okay? Bring this guy in and we'll batter the fuckin' truth out of him."

  "Do you want me to help?" said Cullen.

  "No, Sundance, I don't," said Bain. "I want you to fuckin' finish something for once. Get back to those phone calls. As far as I'm aware, nobody's corroborated these death threats yet."

  When Cullen returned to their desks, he found Caldwell in an even worse mood than Bain. She was taking a break from the calls, trying to catch up on the documentation.

  "There must be something better than this," said Caldwell.

  "Tell me about it," said Cullen.

  "We've been at this solid since yesterday and we've got nothing."

  "Well," said Cullen, "we've got the rumour about the death threats."

  "But we still haven't managed to back that up."

  "Don't I know it," said Cullen.

  "Heard you got another doing off Bain."

  Cullen shrugged. "I reckon I gave as good as I got this time."

  "Not what I heard," said Caldwell.

  "Who from?"

  "Miller."

  Cullen laughed. "He wasn't even there. Little bastard."

  "What was it about?"

  "He was having a go at me for not sticking to tasks." Cullen sighed. "I pointed out I wasn't the one who was preventing me from sticking to them."

  "Brave boy," said Caldwell.

  "No doubt I'll be cleaning the whiteboard next." Cullen checked his watch. He was due to meet Alison in twenty minutes. "Sod it. I can't see us getting any more joy today with these calls. See you tomorrow."

  fifty-four

  Cullen parked around the corner on Thistle Street, managing to sneak into a space just vacated and he fed the meter for an hour. Having the car might be a good move - it meant he could only have the one, though his complete lack of willpower probably meant a late bus home and a parking fine.

  It wasn't until Alison waved at him that Cullen recognised her.

  On Friday, her hair was pulled back with a hair-clip, but tonight it hung loose. She was wearing natural looking make-up today and a work suit. She looked a lot older than he remembered.

  Cullen sat opposite her. There was a seat next to her, but he didn't want to send out the wrong message. "Sorry I'm late."

  "Don't worry about it." She took a sip of wine. "Thanks for turning up."

  Cullen decided maybe she had a nice smile. "I always had every intention of doing so."

  Alison put both hands around her glass of wine. "Do you want to get yourself a drink?"

  "Can I get you anything? Another glass of wine?"

  "Yeah, the Pinot Grigio is nice."

  "Large or small?"

  She giggled. "Oh, large."

  Cullen went up to the bar and stood in the queue. While the barman poured his pint Cullen had a deep conversation with himself - what the hell was he doing? He needed to grow up. On Saturday morning he'd worked the old Cullen magic yet again with her.

  Idiot.

  He only needed a slight opening and he was off, charming away. In his heart he knew he wanted another steady girlfriend, another Katie, but one who didn't mess him around, that didn't mind about his job and the hours he kept. He knew how thin on the ground they were.

  He looked over at Alison as the barman went to the till. He seriously doubted anything could come of this - she shared a flat with his ex, for a start. They'd had a one-night stand, just a bit of fun - there was no commitment to anything else. Everybody knew the rules. He doubted if there was anything they had in common, apart from music, maybe. She was at a techno club on Friday as part of the wider group and they had some techno and house playing at the party afterwards.

  He carried the drinks to the table. "So."

  "So."

  They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a moment.

  Cullen took a drink of lager. "How's Katie?"

  ***

  Cullen was starting to think about making his excuses when his mobile rang.

  "Sorry," said Cullen. "It's probably work. Do you mind?"

  Alison looked irritated. "No."

  Cullen looked at the display - McNeill. He reddened slightly. He swiped his finger across the screen and answered, playing innocent. "Scott Cullen."

  "Scott, it's DS McNeill."

  He turned away from Alison. Why was McNeill being formal with him?

  "Have you left for the evening?" said McNeill.

  "Yeah," said Cullen. "I'm just having a drink with a friend."

  "I see." McNeill paused for a moment. "Listen, Bain's told me to get your arse over to Edinburgh Park. His words."

  "What's the hurry?" said Cullen. "I'm off duty."

  "He said you'd say that," said McNeill. "He said you're to get back on duty."

  "What's up?"

  "Gail McBride's body has been found."

  fifty-five

  Edinburgh Park train station was across from Hermiston Gait, recently opened to service Edinburgh Park, a ramshackle grouping of corporate offices a few hundred metres away - banks, insurance firms and tec
hnology companies. All three Edinburgh banks had offices here - nearest to the train station sat Alba Bank's Edinburgh Park House, the most recently built and Gail McBride's workplace.

  Cullen followed the road round, passing underneath the flyover for the tram system, his warrant card getting him through security barriers designed to prevent access to the bypass. He passed a tunnel on his left that led under the dual carriageway, a suspended platform above a heavy-flowing river. The SOCO lights were in another cordoned-off tunnel filled with construction equipment, a JCB and stacks of concrete blocks. On the other side of the road was a set of Portacabins, site offices for the tram works.

  Cullen parked and hurried over, looking for McNeill or Bain. He quickly found Bain flapping around, barking orders to whoever would listen.

  Bain shouted at some uniformed officers. "I want someone round all of those offices in Edinburgh Park, now. I want CCTV from all the shops in Hermiston Gate and I want some fucker making a nuisance of themselves in the tram office. Somebody must've seen something and I want them here now." His eyes were struggling to focus as they settled on Cullen. He looked deranged. "Thank Christ you're here, Sundance."

  "DS McNeill told me you were looking for me," said Cullen. "What happened?"

  "That idiot Wilko's fucked off somewhere and turned his fuckin' mobile off," said Bain. "I've been landed with this case on top of nailing Rob Thomson for the other fuckin' murders."

  "What can I do?" said Cullen.

  "McNeill's taking a statement from the cyclist who found the body," said Bain. "You'd best listen in. Turns out this bloody tunnel is a cycle shortcut to that RBS monstrosity over there." He gestured behind him with his thumb - RBS Gogarburn lit up the surrounding trees, a mile or so distant. "Goes through a field. They're supposed to use the proper path through another tunnel just up the way, mind. Anyway, this poor fucker found the body just before six on his way to the train."