by Ed James
Bain marched away, shouting for Jimmy Deeley.
Cullen headed into the tunnel, surrounded by stacks of concrete blocks on pavements on either side of a giant puddle in the middle. Bodies in protection suits milled around. He stepped in the puddle and got mud right up his ankle. His leather brogues could barely cope with a splash let alone full immersion.
"Keep your stomach contents to yourself today," said a passing SOCO, voice suspiciously similar to Anderson.
"Check for laptops," said Cullen.
Anderson pulled his mask down and rubbed his goatee. "Aye, well."
"Seen McNeill?" said Cullen.
Anderson pointed down the tunnel. "Through there."
Cullen walked on. At the end was a field of wheat, a SOCO tent poking up above the crop. He could see a track through the field, grooves worn into the soil by bike tyres, running off towards a copse of trees in the distance. There was a turkey farm at the far end and he could certainly smell it.
McNeill was near the tunnel entrance speaking to a heavyset man dressed in black cycling gear underneath a fluorescent yellow and orange bib. An expensive-looking mountain bike lay on its side, a green rucksack beside it on the ground. Caldwell was helping with the note taking.
McNeill nodded at Cullen as he approached, before looking back at her notebook. "I'll just read your statement back to you. You were cycling away from work heading to the station, aiming for the quarter to six train. You were running late, so you cut across the fields rather than going round the cycle path."
She paused, waited for him to nod. "You were unable to stick to the usual path due to someone overtaking you and forcing you to diverge across the field. You corrected your course back towards the tunnel and you came across the body."
The cyclist was visibly shaking. "Yes."
"Okay, you can get away on home," said McNeill, "but we'll need to get in touch again. Do you need a lift?"
"I should be fine." He picked his bike up and slowly cycled off through the tunnel.
"Is he going to be okay?" said Cullen.
McNeill looked sideways at him. "He's just discovered a dead body."
"Shouldn't he be getting taken home?" said Cullen.
"That was the fifth time I asked," said McNeill, "but he refused each time."
"Is he under any suspicion?" said Cullen.
"Doubt it," said McNeill. "He's got an alibi. He was away for the weekend with his girlfriend, would still have been driving back when Gail McBride was getting the train to Musselburgh." She nodded at Caldwell, who smiled at Cullen. "Caldwell will check out his alibi but I don't think he's in the frame."
"What else do we have?" said Cullen. "Bain wasn't making much sense."
"Tell me about it." McNeill put her notebook away. "He's been nipping my head since we got the call out here."
"It's definitely Gail?" said Cullen.
McNeill grimaced. "We've got her husband in a panda car over there. Uniform brought him over. He confirmed it's definitely her."
"Rough," said Cullen. "That's not exactly standard procedure, is it?"
McNeill raised her eyebrows. "Bain's not exactly going by the rulebook on this, is he?"
"What's Deeley saying about it?" said Cullen. "Bain was screaming for him."
"He's not saying much," said McNeill. "I don't know what the story is. Now I think about it, Bain went off the deep end after he spoke to Deeley - he was fine before that. Well, fine for him."
"So what do you know then?" said Cullen.
McNeill bit her lip. "It's pretty grim. Throat cut."
"Jesus." Cullen's stomach felt queasy. "How did she end up here? She got off the train in Musselburgh last night and now she turns up, what, twenty miles away?"
McNeill shrugged her shoulders. "That's our job to find out, I suppose."
Cullen looked up at the dual carriageway above the tunnel he'd walked through, rush-hour traffic streaming past. He pointed up. "Someone must have seen something, surely?"
"This is Edinburgh," said McNeill. "Nobody sees anything."
Bain appeared from the tunnel and headed straight for them. "Got a rough time of death. Between nine o'clock and midnight last night."
Cullen almost laughed. "Nobody noticed a dead body until six pm?"
Bain stroked his moustache. "To be fair, the body is in a ditch in a crop of wheat. Irvine's spoken to the farmer - they were supposed to be harvesting it in a couple of weeks."
"What about drivers on the bypass?" said Cullen.
"Nobody sees anything, do they?" Bain sighed. "To be fair, you're more interested in the road in front of you and what that idiot in the Corsa's up to or why that BMW's up your arse." He took a breather. "I'll get a press release out. Another one. Jesus Christ."
Cullen pointed up at the road. "The part of the field she was in is shielded by the trees. You wouldn't see anything."
"What I really want to know is how she ended up here and not in Musselburgh," said Bain.
"That's what I've been asking," said Cullen.
"Well, I'm asking you to get the fuckin' answer, Sundance." Bain glared at Cullen, then McNeill. "Butch, you and the Sundance Kid are going to find out what the fuck's happened here."
fifty-six
Thirty minutes later, Cullen pulled into Prestonpans and parked outside Sian Saunders' flat.
"I can't get my head around this," said McNeill.
Cullen took a deep breath - the lager burned in his gut and he could have done with a bottle of water. "Sian Saunders was the last person to see Gail alive. According to her, Gail got off the train at the back of eleven in Musselburgh. It's a two minute walk to her house."
"Her body turns up in a ditch just by her work." McNeill took her notebook out and started fiddling with her pen, a silver ballpoint. "And this Sian Saunders told you they'd been at the pub in town and got the last train home."
"Aye," said Cullen. "No corroboration I'm aware of."
"What about what Wilko's been up to in Musselburgh?" said McNeill.
Cullen smiled. "What, smoking and listening to TalkSport?"
McNeill laughed. "Apart from that."
"Well, I spoke to Willie McAllister at the train station this afternoon," said Cullen. "He'd been questioning people getting off, asking if anyone was on the last train. He'd found a couple who knew her by sight. They hadn't noticed her on the train."
"That's odd."
Cullen looked up Sian's flat and saw the lights were on. "Come on, then."
The front door to the building was open, so they went up and knocked on the flat door. After a while, Sian Saunders answered it. She looked at Cullen, eyes wide. "Has she turned up?"
"I'm afraid she has," said Cullen. "Her body was found this evening."
Sian looked at McNeill, then back at Cullen, tears welling in her eyes. "Her body? Oh, Jesus." She ran away from them into the flat, her hands covering her face.
McNeill looked at him. "I don't think we're going to get much out of her."
"Me neither," said Cullen.
"You go have a mooch around," said McNeill, "I'll see if she's okay."
Inside, it was as warm as it had been in the afternoon, absolutely baking. McNeill followed Sian through to the living room, while Cullen searched around the flat. He didn't find anything suspicious or out of place. He did find Sian's train season ticket, tucked in a white ScotRail wallet, meaning there would be no trace of her travel the previous night.
In the kitchen, Sian stood in front of the sink facing the window, tears running down her face, McNeill stroking her arm gently. Sian sniffed again.
"Would you like something to drink?" said Cullen.
Sian turned and looked at him. Her lip trembled. She nodded towards a bottle of red wine on the counter, a cork jammed in the top. Cullen reached into the cupboard and took out a wine glass. He opened the bottle, a reasonable Italian red. He recognised it from earlier so he sniffed it - it still seemed okay. He poured a generous measure, almost draining the bottle.
/>
Sian downed half the glass. "Thanks."
"Ms Saunders, you said you saw Gail McBride leave the train last night?" said McNeill.
Sian nodded her head, looking at Cullen. "I went through all this earlier with him."
"What time was this?" said McNeill.
"Would be about quarter past eleven," said Sian.
"And what time did you get off the train at Prestonpans?" said McNeill.
"I wasn't keeping an eye on my watch." Sian folded her arms. "Twenty past probably."
"Gail's body was found at Edinburgh Park," said Cullen. "We think it's a bit odd she's been transported twenty miles, close to where she works."
Sian shrugged. "So?"
"Can you outline your movements since I last saw you?" said Cullen.
Sian frowned. "Is that necessary?"
"Yes," said Cullen.
Sian shook her head slowly. "I've been out looking for Gail. I went to Musselburgh and spoke to Simon. Then I just wandered the streets round the station, trying to see if I could spot anything."
She broke down in tears, her entire body racked with sobs.
***
Back in the car outside the flat, Cullen held up his phone. "Do you want me to call Bain or do you want that pleasure?"
"Be my guest," said McNeill, which Cullen took to be an instruction not to involve her.
He called Bain.
"It's Cullen."
"I know who it is, Sundance, these mobile things tell you." Bain snorted down the line. "You got anywhere yet?"
"No," said Cullen. "We're not going to get much out of her tonight. Tomorrow maybe."
"Christ's sake," said Bain. "This is a fuckin' murder."
"She's just lost her best friend," said Cullen.
"I know that," said Bain. "Doesn't she want to find who did it?"
"I suppose so," said Cullen, "but she's a bit upset right now."
"McNeill's with you, isn't she?" said Bain.
"Aye."
"Drop her off at the station," said Bain. "I want you to work your magic up at the CCTV suite on the Royal Mile. Boy named Naismith is already allocated."
"What for?"
"Someone's driven her from Musselburgh to Edinburgh Park," said Bain, "I want you to find out who."
fifty-seven
The CCTV Monitoring Centre on the Royal Mile was a dark room in a dimly lit basement beneath the City Chambers. It housed feeds from the city's entire CCTV network, from the Musselburgh outskirts in the east to Ratho and the Newbridge road network in the west and everything inside the City Bypass.
Cullen found Giles Naismith, just finishing off some work on what looked like footage of the Shore in Leith. He didn't even stand up, just huffily acknowledged Cullen's presence.
"Can you please stop doing that?" said Cullen. "DI Bain has sent me."
Naismith tugged his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes. "What is it?"
Cullen explained what he needed.
Naismith burst into activity, giving no commentary or explanation as to what he was up to.
After twenty minutes, Cullen checked his watch again, wondering how long this was going to drag on. "How are we getting on?"
"Getting there. Won't be long."
"Any chance you could hurry this up?"
Naismith swivelled round. "You've got to remember your request is somewhat complex."
That was the third or fourth time he'd used that sort of line.
"I thought the A1 and the bypass would be automatic?" said Cullen.
Naismith sighed. "They are, but that's only half of the job. You want to know which cars drove from Musselburgh to Edinburgh Park. There's an ANPR camera at either end of the bypass, but that's a massive volume of traffic plus there's a few other routes I'd need to include. It's going to take a lot of work."
Cullen was introduced to the Automatic Number Plate Recognition system on a training course the previous summer. It recorded every single vehicle passing through the sensors at either end of the City Bypass, plus all exits between. "I understand it's complex. All I want to know is how long it's going to take."
"I can leave it running overnight."
Cullen pinched his nose. "All night?"
"I've got to get home at some point," said Naismith.
"So, what, seven am, say?" said Cullen.
Naismith turned to glare at him. "This is highly irregular."
"I know it is, but we've got three murder cases here, none of which are going to go away. I just need you to give me some help then I'll not bother you again, okay?"
Naismith looked around the room. "Okay, just this once, I'll try and come in early to get your results."
fifty-eight
"Doesn't he know this is a murder case?" said Bain.
"It's half nine now and he's coming back in at seven," said Cullen. "And he's a civilian, not a police officer. In fact, he's a council employee so we're bloody lucky."
"You think?" said Bain, practically snarling. "I could still have his knackers for this shite he's pulling."
"What do you want me to do now?" said Cullen.
Bain flattened his moustache down. "You've still not finished checking those death threats, have you?"
"If anyone's still up," said Cullen.
"Remember that conversation we had earlier. I want you completing tasks." Bain clapped his hands together. "Right, I'm off to put the boot into those SOCO bastards downstairs."
For once, Cullen almost felt sorry for Anderson. He headed back to his desk. Caldwell was still around, chatting to Miller.
Cullen felt guilty about leaving earlier. "You're still here?"
"Aye," said Caldwell. "We're still nowhere near finished."
Cullen frowned. "Who's we?"
"Keith's been helping," said Caldwell.
Miller grinned. "Cushy little racket you've got here, Sundance."
"Don't call me that," said Cullen.
Miller grinned. "How come the gaffer gets away with it?"
Cullen snapped. "Because he's the gaffer." He looked at Caldwell. "How are we getting on?"
"Still no confirmations," said Caldwell. "Must be about halfway through, but I keep getting shoved on to other things. Had to check the alibi from that cyclist."
"Better get used to it," said Cullen. "CID is like that. Isn't that right, Keith?"
Miller laughed. "Only if you get landed with working for Bain."
Cullen sighed as he sat down. "Give me some numbers to call."
***
At the back of eleven people were starting to move from being irritated into threatening complaints territory.
"That's it, I'm not making any more calls," said Cullen. "You two either switch to typing up notes, or clear off home."
Miller got up, grinning. "I'm off." He marched towards the stairwell.
Cullen pointed after Miller. "How's he doing?"
"Okay, actually," said Caldwell. "Better than McAllister."
"Who isn't?" Cullen stood. "I need you bright and breezy tomorrow, so go and get some shut-eye."
Caldwell grinned. "Shut-eye?"
Cullen tried to laugh it off. "Okay, sleep."
"Just finishing these notes," said Caldwell. "I'll be off in about five minutes."
Cullen looked at her for a moment, admiring her dedication and still feeling guilty for heading off earlier. He sauntered over to the stairwell. He bumped into McNeill at the door, her face distorted by a scowl. "What's up with you?"
"Been wasting my time," said McNeill. "Interviewing hotel residents in the Novotel just across from Edinburgh Park. Bain has a bee in his bonnet about it. He could have used Miller, doesn't need a DS doing it. Now I've got to type all my notes up. Bloody hell."
"What's he had you doing?"
"I've interviewed everyone who stayed last night," said McNeill. "There weren't many given it was a Sunday. I've got a load of follow-up to do on the people who were there last night then left today. Waste of time. Nobody's seen anything."
/> "I'm just heading off," said Cullen.
McNeill sighed. "I really should head, too. Do you fancy going for a drink? The Elm will still be serving."
Cullen's gut was still aching from the pint earlier - he needed his bed, not another drink. "Another time," he said, somewhat reluctantly.
"Another time." She nodded slowly. "Glass of wine at home on my own, then."
Cullen didn't know what to say, so said nothing.
Downstairs, he got into his car and fished out his mobile. There were a few personal messages he'd not had time to check. There was one from Tom. "Did you get your hole?" It took him a while to remember about his date with Alison.
No, he hadn't.
He had a couple of emails from Schoolbook. There was a message from a mate from home, Richard McAlpine, who was thinking of moving back up to Edinburgh from London. Cullen suggested he move in when Johnny moved out, but he'd have to speak to Tom about it.
The other was a friend request from Alison. He took a few seconds before accepting it. It loaded up her profile in the app. Her status update read "Early days with a new man called Scott."
He pocketed the phone and drove off.
Tuesday
2nd August 2011
fifty-nine
Bain stood at the front of the Incident Room addressing the assembled troops, a giant Starbucks beaker of coffee in his hand, dark rings around his eyes.
Cullen sat on the edge of a desk, absolutely shattered. He'd had less than six hours sleep and even then he'd struggled. On top of the case and half a bottle of red wine when he'd got home, the message from Alison had set his mind whirring. He'd fought against his caffeine-fuelled brain all night, trying to figure out how badly he'd led her on. Nothing he'd done could have made her think they were an item. Well, nothing except for shagging her and then meeting her for a drink a couple of days later. If only he had the time to put her straight.
DCI Turnbull wandered in halfway through the briefing and sat off to the side.
