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

by Ed James

  Cullen leaned over to Caldwell. "What's he doing here?"

  "Probably trouble for Bain or Wilko," said Caldwell.

  Cullen nodded. "The smart money's got to be on Wilkinson, what with him buggering off early last night."

  "He looks like he's drunk a bottle of whisky."

  "Shame," said Cullen. "I was hoping Bain would get a rocket up his arse."

  Bain continued with his briefing, it all washing over Cullen.

  "One last thing," said Bain. "We have now ascertained Caroline's keys were missing from her person in the hotel and her laptop was stolen from her flat. DC Cullen used that computer on Friday afternoon. We put out a press release yesterday looking for anyone who'd seen anything suspicious in or around Smith's Place on Friday or the early hours of Saturday." He held up The Scotsman, open at a picture of the press conference given by Bain and Turnbull. "We're currently just dealing with the usual weirdos phoning in, but we're keeping a close eye out for anything useful."

  "We're getting there." Bain looked over at Turnbull. "Finally, the chief inspector would like a word."

  Turnbull spoke in his usual smooth tones. "I want you to know you are all working on the highest priority investigation now ongoing in the Lothian & Borders Police Service. The Chief Constable is closely following the hunt for the killer of both Debi and Caroline. I've been tasked with keeping the entire Senior Control Group informed with your progress.

  "I want you all to know the pressure sits squarely with myself and my leadership team. You are an excellent collection of officers and we have implicit faith in the ability of every single one of you."

  He paused and looked around the room. "We've also been allocated the investigation of the Gail McBride murder. This should take just as high a priority in your minds. In Lothian & Borders we don't have to deal with a large volume of murders, unlike in Strathclyde or the Met for example, but the expertise we do have is squarely in this room."

  He furrowed his brow. "I know from bitter experience these can be trying and difficult times, but we need to stand firm and stand together. Our priorities must only be these murders and the families who have been torn apart by these deaths. These killers must be brought to justice. I know we can do it."

  Turnbull gave a final smile around the room then left, Bain and Wilkinson following him like a pair of dogs at their master's heels.

  Cullen found McNeill standing with Chantal. "Any idea why they've got the big guns out?"

  Chantal tapped her nose and winked. "Bain and Turnbull had a six am with ACC Duffin and were hauled over the coals, by all accounts."

  "So they're getting pressure from above?" said Cullen.

  "I heard a rumour Strathclyde are sniffing about. They've got a dedicated murder squad." Chantal checked her watch. "I've got to dash. Bain's got me and Alan out at Edinburgh Park, trying to stop uniform making a mess of everything."

  "See you later," said McNeill.

  Chantal walked off towards the stairs, her car keys jangling in her hand.

  "Is that true what she was saying?" said Cullen.

  McNeill shrugged her shoulders. "Probably. It's funny. A couple of days ago Bain and Wilkinson were fighting each other for the case so they could boost their stats. Now they're trying to ditch it to save their jobs."

  "There might be an opening for you."

  McNeill laughed. "Wouldn't say no, but I wouldn't be surprised if Turnbull brings someone in from outside."

  "Back to the phone calls, then," said Cullen.

  "What about those number plates?" said McNeill.

  Cullen yawned. "Still not got them through. I've been chasing, but Naismith isn't in. Why do you ask?"

  "Bain's asked me to supervise you," said McNeill. "Let me know when they're in."

  "Will do."

  sixty

  An hour later and Cullen was wading through more calls, getting nowhere. He looked at Caldwell sitting next to him.

  "This isn't right," said Cullen. "That's three people I've managed to get a hold of so far and none of them heard anything about these death threats."

  "I've had nothing, either," said Caldwell.

  Cullen frowned. "How many so far have confirmed the death threats?"

  "None."

  "None?" said Cullen. "I'm going to get this sorted."

  His phone rang. He answered it.

  "It's Mr Naismith, returning your call."

  "Finally," said Cullen.

  "Have you been chasing me?"

  "This is a multiple murder investigation, Mr Naismith. Are you surprised?"

  Naismith sighed. "I suppose not."

  "Okay, so have you got the results in yet?" said Cullen.

  "I've just got them back now," said Naismith. "Six cars."

  "Thank you," said Cullen. "Can you send me the details through?" He hung up the phone and shook his head. "What sort of person calls themselves Mr?"

  "Don't you do it?" said Caldwell. "You say DC Cullen all the time."

  "That's my rank, though."

  "Same difference."

  Cullen closed his notebook. "Can you and Miller try and find out who gave you the lead on these death threats? I've got to go looking for cars with DS McNeill."

  ***

  Cullen phoned ahead and agreed to meet the first car owner at his workplace, a council office on Gorgie Road. He stood with McNeill by her Punto in the car park waiting for him to arrive.

  "That wind can piss off," said McNeill.

  "You're in a cracking mood," said Cullen.

  McNeill sniffed. "Can't believe I'm reduced to this."

  An overweight man in his mid-twenties walked across the car park towards them. "DC Cullen?"

  Cullen nodded his head sharply.

  "Alan Gregor." He held out his hand. "How can I help?"

  McNeill introduced them and explained about the case. "Mr Gregor, your car was spotted travelling between Musselburgh and the Edinburgh Park, South Gyle area on Sunday night. Can you tell us the reason for your journey?"

  Gregor frowned. "I was at my bird's in Musselburgh."

  "Can you confirm your address?" said McNeill.

  Gregor rattled off an address in a block of flats not far from the South Gyle station, roughly a mile from Edinburgh Park.

  "Bit strange you stay in South Gyle and work in Gorgie," said McNeill.

  "Used to work at RBS," said Gregor. "Used to be able to walk in to work. Got punted at Christmas time, though. I should really move, but the market's bad just now."

  McNeill nodded. "Can we have the address in Musselburgh?"

  Gregor gave an address down by the harbour.

  "Thanks for your time, Mr Gregor," said McNeill.

  Gregor walked off back towards the office.

  "Where next?" said McNeill, her voice despairing.

  ***

  Cullen and McNeill watched Bill McKay wander off towards his car.

  Last on the list, he did overnight security at the Younger Building, one of the RBS offices at Edinburgh Park. He seemed like a typical security guard to Cullen - ex-Forces, definitely a Rangers supporter. He lived in Wallyford in East Lothian, just past Musselburgh, and his commute took him via the A1 onto the City Bypass, hence being picked up by their search as he drove to work on Sunday evening.

  McNeill leaned back against the car, her arms folded. "This is getting us absolutely nowhere."

  "It's not even getting us that far," said Cullen.

  He looked around the area, quite leafy despite the offices. There was a Paolozzi sculpture just up the road on the corner, a giant steel robot standing guard over the corporate offices. He thought it wouldn't be the worst place in the world to work, but then remembered the level of tedium those inside would be subjected to, based on his experience in Financial Services.

  "How was the wine?" he said.

  McNeill frowned. "Wine?"

  Cullen grinned. "After I spurned you last night, you said you were going to have some wine?"

  McNeill raise
d her eyebrows, a pouting smile on her lips. "Don't worry, DC Cullen, you will be taking me out for that drink." She left a pause, holding his gaze until he looked away. "It was fine, a nice South African Merlot. I only had a couple of glasses. I'll need to finish it tonight - it doesn't keep in this weather and I hate to chuck out good wine."

  "I had a Rioja myself," said Cullen.

  Something began nagging at his brain as he watched a group of people get off an RBS-branded minibus, most of them wearing navy suits and staring at their Blackberries.

  Wine.

  The glass of wine he'd poured for Sian Saunders. It had smelled fine, yet it was roasting in her flat and she'd been away at the weekend.

  "Scott."

  He looked up.

  "You weren't listening to me again," said McNeill. "I said we should share a bottle some time."

  "Yeah, we should." Cullen bit his lip. "I was just thinking. How long do you think a bottle of Chianti would keep for?"

  McNeill screwed her eyes up. "What?"

  "In this weather," said Cullen, "how long before a bottle of Italian red went off?"

  McNeill shrugged. "A day at best. It would start tasting a bit funny after two, definitely. Why?"

  "Sian Saunders might have been lying."

  sixty-one

  Cullen and McNeill sat in Sian Saunders living room. She looked washed out.

  "Can I ask how long a bottle of wine usually lasts you?" said Cullen.

  Sian glared at him. "What's that got to do with anything? My best friend's just been murdered and you're asking about how much I drink?"

  "Ms Saunders, please answer the question," said Cullen.

  "Are you saying I'm a piss head?"

  "Answer the question," said McNeill.

  "Two days," said Sian, finally.

  "Do you mean two sessions?" said Cullen.

  "Sorry, I don't understand," said Sian.

  "Do you always finish a bottle the next day if you open one?" said Cullen.

  "Yes." Sian looked at both of them, eyes blinking.

  "Do you ever leave it longer than a day?" said Cullen.

  Sian shook her head vigorously. "Never. It goes off. I chuck it out."

  "Can you tell us why there was a half-empty bottle on the counter yesterday?" said Cullen.

  "Well, I'd had a couple of glasses on Sunday night after work," said Sian.

  "So you weren't out with Gail McBride then?"

  Sian gripped the arms of the sofa. "Shite."

  "We spoke to the bar manager in the Grape on the way over here," said Cullen. "He was working on Sunday. You weren't there, were you?"

  "Why have you been lying to us?" said McNeill.

  Sian looked at the carpet. "Gail asked me not to say anything." She took a deep breath. "I wasn't out with Gail. I came home from work, drank some wine, watched some telly, read my book then went to bed."

  "Why did you tell us you were with Gail?" said McNeill.

  Sian looked up, her eyes moist. "She asked me to cover for her."

  "You've got a lot of explaining to do," said McNeill.

  "You've got to understand," said Sian. "Gail had been unhappy with Simon for a long time. She wanted to work in publishing. She had a job at a company on the Royal Mile, but Simon forced her to move to a bank, wanted her to get a 'proper job'."

  She rubbed her hands up and down her skirt as she spoke. "Gail's not been happy there for a while. I mean she could be quite strong, at least on the surface, but inside she wasn't a banker. It's a shit job working for a bank, you know? You've got idiots full of ego telling you what to do every day. Gail was smart. She should never have worked there. She was too good for it."

  "So what was Gail up to on Sunday night?" said Cullen.

  Sian bit her lip. "She was supposed to be meeting a man. As I say, her marriage was dead in the water. She'd been looking around, looking for a nice guy to take her away from it all, and she'd found him recently. Some guy called Jeremy Turner. He was in Edinburgh on business this week and she was going to meet him outside work."

  "And that's why you lied?" said McNeill.

  "Yeah," said Sian. "She didn't want Simon finding out until things had progressed a bit. She asked me to lie for her. If anyone asked, we were at Grape in town."

  "And why didn't you tell us this when the body turned up?" said McNeill.

  Sian didn't reply for a few seconds. "I was worried I'd get into trouble."

  "I see," said McNeill, voice stern.

  "Are you going to press charges against me?" said Sian.

  McNeill looked at Cullen, who just shrugged. "I don't know yet."

  "Where did Gail meet him?" said Cullen.

  "You know Schoolbook?"

  sixty-two

  Gail

  Sunday 31st July, 7.00pm

  Gail McBride stood and waited outside her office. Where was he?

  She glanced at her watch - he was five minutes late. Seemed like hours. Edinburgh Park wasn't the sort of place you wanted to be on a Sunday evening, especially on your own. The whole area was deserted. It was a beautiful evening, though, the sky a deep blue and the sun not even thinking about setting.

  She was tired after her shift, her nerves on edge. She'd been in for the project implementation weekend, wanting to show commitment. In the end, she'd just sat and read the Sunday papers while they did whatever they were doing. Luckily, Sian had bought the Express and they had swapped papers halfway through the morning. Her team was finally thrown into action at one pm, but only for half an hour. Afterwards, they were quiet until they were sent home.

  There was talk of going out for a drink but they'd all either got a taxi into town or driven home. Standing there now, she was the only one left. She had other plans though, and Sian was covering for her.

  She looked around the bend again, saw a car approaching.

  The headlights flashed.

  Her heart raced.

  The car pulled in at the pavement. Gail opened the passenger door and leant in.

  "Jeremy?"

  He turned to her and smiled. "Hi Gail. In you get."

  He wasn't quite what she imagined - she felt slightly cheated when she thought back to the Schoolbook photo. He was bigger than she'd expected, more muscular, and he seemed quite hard. He had an English accent she couldn't place. They all sounded the same to her.

  "So what do you want to do?" she said.

  "I've got a nice place I'd like to take you," he said. "Assuming that's all right with you?"

  She smiled. "Sounds good."

  She couldn't believe how nervous she was. Simon was sitting at home, probably drinking himself stupid in front of the football again. This was her night. She needed excitement and meeting a stranger outside her work on a Sunday night fitted that.

  Jeremy put the car in gear and pulled away, leaving Alba Bank Mortgage Centre behind for the night. He drove the car round the corner, towards the tram works. "This road rejoins round the back, doesn't it?"

  Gail recalled going for a jog up that way with Sian one lunchtime. "I think so."

  They pulled round the corner and went over a roundabout. Gail struggled for something to say.

  Her phone rang. She apologised and picked it up out of her bag.

  "Hello?" She heard a strange echo on the line.

  The line was silent.

  "Hello?" she said again, getting angry.

  She hung up. "Sorry about that."

  She realised the car had stopped. She turned around to face him. Jeremy's fist smashed into the side of her head, knocking her against the door. A rope bit into her neck.

  sixty-three

  Bain was on speakerphone as McNeill drove them back to the station.

  "You're kidding me," said Bain.

  "Wish I was," said Cullen.

  "So, Gail met this guy on Schoolbook," said Bain.

  "It sounded more like he met her, from what I can gather," said McNeill. "He started messaging her, swept her off her feet and so on."

/>   "Shite, shite, shite," said Bain. "So does this look anything like the same pattern as the other two?"

  That morning, Cullen had noticed the wall at the side of the whiteboard now had several sheets of A3 paper taped together, showing the flow of messages on a clear pattern terminating with the deaths of Caroline and Debi. He didn't know who'd drawn the diagram, but Bain had continually talked about patterns at the morning briefing.

  "It certainly looks that way," said Cullen.

  "I take it her getting the train was a load of shite?" said Bain.

  "Aye," said Cullen.

  "What happened on Sunday night, then?" said Bain.

  "As far as we know," said Cullen, "they had a project implementing on Sunday, so they had to work all day."

  "I know the feeling," said Bain.

  "According to Sian," said Cullen, "Gail was supposed to meet someone called Jeremy Turner afterwards. He'd told her he was in Edinburgh on business."

  "So this Sian's been lying to us?" said Bain.

  "That's right," said McNeill. "We've got some Musselburgh plod getting a statement from her. I'll let you decide if you want to charge her."

  "I think I fuckin' will," said Bain. "Wasting our time like that." He paused for a few seconds. "Sundance, I thought you told me yesterday this was a different killer."

  "I said it didn't look like the same one," said Cullen.

  "You should've been sharper," said Bain.

  "Look," said Cullen, trying to keep his voice level, "I was the one who worked this all out. I was the one who spotted her lie and got her to admit it."

  "Well done there, Sundance," said Bain, "thank the Lord we've got your powers of deduction to help us through this case. Does it look like it could be different killers?"

  McNeill answered. "We need to look into it further. I'd say it's highly likely it's the same killer, but we need to establish the links and hear back from forensics."

  Bain sighed. "I really need this to be another killer." There was a pause, then the sound of a desk being hit. "Oh, you fuckin' beauty."