by Ed James
"What?" said Cullen.
"I let Rob Thomson go at the back of six on Sunday," said Bain. "Bastard could easily have got over to Edinburgh Park, couldn't he?"
"I suppose so," said Cullen.
Bain ignored him. "Magic."
"All three arranged to meet a man on Schoolbook," said Cullen, "that's all we know. Same account for the first two. I'll see if I can get Kidd to link this latest account to the original one."
"Get on it," said Bain.
"Have they found anything on those office PCs?" said Cullen.
"I've not heard anything," said Bain. "Actually, we need to get them to have a look at this Gail's computer as well. I take it that wasn't stolen?"
"No idea," said Cullen. "I'd go down to speak to Anderson if I were you."
"I'll get Miller onto it," said Bain. "The abduction methods are similar. They all arranged to meet in private or secluded places. He attacked Caroline Adamson at a hotel. Debi Curtis was attacked at her flat. Gail McBride's body was found in a field. Where was she meeting this punter again?"
"Outside her work, according to Sian Saunders," said Cullen. "The Alba Bank Mortgage Centre at Edinburgh Park."
"So he meets her there," said Bain, "kills her and dumps her body just off that cycle path. Pretty handy."
"This fake name thing," said Cullen. "At the moment, we don't actually know whether Jeremy Turner exists."
"You'd better check into that, Sundance," said Bain.
Cullen sighed. "Will do."
"Has Gail's PM been done yet?" said McNeill.
Bain paused. "Aye. Strangled, throat slit."
"So the same MO then?" said McNeill.
"Similar," said Bain. "Need to prove it is. I've got twenty officers looking into that proof as we speak."
"Gail and Caroline were both dead when we found them," said Cullen. "Caroline had been subjected to a lot of torture. Gail's looked more like a gangland hit. The only reason Debi wasn't dead was because we got there before he could finish her off."
"Not your finest hour there," said Bain.
McNeill scowled. "What's your problem? Because of Scott, we almost managed to catch this killer."
They heard another thump down the line from Bain. "Listen, Butch, I need to be able to link Rob Thomson to this Gail lassie."
"These murders might not have been down to him." McNeill made a face at the phone that almost made Cullen burst out laughing.
"Butch, I know for a fact Caroline was done by him," said Bain. "Therefore Debi was."
"But we don't know that," said McNeill.
"I've almost got enough to send him away," said Bain. "I just need you lot to tie off the loose ends."
Cullen frowned. "Why are you so focused on him?"
"It's obvious," said Bain. "He's a big nasty bastard. Had a grudge against his ex-wife and a grudge against her mate."
"What about Alistair Cruikshank?" said Cullen. "He also had a definite grudge against both Caroline and Debi."
"What about Gail, though?" said Bain. "How does that fit in there?"
"What's the link between Rob and Gail then?" said Cullen.
"Where did she work?" said Bain.
"Alba Bank," said Cullen.
Bain laughed. "Where Rob Thomson works."
Cullen could practically hear the size of the grin down the phone. He shared a look with McNeill. Neither spoke - Cullen knew where this was heading.
"Right, so I need to find a more solid link between Gail and that bastard," said Bain, "but once we get that we've nailed him."
"I still think we should be looking for this Cruikshank guy," said Cullen.
"Chantal Jain is," said Bain. "You aren't, all right? We'll see what fun he brings to the party when we find him."
"So what's the plan of attack?" said McNeill.
"I'm going to get Irvine looking at linking Thomson to this woman," said Bain. "Get him going round her work and stuff like that. He's a proper copper I can trust. I'll also get him looking at the CCTV at Edinburgh Park, see if this boy drove there. As for you pair..." He exhaled down the line. "I need you to concentrate on Schoolbook and this Jeremy Turner boy."
"How many bodies can we have?" said Cullen.
"I can only spare you pair," said Bain, "plus maybe Caldwell."
"We'll need more than that if you want it done this week," said McNeill. "We're struggling with Debi and Caroline as it is."
"Right." Bain sounded irritated. "I can give you Keith Miller full-time once Wilko's finished with him."
"Oh, fantastic," said McNeill.
They heard Bain's mobile ring. "Ah, shite, I need to take this. Butch, I want an update at two, okay?"
"Okay," said McNeill.
The line clicked dead.
Cullen sat for a moment, letting McNeill gather her thoughts as she drove past Duddingston Golf Club. She shook her head.
"Was Bain for real there?" said Cullen.
"Well, it's his neck on the line here," said McNeill, "not ours."
"Fair enough," said Cullen, "but someone else could get killed while he's pissing about, lost in his stupid vendetta. What's he actually planning on doing?"
"Who knows?"
sixty-four
An hour later, Cullen was back at his desk looking through Gail's Schoolbook Friends list feeling like he was going round in circles.
"This just isn't efficient," he said to Caldwell.
"It's tedious," she said. "I'm getting nowhere fast. There's hundreds of them."
Cullen got up, deciding to see Kidd. He'd tried contacting him earlier but he'd got no reply. "That's it, I'm off upstairs."
He pounded up and saw Kidd with a telephone headset on, avoiding his gaze.
"Are you on a call?" said Cullen.
Kidd pressed the secrecy button. "Aye, I'm on with Schoolbook."
"What about?"
"Trying to get a better pipe to their database," said Kidd. "Getting more progress cos that Duncan boy is off today."
"How did that private company go?" said Cullen.
"They're the ones setting the pipe up for us."
Cullen handed him a sheet of paper with Gail McBride and Jeremy Turner's details on it. "I need you to get me all messages between these two users."
"Are we cleared for it?" said Kidd.
"It's the same case, so aye."
"I'll get it back to you by two," said Kidd. "I'm tied up till then and that's come straight from Bain."
"Fine." Cullen was tempted to try and play with Bain but decided against it. He thanked Kidd then bounded back downstairs.
McNeill was chatting to Caldwell. She nodded when Cullen appeared. "How's it going?"
"Not great," said Cullen. "We're just spinning our wheels here."
"What have you looked at?" said McNeill.
"Been calling through the friends list," said Cullen. "It's much bigger than Caroline's but so far we're getting nothing. I've got Kidd extracting all the messages between Gail and this Jeremy Turner."
"The good news, I suppose, is I've managed to get some more resource to ring through the list," said McNeill.
"Aye, and what's the bad?" said Cullen.
"McAllister is one of them."
Cullen shook his head. "We don't need him."
"Well, if it can free you up for a couple of hours to do something else," said McNeill, "then I'd look on it favourably."
Cullen was already worrying about how much time would be lost to managing McAllister. "What sort of thing?"
"There might be some other avenue of investigation that's being screwed up under Wilkinson which might help what you're doing here," said McNeill.
"You're not clutching at straws, are you?" said Cullen.
McNeill laughed. "I haven't drawn the short one yet."
Cullen had a thought. "Give me a minute." He got up.
Wilkinson was standing by the Incident Room whiteboard, scrawling some information about Gail McBride, copying the techniques Bain had been using on Saturda
y morning.
"Sir," said Cullen.
Wilkinson's face contorted into a sneer. "Curran, what can I do you for?"
"Gail McBride's phone logs," said Cullen. "Did anyone look over them?"
Wilkinson frowned. "Irvine did it."
Cullen grimaced. McNeill was right - there was no doubt he'd have messed it up. "Any idea where he is?"
"Back at our old desks," said Wilkinson. "Trying to get some peace and quiet."
"Thanks." Cullen moved off.
Wilkinson grabbed his shoulder. "Nice of you to drop me in it, by the way."
"How do you mean?" said Cullen.
Wilkinson folded his arms. "Somebody told Turnbull I was off on the lash last night."
"Well, it wasn't me."
Wilkinson eyed him suspiciously. "I don't believe you, but I'll let it pass for now."
Cullen left the Incident Room and followed the maze of corridors back to their old office space. Irvine was sitting at Cullen's old desk, his feet up on the table, reading a sheaf of documentation.
"Alan," said Cullen.
Irvine looked up. "What do you want?"
Alan Irvine was a fat, prematurely balding DS, much in the image of Wilkinson. Cullen had heard he was once a high-flyer in the force, shooting up rapidly from PC to DS in a matter of years, before his career stalled. He was notorious for being one of the laziest officers in Lothian & Borders, though he was good at managing up the way.
"Have you been looking through Gail McBride's phone records?" said Cullen.
Irvine held up the sheet of paper. "Just going through it now." He got to his feet and stretched. "Actually, you know what, can you do it for me? Wilkinson wants me down in the CCTV suite." He handed the papers to Cullen, spat a wad of chewing gum into the bin and headed off.
***
Twenty minutes later, Cullen had cross-referenced Gail's phone records against the numbers in his notebook. Gail appeared to be much more of a communicator online than by telephone. Once he'd removed her home number, Sian Saunders and Simon McBride's mobile, he had the list down to five numbers.
He looked through the remainder of the list. The first two he'd traced to addresses in Ayr. Gail's maiden name - McGuire - matched the surnames of the two account holders, most likely parents and brother.
The next two numbers were addresses in Glasgow, again members of the McGuire clan.
The last number was a mystery. It was a mobile number. He dialled it but it was dead.
He picked up the desk phone and called Tommy Smith in the Phone Squad.
"Smith, Forensic Investigation."
"Tommy, it's Scott Cullen."
Smith sighed down the line. "I got back to you as promised didn't I?"
"You did."
"Thank Christ for that," said Smith. "Got a to-do list longer than a gorilla's arm."
"I need you to trace a phone number for me," said Cullen.
"Another one?"
"Different case," said Cullen.
"You sure get about, buddy."
Cullen read out the number.
"Just want me to do a cell search?" said Smith.
"What else can you do?" said Cullen.
"Unblock drains," said Smith.
"Very funny."
"Seriously, though, we can do a lot of things," said Smith. "We can get a list of calls, trace to cell sites, logistic analysis."
"What's that?" said Cullen.
"We can look at the supply chain for getting the phone from the manufacturer to the network to the shop to the user," said Smith.
"Are you serious?"
"Aye," said Smith. "Don't you believe me?"
"So I didn't have to do all that for the other number?"
"If you'd come to me in the first place," said Smith, "you could have saved the force a lot of petrol."
"How long will that take?" said Cullen.
"Overnight," said Smith, "if I put it to the top of my to-do list."
"Where is it, then?"
"It's second from top, buddy."
sixty-five
An hour later, Cullen sat with Miller having paired him with McAllister to search through the databases for Jeremy Turner, just as he'd done for Martin Webb.
"At the end of the day, though, I just can't find him," said Miller, "and neither can Willie."
Cullen rubbed his hand over his face. He didn't trust their conclusion. He could get Caldwell to verify it. "So it looks like Jeremy Turner doesn't exist then?"
"I'm not saying anything," said Miller. "Drawing conclusions is your responsibility." He pulled out a pair of dark green tickets. "Here we go, though, Scotty. See, I can find some things."
"What's this?"
"Hibs tickets for tonight, man," said Miller. "We're going to watch the Leith boys murder Barca." He laughed. "Sky were saying Messi's made the trip. Makes it well worth it. Him, Villa, Xavi and Iniesta all travelled."
Cullen had forgotten all about it. "We need to see how the case is going before we decide if we can go."
"We?" Miller screwed his face up. "I'm going."
"Have you cleared it with Bain?" said Cullen.
Miller pocketed the tickets. "Just let me know. One of my pals might want to go instead."
"Go and help Caldwell making phone calls now," said Cullen.
"Wish I could, Scotty, wish I could." Miller sniffed. "Got to chum Wilko through to Ayr to see this lassie's parents."
Cullen felt a slight relief - at least there was no imminent threat of Miller messing up their investigation. That and the fact he'd escaped the parent visit this time. "Thought you'd already been?"
"Nobody's been able to get hold of them till now," said Miller. "Been away on their holibags."
Cullen hated the way people called it 'holibags' - it didn't mean anything. "You'd better be back in time for the game, then."
"Eh?"
Cullen grinned. "It'll be a good five or six hour round trip to Ayr once you factor in speaking to her folks." He made a show of checking his watch. "It's almost two now."
"Shite." Miller ran for the door.
Back at his desk, Cullen found the printed sheets of Gail's friends and contacts still sitting there, goading him.
Caldwell finished a call just as he sat.
"This is so slow." Caldwell picked up her sheets, pointing to the last name on the last page. "Tom Rowlands."
"That rings a bell." Cullen logged onto Schoolbook and clicked through to the profile. It was one of the Chemical Brothers, the one with the blonde hair. He'd seen them at T in the Park as a teenager and had a few of their albums. "So there are celebrities in the list."
"Well, I don't think she's been setting up dates with one of the Chemical Brothers." Caldwell ran her finger down the page. "I've got John Terry. And Fatboy Slim. And Robbie Williams. Takes the number down, I suppose."
"We can't eliminate a Robbie Williams from Armadale." Cullen looked at the next name on the list. The profile mercifully had a mobile number. He'd just dialled the first four digits, when he felt a tap on the shoulder.
It was Chantal Jain, out of breath. "Scott, have you seen Sharon?"
"Think she's out at Edinburgh Park at the Alba Bank office," said Cullen.
"Shite."
"Why do you need her?"
"Alistair Cruikshank has turned up at his hotel."
sixty-six
Cullen and Chantal stood outside Cruikshank's hotel room at the Minto.
"Ladies first," said Cullen.
"You big jessie." Chantal rapped on the door. "Mr Cruikshank, it's the police. Open up."
Nothing.
"Mr Cruikshank," said Chantal, louder this time. "Please open the door. We need to speak to you."
"Do you have a warrant?"
Chantal rolled her eyes at Cullen. "Mr Cruikshank, we just want to talk to you."
There was a dull thud from inside the room, like a sash window being raised.
They shared a look.
"He's made a run for it," sa
id Chantal.
Cullen ran back down the corridor, looking through the window to the car park. A heavyset man ran towards the wall at the back, almost at the garden area. "I'll follow him. You get round to Blacket Place. And get some back-up."
He wrestled with the window and eventually toppled out through it. He got up and sprinted across the lawn as Cruikshank's leg disappeared over the top. Cullen had a flashback to Saturday night in Fountainbridge, the killer escaping from him.
There was a wooden picnic table leaning against the wall. He used his momentum to climb up it. He almost winded himself as he landed, stomach across the top of the wall.
Cullen was above a large garden overgrown with weeds, a Victorian villa at the far end. Cruikshank was limping up the path at the side of the house, looking like he'd similarly injured himself.
Cullen carefully lowered himself down but slipped at the bottom, almost falling over. He got to his feet and ran as fast as he could up the side of the house towards the street.
He emerged onto Blacket Place, a rabbit warren. He couldn't see Cruikshank anywhere. If he didn't find him quickly, he'd lose him, limp or not.
He heard footsteps from the left, round the bend. He ran towards the sound and quickly spotted Cruikshank making a vain attempt to continue running. He followed, heading straight for the main road. He was gaining speed - if Cullen didn't catch him soon then he might lose him in the foot traffic on Minto Street.
Cullen pushed himself on. He was closing, but maybe not quickly enough.
Cruikshank made it through the archway at the end of the street, heading through to freedom.
Chantal came from nowhere and rugby tackled Cruikshank to the ground, just yards from the road.
"You. Are. Under. Arrest."
sixty-seven
Cullen opened the double doors set in the jutting diagonal entrance to St Leonards station, allowing Chantal to push a handcuffed Cruikshank through the door. They'd agreed to keep Cruikshank clear of Bain for now, until they knew his story.
The desk sergeant nodded at Cullen as he approached. Barry Smith - Fat Barry. His eyes were darting between Cruikshank and Chantal. "DC Cullen, how you doing?"
