by Ed James
"I'm hardly psychic, Scott," she said. "Just promise me that, if you ever play poker, you don't bet the house on a hand, put it that way."
He laughed then bit at a fingernail. "I've been getting these phone calls today," he said. "Hoax calls. There's music playing, some song I don't know. The words are 'Where have you gone?' over and over."
"I know that song," she said. "I think it's called 'Where has he gone?', funnily enough. Can't quite remember the band name. It's on the radio all the time."
Cullen sat up against the headboard and Sharon rolled over to her side of the double bed. "It's a Scottish band," he said, reaching out to gently stroke her hair.
"Aye, it's on Forth One all the time," she said. "I think the band is from Edinburgh, too."
He reached across and retrieved his phone from the top of the chest of drawers. He typed in the name of the song and found the name quickly.
"Expect Delays?" he asked.
"That's them," she said. "I've liked a few of their singles."
"It sounds like Glasvegas," he said.
"I like Glasvegas."
He laughed. "I cannot stand the accent. This Expect Delays band at least have a slightly nicer voice."
"So anyway," she said, sitting up alongside him, "how many times have you been called?"
"Three."
"Have you mentioned it to Bain?"
"Hardly," he said.
"Who do you think it could be?"
He gave a long sigh. "It could be anyone, really," he said. "I've pissed off so many people over the years."
"What about non-officers," she said.
"Aye, very good."
"Is there anyone on the case you're working on?" she asked.
He paused for a moment. "The only one I can think it could be is this guy called Jamie Cook," he said. "He's Bain's main suspect. We haven't been able to speak to him but we've heard an awful lot about him. Everyone in the community thinks he did it."
"And did he?"
"He could have, I suppose," said Cullen. "We're struggling on the old evidence front."
"Doesn't usually stop Bain."
"No, he's like a force of nature."
She snuggled up close to him and took his hand in hers. "Have you any idea why he's phoning you?" she asked.
"I can't think of anything concrete," he said. "The only thing I can think of is that hoax calls are usually to irritate or tease someone. Jamie Cook is the only one I can think of. I phoned him this morning to try and speak to him, not long before the calls actually started up."
"I can think of one," she said. She was biting her lip, and moved away slightly.
"Who?"
"Alison."
Cullen closed his eyes. Alison was the girl that had been caught up in the Schoolbook case, who he had subsequently saved, at the expense of Keith Miller. "She stopped calling me ages ago."
"She might have started again."
"Look, it's not her," he said, sitting up. "She was phoning me and speaking to me. She was leaving voicemails. She wasn't doing this. The MO doesn't fit."
"So what are you going to do?"
He blushed. "I've started a cell trace with Tommy Smith."
"Is that what you were talking to him about earlier?" she asked. She exhaled. "Don't get caught."
"It's for the case," he said.
"It's maybe for the case," she said. "There's a difference. Remember that Bain will stop at absolutely nothing to cover his own arse. If this is nothing to do with your case, he will be down on you like a tonne of bricks."
"Aye, well, I'd better save his arse from public embarrassment again then, hadn't I?"
She laughed and cuddled closer. "Speaking of public embarrassment," she purred, "I think I'm due another for not getting caught in the toilets at Fettes..."
Tuesday
24th January 2012
twenty-two
"Scott!"
Cullen tried to open his eyes. His head was stinging. "Mm?"
Sharon put a cup of tea down on his side of the bed. "You need to get up," she said.
He pulled himself up and grabbed the cup. Something ginger sprang from his feet. "What time is it?" he mumbled.
"It's quarter to six," she said. She was wet from her shower, wearing just a towel. She sat on the edge of the bed and drank her cup of tea.
"Don't get any ideas about morning action," he said.
She laughed. "You've not got the time even if you wanted some," she said.
He drank half of the stewed tea in one go, immediately feeling slightly better. "Did you wash my shirt?" he asked, referring to the shirt he'd left there at the weekend.
"Yes," she said. "That's the last time, Scott. I'm not your mother."
"Pants and socks?"
"Them as well," she said. "Last time."
"Fine, fine," he said.
"You're off tomorrow," she said. "You can sleep your hangover off then."
"Don't remind me of it," he said. "At this rate, I can see my leave being cancelled."
She stood up and dried herself. She put her bra on. Cullen started to feel something stir. "I'm getting ideas now," he said.
"The only thing you're getting is the train."
"Eh?"
"All that whisky you drank last night," she said. "You are well over the limit."
"But my car's just at the station."
"Then it's in good hands and it will be there when you finish," she said with a smile. "You do not want to get caught."
"When's the train?" he croaked.
"Ten past six."
He downed the rest of the tea then shot off in the direction of the shower.
*
"You don't quite look yourself, Cullen," said Lamb.
They were in the car park at Drem train station. It was quarter to seven. Cullen had called Lamb from the train and arranged to be picked up. Cullen had just arrived, crossing the bridge through the driving rain, leaving the few hardy souls going into Edinburgh.
He'd left Sharon's flat at six and took the first North Berwick train out east from Waverley. It was a direct train so he'd had to double-back to Drem, the fifth stop on the line from Edinburgh but the first from North Berwick. He'd travelled both ways on the single track North Berwick line in the pitch darkness, sitting shivering through his hangover, drinking from a litre of mineral water he'd bought from M&S and nibbling on a few wasabi peas.
"A few too many drams of Likely Laddie last night," said Cullen.
"Is that what Bain's got you doing while I'm out looking for his main suspect?"
"It was political," said Cullen.
Lamb laughed. "A likely tale," said Lamb.
"It was Jim Turnbull's big night," said Cullen. "He was addressing the haggis. He wanted his squad there, showing off to the big boys."
Lamb started the engine. "Well, I was in till midnight," he said. He pulled off out of the car park and headed left onto the main road that ran from Prestonpans to North Berwick.
"Did you catch Jamie Cook?"
Lamb grimaced. "Did I hell."
"Did you get any further forward?"
"Not really, no," said Lamb. "Felt like a complete waste of time. Didn't want your boss showing me up."
They crossed the railway bridge and then turned left, up the road to Garleton.
"You just know he will, don't you?" said Cullen.
"I've no doubting it."
*
"How the fuck can you not find him?" shouted Bain.
They were in the Incident Room for Bain's 7am briefing, supposedly a morale booster. It had descended into chaos only four minutes in, with Bain tearing into Lamb. To Cullen and his hangover, it was far too early for shouting.
Cullen had already spotted Bain pouring out his favourite hangover cure - a mix of Red Bull and Lucozade.
"We've had officers out all over East Lothian and parts of Midlothian looking for Jamie Cook," said Lamb, calmly. "It's a big county - if he doesn't want to be found, he won't be."
"I appreciate that, Brian," said Lamb. "How easy is it to find someone in Edinburgh?"
"That's not the same thing at all," said Bain. "Edinburgh has half a million people, there's probably only about a hundred thousand on your patch, and most of them are in Musselburgh."
"It's a lot of space," said Lamb, still remaining calm. "Takes a lot of time to cover."
"And you've had a lot of time," said Bain. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Right, I want you to get out there today, speak to anyone and everyone that you can about Jamie Cook. And find him."
"I will endeavour to," said Lamb, leaning back in his chair.
Bain looked down his nose at him. "Have we had anyone go through his stuff at his parents' house yet?" he asked.
"We were over there last night when you went back into the city," said Lamb. "DC McLaren has a couple of leads."
"What about the boy's computer?" asked Bain.
"What about it?"
"I want Technical Investigations all over it," said Bain. He looked at Caldwell. "Angela, can you get his laptop and take it straight to Charlie Kidd?"
"Sure," said Caldwell.
"Are you just focusing on Jamie Cook?" asked Cullen. He noticed that his voice was almost an octave deeper, betraying the hangover he'd incurred.
"Come again?" Bain's eyes were red from the whisky but it gave him the demonic look that his actions backed up.
"You've been giving DS Lamb a doing for not finding Jamie Cook," he said, "but he's not the only suspect here. Seamus Mulgrew still hasn't turned up."
"Right," said Bain. He looked over at DC Murray. "Stuart, can you look into Seamus Mulgrew please? We need to find him almost as much as we need to find Jamie Cook." He looked at Cullen. "Cullen and Irvine," he said, "I want you two speaking to all of Jamie Cook's contacts. There must be someone who knows something."
"Fine," said Cullen.
"Dismissed."
*
"So you're not a fan of Starbucks?" asked Lamb.
Cullen sipped at the Americano. "Can't say that I am," he said. "I'm more of a Caffe Nero kind of guy. Costa at a push."
They were sitting in the Starbucks just across from the Garleton nick, looking out of the window at the early morning traffic. Lamb had ordered the sort of bucket of milky coffee flavoured with syrup that Starbucks specialised in and which Cullen detested.
The wasabi peas Cullen had eaten on the train were beginning to repeat on him. Cullen's stomach warned him that food would not be tolerated at this juncture, so he'd just taken the coffee and bottle of water option so favoured by piss heads like him.
"I've no idea why Bain got us in at 7am," said Cullen. "I could have done with an extra hour in bed."
"It's called a murder investigation," said Lamb. He laughed. "I learned a long time ago not to go to things that Jim Turnbull insisted I went to. They usually involve a hangover."
"You know him well?" asked Cullen.
"Aye," replied Lamb, taking a bite of his croissant. The sight of it turned Cullen's stomach. "We worked at Galashiels for a few years, must be about fifteen years ago. I was a DS for him in Edinburgh for three years, just after he got his DI. Still go golfing with him occasionally."
"Are you a Borders boy?"
"Aye, Hawick," he said.
"You've not got the accent," said Cullen.
Lamb grinned. "Got shot of it pretty early on," he said.
"Why did you move out here?" asked Cullen.
Lamb gave a shrug. "Looking for the easy life as much as anything," he said. "I didn't get on with the city. I'm a country boy at heart."
"You could have commuted," said Cullen.
"I couldn't be arsed with that. I sold my flat in Edinburgh and bought a cottage out here."
"Is there a Mrs Lamb?" asked Cullen.
Lamb held his left hand up, no rings on any fingers. "For a detective, Cullen, you're not very perceptive," he joked.
Cullen laughed. "It pays not to make assumptions."
"True," replied Lamb, taking another bit of the croissant and covering his moustache with flakes of pastry. "No, there's not a Mrs Lamb any more. We got divorced last year. She moved back to Edinburgh."
"Couldn't handle the pace of country life?" asked Cullen.
"Something like that," said Lamb. "She's off fucking guys half her age. And good luck to her."
"Must be hard for you," said Cullen.
"Not really," he replied. "Gave up on that a long time ago. It was more of a blessed relief when she went. I've kept the house and the dog, she's got her flat."
"No kids?"
"No bloody way."
"Was she in the force?" asked Cullen.
Lamb paused. "She works for Standard Life," he said, slowly. "What about you."
"Got a girlfriend," said Cullen. "She keeps talking about moving in together."
Lamb nodded. "But you're scared?"
Cullen wondered how obvious it was and whether Sharon had picked up on any signs. "Aye."
"She in the force?" asked Lamb.
"Aye, she's a DS," said Cullen. "Used to work for Bain."
"And with you?"
Cullen paused. "Aye," he said, finally.
Lamb grinned. "Bad boy," he said. He forced the rest of the croissant in his mouth.
"What did you think of Bain's briefing then?" asked Cullen.
Lamb violently stabbed the small hole at back of the lid of his coffee with his pen and then drank from the slot at the front. "This helps the air flow," he said. "Stops a vacuum getting built up."
"And I asked what you thought of the briefing."
"Aye, very good, Cullen," said Lamb. He took a deep breath. "Is he always like this?"
"Pretty much."
"He was right out of order today," said Lamb. "If he's got those thoughts then it's fine to raise them with me personally but not in front of my officers and half of East Lothian."
"He can be direct," said Cullen. "I've had run-ins with him before."
"Aye?"
Cullen told him about the previous summer's case and Bain's vendetta.
"Surprised that Turnbull tolerates him," said Lamb.
"He barely does," said Cullen. "He gave him a doing last night equivalent to the one you got just now. He's been warned that if it's not solved by Thursday, he's getting replaced."
"I suspected as much," said Lamb, fingering at the crumbs on his plate. "Who by?"
"DI Cargill."
Lamb screwed his face up. "Alison Cargill?"
"Aye, why?"
Lamb pushed his plate to the side. "I didn't think this case could get any worse..."
"Is she that bad?"
Lamb laughed. "Ach, she's not that bad," he said, "she just used to report to me when she was a DC, that's all. Must be about ten years ago now. She's climbed the greasy pole and she's a DI now, and I just could not be arsed with her being my boss. She's always had a nasty way with her."
Cullen finished his coffee and crumpled the cup up. He took a long drink of the water. He had no opinion either way of Cargill yet but Sharon didn't think highly of her and now Lamb wasn't exactly joining the fan club.
"Is she worse than Bain, though?" asked Cullen.
Lamb nodded. "No," he said. "I might have a word with Jim about Bain's conduct. See if I can't expedite things."
twenty-three
"They're all the fuckin' same these provincial coppers," said Irvine, jaw chewing away. "Lamb, Murray, McLaren, all useless bastards."
Cullen thought that Irvine had got off lightly from their session the previous night. He noticed that the aroma of chewing gum was slightly different that morning - it could have been his hangover interfering with his senses, though.
Irvine was driving them to the Gibsons' house again. He had a sporty black Astra with a Blur live album blaring out of the speakers. His driving lacked Bain's level of aggression behind the wheel. They were heading along Dunpender Road, towards t
he turning for Dunpender Drive and the Gibsons' house.
"You think so?" asked Cullen.
"Aye," said Irvine, "there's a reason that they're out in the sticks and not in the city where the action is."
To Cullen, Irvine was the second most useless officer he'd worked with, the other being the late Keith Miller. Cullen had worked for Irvine for the four months since he and Sharon had been separated in September, and Cullen felt like Irvine worked for him most of the time. He was sloppy and lazy, living off tales of his youthful achievements rather than doing his committed duty.
"You've never fancied working out here?" asked Cullen, as Irvine turned down Dunpender Drive.
"Not really, no," replied Irvine. Cullen was no longer surprised at how often Irvine missed the odd snide remark that he made. "Would take me a fuckin' age to get out here in the morning."
"What, compared with getting to Leith from Dalkeith?" asked Cullen.
"Remember, Cullen, I'm not travelling at rush hour," said Irvine. "Everywhere takes forever to get to out here."
Irvine pulled up in front of the Gibsons' house.
"So you're not Lamb's biggest fan then?" asked Cullen.
"He's a wanker," said Irvine. "The gaffer had it spot on this morning. How the fuck can that bloody tube not find the Cook boy in his own back yard. It beggars belief."
Cullen took a good look at the house - it looked like the Gibsons were up. He wondered how the family was being affected by the death, whether the true magnitude had sunk in yet.
"How are we going to play this then?" asked Irvine.
Cullen could feel his anger rising - Irvine should be telling him not asking him. "How about we ask Gibson about Jamie Cook and then you keep Charles Gibson out of my hair while I speak to the son?"
Irvine nodded. "I like it," he said. "Let's do it. You know, you might get to DS one of these days."
Cullen refrained from replying.
*
Cullen, Irvine and Charles Gibson were in the living room again. Gibson looked as though he had been drinking the previous night and seemed to be suffering in a similar way to Cullen. The skin around his eyes was red and puffy. His wife wasn't up yet, he'd said, and Thomas wasn't going to school.
"Yesterday, when DC Cullen visited with DI Bain," said Irvine, "you mentioned that Jamie Cook had been in the house and may have had an opportunity to abuse Mandy."
