by Ed James
He'd been running on fumes for the last few weeks. He was pushing himself so hard he was starting to worry he'd do himself a mischief. He'd been struggling with words, failing to finish sentences. Not remembering people he was at school with wasn't a great sign. He needed a holiday.
After he got a conviction.
Matt MacLeod was somebody he did remember from school. The boy was a total wanker and it seemed like the man was even worse. MacLeod was never in with the hard kids - the ones who ended up in prison or the army or both - but he knew how to deflect bullying onto others and was capable of a lot of it himself, way worse than anything Cullen had done.
The email.
"Fucking Black Matt," said Cullen, reaching into his pocket for the print-out. "Matt fucking MacLeod." He read the lines. "Matte Black walls. Black Matt steals time."
"What the fuck is that?" said Guthrie.
"We need to bring MacLeod in."
CHAPTER 61
The MacLeods lived at the other end of the street from Cullen's parents. The houses shared a design though they'd diverged over the years in rear extensions, conservatories and loft conversions.
"This it?" said Cullen.
"Aye," said Guthrie.
A man in his mid-sixties marched past them on the pavement, carrying his Courier and a bag of morning rolls, the lightweight packets of air and flour Cullen despised.
"It's too quiet these days," said Cullen. "I remember playing football on the street when we were kids."
"Might have been playing with MacLeod," said Guthrie, whose parents still lived at the other end of town, albeit in separate houses with new partners.
"The street is still full of people our parents' age growing old together, kids all left home," said Cullen.
"You're in a cheery mood, Skinky."
"Yeah, sorry," said Cullen. "Force of habit."
"MacLeod should be in," said Guthrie.
They marched past the collection of ceramic frogs on the tarmac and Cullen knocked on the door, warrant card ready.
MacLeod answered, wearing a dressing gown and looking like death. "Sorry, my parents are both at work." He started shutting the door.
Cullen's foot blocked it. "Mr MacLeod, we need to ask you a few questions in relation to the disappearance and murder of James Strang."
"Piss off," said MacLeod.
"I'm sorry?" said Cullen, as he pocketed his warrant card.
"You pair have a cheek after the state I saw you in last night," said MacLeod.
"This isn't something you have a choice in," said Cullen, "other than doing it here or down the station."
MacLeod pushed the door shut, knocking Cullen's foot back out, his toes sending waves of pain to his brain. The key turned in the lock.
Cullen looked down - MacLeod had torn a chunk out of his new shoes. "This isn't happening." He looked at Guthrie. "Wait here."
He jogged round the side of the house, getting his suit jacket caught on brambles in the back garden.
The back door was wide open.
Cullen ran for it.
The door slammed shut just before he got there, MacLeod's face grinning through the distorted glass.
Cullen tugged the handle, managing to push the door open again.
"Get to fuck," said MacLeod.
Cullen tried to keep his grip tight but eventually had to let go. The door slammed shut and MacLeod locked it.
Cullen swore. He lost sight of MacLeod in the kitchen and ran back to the front of the house.
"What's going on?" said Guthrie.
"He's locked both fucking doors."
Cullen knelt down and shouted through the letterbox. "Mr MacLeod, I can call your parents if you prefer. I'm sure our dads play golf together."
"I've not done anything," said MacLeod.
"Then let's talk about this down the station," said Cullen. "I don't want to have to charge you with obstruction or resisting arrest."
"Not done nothing."
"Come on down the station, then," said Cullen. "Prove your innocence."
No answer.
"Mr MacLeod," said Guthrie. "We can charge you with obstruction. You'll get a fairly sizeable fine."
The door finally opened.
CHAPTER 62
MacLeod's solicitor turned up promptly, responding to the phone call Cullen allowed him before they left his street. He looked like a friendly PE teacher, wholly dissimilar to the usual lawyers Cullen dealt with in Edinburgh.
"Mr MacLeod," said Cullen, "did you know one James Strang?"
MacLeod glanced at his lawyer, who returned the briefest of nods. "Yes. I did."
"We have reason to believe you bullied him at school," said Cullen. "Is that correct?"
"Have you got anything official from the school or other appropriate education authorities to that effect?" said the solicitor.
"We have witness statements," said Cullen.
"You've got nothing," said MacLeod.
"What we've got, Mr MacLeod," said Cullen, "is someone you bullied at school being found dead in Edinburgh, the city you've lived in for the last twelve years. Is that a coincidence?"
"Of course it is," said MacLeod.
"I hate coincidences," said Cullen.
"Me too," said Guthrie. "Usually they're not coincidences."
"I knew Jimi lived through in Edinburgh," said MacLeod. "I bumped into the wee guy in HMV once and in a pub another time. We got on well, I think."
"Did you bully him?" said Cullen.
"Are you whiter than white?" said MacLeod. "I heard some stories about you and his sister, Audrey. Remember her?" He grinned. "Shouldn't you be under investigation?"
"Answer the question," said Cullen, not rising to the bait.
MacLeod threw his hands up in the air and laughed. "There's nothing to answer. Unless you've got something on me, pal, you're wasting my time."
"It's funny finding you back in your home town after James Strang was found dead," said Cullen. "You've not gone to ground or anything, have you, Mr MacLeod?"
"Mr Cullen," said the lawyer, "are you implying something about my client here?"
"There's no implying anything," said Cullen. "I'm investigating an avenue of inquiry."
"The reason I'm here is I've got a few things going on in my private life." MacLeod fiddled with his watch strap. "My girlfriend left me and I'm between jobs. I've kicked my tenants out of my flat and I'm just about ready to get back in there. I'm just staying with my folks while things sort themselves out in Edinburgh."
"And you are definitely not lying low?" said Cullen.
"Would I admit it if I was?" said MacLeod. "Would I go out on the lash in the town on a Monday night if I was lying low?"
"You are under police interview here," said Cullen. "This is on the record."
"Whatever," said MacLeod, waving his hands away.
"Did you know James Strang?" said Cullen.
"We've been over this," said MacLeod. "Yes, I knew him. A bit. If you're going to ask me what happened, I've told you. Any more of that and I'll stop co-operating until you charge me. I know my rights, Skinky."
"Don't call me that," said Cullen.
MacLeod smirked. "Have I touched a nerve?"
"Does Black Matt mean anything to you?" said Cullen.
MacLeod frowned. "Should it?"
"See, there's another coincidence," said Cullen. "Mr Strang sent an email which included the term Black Matt. You think that's merely a coincidence?"
"I'm not black, am I?" said MacLeod. "I'm as white as you pair. I know the police don't like a person of colour, do you?"
The lawyer's eyes bulged. He leaned over and whispered in MacLeod's ear.
"Do you wish to retract that comment?" said Guthrie.
"Aye," said MacLeod. "I didn't mean anything by it. Sorry."
"So, just for the record," said Cullen, "the phrase Black Matt means nothing to you?"
MacLeod leaned forward. "This has got nothing to do with your sister, has it?"
Cullen scowled. "Why would it?"
MacLeod looked at Guthrie. "I slipped his sister a length back in the day. Don't think Mr Cullen got over that. Maybe he fancied a go up her."
Cullen gave him his business card, still on Lothian & Borders stationery, his hand shaking. "If you think of anything then please don't hesitate to call," he said, through gritted teeth.
"Of course I won't," said MacLeod, getting to his feet, grinning wide.
Guthrie arranged for a uniform to show them out then closed the door.
"I never liked that fucker," said Cullen.
"Tell me this has nothing to do with him going out with your sister?" said Guthrie.
"Nothing," said Cullen. "I'd totally forgotten about it."
"Really?" said Guthrie. "You've been forgetting a lot recently."
Cullen shrugged. "I told you, I'm stressed and tired. Got a lot going on in my private and professional lives."
"The way you were going at him there, I almost started to feel sorry for him."
"That would take a lot," said Cullen.
"You're telling me," said Guthrie. "So, what do you reckon, then?"
"I need to get approval to investigate him," said Cullen. "Maybe put a tail on him."
"You think he's a suspect?"
"I do. He's got a clear motive and potential opportunity in Edinburgh."
"I still don't get how they could have had a fight beneath Edinburgh and Strang ended up dead," said Guthrie. "Why there?"
"Good place to hide a body," said Cullen. "He'd never have been found if those kids hadn't read The List." He tried to think it through logically. "They could have met in a pub and then MacLeod found out about the practice rooms. He went there and they got into a fight. Who knows?"
"This is your case," said Guthrie, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm going to get approval for surveillance on MacLeod," said Cullen.
Guthrie looked at the ceiling. "You mean me, don't you?"
Cullen nodded. "Of course."
"Remind me never to hit on your sister."
CHAPTER 63
Cullen got back to Leith Walk just after one, heading straight for the Incident Room. It was empty.
His stomach rumbled, the booze and chips calories having been spent. He headed to the canteen for lunch, opting for macaroni cheese and more chips.
He spotted Buxton and Rarity and joined them.
"Welcome back, Constable," said Rarity. "I trust your head is sufficiently clear?"
Cullen snorted. "Something like that." He eyed the industrial-strength coffee on his tray.
Between mouthfuls, he gave her an update on the slight progress he'd made in Dalhousie - the emails, Strang's sister and Matt MacLeod.
"That's something, I suppose," said Rarity. "Nothing else?"
"Think it's dried up," said Cullen. "And how's it going here?"
"We're progressing," said Rarity. "That's about all I can say."
"How far?" said Cullen. He doubted they were any further forward.
Rarity ran her hand through her hair. "Have you any avenues you wish to progress?"
"I want surveillance put on MacLeod," said Cullen.
"That's quite an expense," said Rarity.
"Look, I've brought you a clear suspect," said Cullen, "all I need is two bodies to tail him for a few days to see if he does anything dodgy."
"We're talking twelve hour shifts," said Rarity. "The cost will soon build up. I'm not sure I can sanction that. It seems a bit far-fetched and I'm not sure it isn't a personal vendetta."
"Excuse me?"
"You head home for a couple of days and then come back with someone you were at school with as a suspect."
"He's got means and opportunity," said Cullen.
"And no evidence," said Rarity.
Cullen was close to losing his cool. "That's why I want him tailed."
Buxton frowned. "Why do you think it's him?"
"He's got previous," said Cullen. "He bullied Strang at school. He lives through here, said he met Strang a couple of times."
"Why would he kill him, though?" said Buxton. "Seems extreme."
"This isn't one of the good guys," said Cullen. "He's a nasty piece of work. I suspect he's lying low, waiting for the coast to clear here. The discovery of the body was in the press, right?"
Rarity nodded.
"Well, then," said Cullen.
"We'll need to get Superintendent Turnbull to approve the budget." She prodded a finger at Cullen. "You're lucky. Before yesterday, it would have been cross-division, but the MIT's remit is national. You went on the training so you know where I'm coming from with this."
Cullen looked away. "Can we go and see Turnbull, please?"
"Fine," said Rarity.
CHAPTER 64
Turnbull ushered them into his office. He had five minutes between meetings about the new structure. Cullen thought there seemed to be a continual review in place, the old command and control model transitioning perfectly to the new world.
"Now, how can I help you?" said Turnbull.
Rarity laid out the case, slightly more succinctly than Cullen had put it. Coming from her it sounded simple and rational, rather than confused and insane like his summary.
"And this is all entirely on the level?" said Turnbull, looking at Cullen.
Cullen nodded. "This is based on intel I pick up in Dalhousie, sir. I was doing some background checks into Strang. It initially came from his sister."
"I see," said Turnbull. "I do feel we might need to round-table this. Has DCI Cargill been briefed?"
"Not yet," said Rarity.
Turnbull frowned. "So, you've gone over her head?"
"We couldn't find her," said Rarity, "and this is, of course, a pressing operational matter."
"I see." Turnbull swivelled his chair round to look out of the window onto Leith Walk. "I have to admit I am more than moderately concerned about the potential reputational ramifications of this surveillance."
"How so?" said Cullen.
"This is my call and mine alone," said Turnbull. "There's a somewhat unhealthy blame culture forming in the early days of the new structure, I'm afraid. You say MacLeod is based in Dalhousie?"
"Correct," said Rarity.
"Well, this will add non-Edinburgh resource to my budget," said Turnbull. "I cannot have this looking like a land grab."
"Sir, the suspect is normally based in Edinburgh," said Cullen. "Unless we bring him in, we might lose him."
"He might slip off the radar, is that it?" said Turnbull.
"Precisely," said Cullen. "As it stands, we have him in Dalhousie at his parents' house. We don't know how long he'll stay there."
"And this is genuinely your only suspect?" said Turnbull.
"Correct," said Rarity.
Turnbull looked at Cullen. "Constable, you'll know how I feel about vendettas. You're from Dalhousie, aren't you?"
Cullen shrugged. "That's got nothing to do with it."
Turnbull got to his feet and paced over to the window. "What are you expecting this surveillance to bring to the fore?"
"We'll know he's guilty if he makes a run for it," said Cullen. "Plus, we'll know where he is."
"Fine," said Turnbull. "It's approved, but I'm not particularly comfortable about this course of action."
"Thanks," said Rarity. "And noted."
"I want a full investigation into this MacLeod character," said Turnbull, "and I want you to dive down every avenue that presents itself. Am I clear?"
Cullen had no idea how one was supposed to dive down an avenue, but he nodded. "Absolutely, sir."
Rarity held the door open for him as Cullen followed her out to the stairwell. "I want to make it clear I've backed you up here."
"I appreciate it," said Cullen.
"Just so as you know," said Rarity, "if it subsequently transpires you're messing about with this, I will not hesitate in having you put on a disciplinary."
Cullen shook his head and walked p
ast her.
CHAPTER 65
Back at his desk, Cullen immediately called Guthrie. "It's approved."
"I'd say good," said Guthrie, "but this is going to be a nightmare."
"It's a chance to do some proper detective work," said Cullen, "rather than trying to find out who did a jobbie in the eighteenth hole of the Championship course or however else you fill your days."
Guthrie laughed. "I'll see what I can do."
"My DS is just phoning yours," said Cullen. "Wait until you're formally notified but I'd personally find someone who isn't too irritating to sit in a car with for a few days. Let me know if anything comes up."
"You'll be the first to know," said Guthrie.
Cullen ended the call and logged it in his notebook.
Chantal huffily sat down next to him.
"You're in a good mood," said Cullen.
"I forgot just how shit this job could be," said Chantal.
"I'm continually reminded."
She laughed. "Good to see you back. Nice holiday?"
"Hardly a holiday."
"You've got that hungover look," said Chantal.
Cullen ignored her. "What have you been up to?"
"You're not my boss any more," said Chantal.
"I'm just asking."
Chantal looked him up and down for few seconds then slumped back in her chair. "Been on the phone with a lead from Strang's work. It turns out Strang was sleeping with the girlfriend of someone in the band."
This was news to Cullen. Another line from the poem jumped out at him.
Stealing what wasn't mine, taking what didn't belong to me, coveting my neighbour's wife.
"Any idea who it was?" said Cullen.
Chantal shook her head. "The boy said Strang was a shagger on the Russell Brand scale. I've got him coming in to give a proper statement this afternoon."
"Who do we think it is?"
"I think we can rule Beth out," said Chantal. "Pregnant woman with wedding ring and all that."
"This is nineteen months ago," said Cullen.
"Don't think it was her," said Chantal. "Beth worked at the shop, remember? They would surely have said he was getting it on with her, wouldn't they? Plus, she told us it wasn't her."