by Ed James
‘I’ll be good, Lauren. Can you go and find who discovered the body?’
‘Think it was a dog walker. Speaking to uniform.’
‘All the same. Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?’
‘No.’ Her cheeks dimpled through the goggles and she passed him with a pat on the arm.
Just that gentle touch brought Cullen back.
The cave wasn’t quite off the beaten track, and the lockdown exercise allowance of an hour and locally meant that it probably limited the number of people hiking nearby, so maybe the body had been there a while. The wounds to her face still looked fresh, though.
‘Ah, young Skywalker.’ Deeley joined him at the cave’s entrance. ‘Bit of a Batcave vibe here, isn’t it? Not that there’s much room for a Batmobile or a supercomputer. Makes you yearn for old Brian Bain and his constant Batman references.’ He frowned. ‘Actually, he stopped them a while ago, didn’t he?’
‘Think so.’ Cullen couldn’t bring himself to banter about Bain. ‘You getting anything?’
‘Well, she’s dead.’
That hit Cullen in the gut. A joke shaped like a bullet. He couldn’t stop the laugh. ‘It’s definitely a she?’
‘Appears to be, aye.’ Deeley winced. ‘But good luck identifying her. All I can offer you is she’s a female, early forties, hair dyed by the looks of it.’ His eyes narrowed through the goggle. ‘And I’d believe it’s a salon dye job giving way to a home packet to touch up the roots.’
‘You an expert?’
‘Having to become one, aye. Number of deaths we’ve had during lockdown that’ve been like that. Of course, there are a few that have clearly been to an illicit salon.’
‘That’s it?’
‘No, I’ve got her National Insurance number tattooed on the inside of her thigh.’
One of the CSIs waved at Deeley. ‘There is a tattoo.’
‘What?’ Deeley raised his hands. ‘Why didn’t you say?’
‘Like you’d listen, you old goat.’ Or at least it sounded like that. The CSI — who Cullen thought might or might not have been James Anderson, though there was no trace of his telltale goatee — pointed at the shoulder. Through a splatter of blood, was a fresh-looking tattoo in Chinese symbols.
Deeley was shaking his head at it. ‘What’s that mean?’
‘Ran it through a translator app on my phone. Amazing what you can get now, eh? It means “Good Girl”.’
‘Huh.’ Even through his mask, Deeley was wide-eyed. Whether at the victim’s tattoo or the phone’s technology, Cullen didn’t know.
So he nudged him. ‘Cause of death?’
‘Murder.’
‘Very funny, but I’m really not in the mood.’
‘Well, Skywalker, unless there’s a werewolf around here or a pack of wild wolves, I’d say a human being did that to her face with a machete.’
‘You’re sure about that?’
‘I know machetes, Scott. Been on a few walking holidays to parts of Africa and South America where you need one to get through the vegetation and to fight off the local predators.’
‘Hear they’re wanting to reintroduce wolves to Scotland.’ Elvis was getting suited up down below. The nosy sod could pick up a muffled chat through masks at five hundred yards.
‘Heard that too, aye.’ Deeley gave the wide-eyed nod of a man not wanting to seem to patronise his listener as he patronised his listener. ‘But, Paul, that’s purported to be in the Highlands, not down here in Midlothian. Not even talking about doing it in the Borders. And they don’t have approval to do any of it.’
Elvis put his goggles on, but left them stuck to his forehead like he was going flying in the forties. ‘But it looked like a wolf, did it?’
‘No, Paul, it was a machete, like I told Scott here.’
‘Right. What about any identifying marks?’
‘Can’t find any. Other than her tattoo. Not even ear piercings. I’ll submit the DNA right away, but we’ve got staff shortages like you wouldn’t believe. It’ll be a long delay, I’m afraid.’
Cullen had that feeling deep in his gut, where things on a case joined with other things. Must be some brain-gut flora connection going on.
‘Come on, Jimmy, I need an ID here.’
‘Sorry, Scott, but I have literally no latitude. The government want data all the time from us, and I’m talking UK government and Scottish too. There’s no way I can prioritise a murder over widespread public safety.’
So Cullen had to rely on old-fashioned police work rather than technical wizardry. He got out his phone.
Shepherd calling…
‘Scott, it’s Luke. Sorry, I missed you earlier, just wanted to arrange a quick catch-up.’
‘Okay, I’m a bit tied up just now. I’m at a murder scene in Midlothian.’ Cullen glanced at the corpse inside the cliff. ‘Have you found Geddes?’
‘No.’ Shepherd sighed down the line. ‘Got a meeting with an idiot, so I’ll catch you later. Cheers, Scott.’ And he was gone.
What a waste of time. But Shepherd was the kind of guy who liked to keep an eye on people, wasn’t he?
Cullen pocketed his phone and looked around. Everything seemed bleached to black and white by the bright sun. He flicked his hand towards Elvis. ‘Have you got the CCTV yet?’
‘Well, aye, I’ve spoken to the boy but—’
‘Why are you still here, Paul?’
‘Well, the boy in Dalkeith won’t let me see any of it without your approval.’
‘So you decided to trample over a crime scene?’ Cullen held his gaze. ‘Get over there, then get them to phone me or Lauren.’
‘Fine.’ Elvis started undoing his suit. He threw the goggles into the discard pile and stormed off in a huff.
‘Can’t get the staff, eh?’ Deeley smirked through his own goggles. ‘And the thing I haven’t told you, Scott? That’s a doozer.’
Cullen held Deeley’s gaze. ‘What?’
Deeley ran a hand over his face mask and googles. ‘Those wounds didn’t kill her.’
‘What did?’
‘Remember a few years back, we had a case where I had to demonstrate a strangulation technique on DI Bain, as was. Well, it’s similar. But…’
‘But what?’
‘Well, there’s a lot of marks around her neck. Like she’s been strangled a lot.’
‘Like, this took a lot of killing?’
‘No, the bruising goes back a few weeks.’
‘So, a sex thing?’
‘That, or she’s been held captive. I mean, I know you always want to head to the pervert aisle…’ Deeley clicked both fingers. ‘But that’s a working assumption for us to confirm. I’ll be a few more minutes, then I’ll give you a time of death, okay?’
‘Didn’t even have to ask. Thanks, Jimmy.’ Cullen watched him shuffle back into the cave and got a horrible shiver down his spine.
Dying in a place like this was bad enough, but the state of her. That was a painful death.
But it was like a pedestal. Couldn’t see it from below, but from up here, it was like an offering to the gods.
He had to look away from the cave.
Only to see a face he hadn’t seen for a few years. Stuart Murray was talking to Lauren by McKeown’s perimeter. Bit fitter-looking than the last time, but he’d grown a ludicrous beard, as big as any cop was allowed, and wiry ginger hair poked around the sides of his mask.
Cullen set off towards them, tugging at his mask and goggles like it could remove the image of the victim seared into his brain. ‘Is that Santa Claus?’
‘Christ, I’m not that grey, am I?’ Murray smoothed down his beard, but he was smiling at Cullen. ‘How you doing, Scott?’
‘Good. Ish. How’s Midlothian treating you?’
‘Well, the good thing is I’m a DS for Lothians & Scottish Borders division.’ Murray stepped away from Lauren towards the crime tape. ‘The bad thing is I’m a DS for Lothians & Scottish Borders division.’
Cullen laughed.
‘Why did they choose that name? Lothian and Borders was fine, but this just confuses things.’
‘All one force now, eh?’
‘True. You First Attending?’
‘One of my lads was, as it happens. Weird thing about us having to go into uniform through lockdown. Means we end up giving you mugs in the Edinburgh MIT our sloppy seconds.’
Cullen knew Murray’s tell, that way he was tugging at his ear. ‘So what were you doing out here, really?’
‘Just the usual, Scott. Nothing fancy.’
Lauren joined them, her hair now hanging free. ‘Stuart introduced me to the dog walker who found the body.’
‘Anything?’
‘One Neil Harrison of Gorebridge. Mid-forties. Walking out first thing this morning. His oldest collie ran off, and he found her in the cave, looking at the body.’
‘Just looking?’
‘Aye, says she’s a good girl. And I believe him. Collies are smart dogs.’
‘When was this?’
‘Half six, he reckons. Lauren’s got Eva Law sitting with him, getting the data off his smartwatch.’
Deeley chucked his medicine bag at Cullen’s feet, close enough to endanger his toes even through these boots. ‘Well, by my calculations, our victim—whoever she is—was murdered on Friday night.’
‘Ah shite.’ Murray shut his eyes. ‘That’s all I need.’
Cullen got between them. ‘What is?’
‘Look, the reason we were here, the reason this Neil Harrison lad found us and we were able to secure the place is…’ Murray smoothed down his curly beard again. ‘It’s actually really bloody complicated. The park has been locked down throughout, and it’s only just reopened today as a trial run as things go back to something like normal. Trouble is, one of the lads in the village took a test on Wednesday, and it came back positive yesterday. And the daft bugger won’t tell the NHS where he was on Friday, so we’ve been brought in to do some contact tracing. Only, it turns out there was an illicit dogging event here on Friday night.’
Deeley raised his eyebrows. ‘Care to tell me what dogging is?’
‘You know what it is.’
Deeley had that mischievous twinkle in his eyes. ‘Enlighten me.’
Murray sighed. ‘People having sex in car parks, basically. Or out in the woods here.’
‘So, public swinging?’
‘Aye.’
‘And you say Friday night?’
‘I did.’
‘Were you there?’
‘Of course I wasn’t!’ Murray was blushing.
Deeley stepped under the tape and clapped his arm. ‘Just messing with you, son.’ He turned to face Cullen. ‘Look, by my reckoning the victim was murdered in that timeframe. All these sexual deviants you’re contact tracing? Well, it’s possible someone saw something. Or they did it.’
Cullen shut his eyes. And the sort of person who was open about their sexuality in public among consenting adults just loved sharing information with the police. But something else clawed at his throat. ‘And those marks around her neck?’
Deeley was nodding hard. ‘Oh aye. The kind of person who likes to shag al fresco might have other kinks.’
6
This place, I swear…
Holyrood Parliament, whatever it’s officially called. I love it. Heard Su— Cullen say it looks like a swimming baths in Forfar or Stranraer. And he’s right, but that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?
Trouble with Westminster is it’s in London, and full of all that Houses of Parliament and Big Ben nonsense, all that ancient pomp and ceremony. How’s someone in Wigan or Lincoln or South Shields, or even Forfar or Stranraer, how are they supposed to relate to all of that? Eh?
This place, though, it does what it says on the tin. Even though the boy who designed it was from Barca, it looks like Scotland, serves Scotland.
Bosh!
Still, that chump Hunter has persuaded the security boy to open up, so it’s ‘mask on’ time. Standard-issue pale blue, rather than the Spider-Man one that makes my wee lassie coo and giggle when I wear it. Fatherhood has changed us, I tell you. Well, second time’s a charm. First was a complete disaster.
Hunter holds the door for us. ‘Ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?’
I’ve got quite good at telling when someone’s speaking even with a mask on, but what did he say? ‘You what?’
‘What was difficult about that?’
‘You said, “Ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?” The Joker’s line from that Michael Keaton Batman film.’
‘No, I said, “Haven’t heard you call Scott Sundance in months.” And I still haven’t.’
‘I’m a changed man, Craig. Stopped swearing too.’
‘Holy shit.’ His eyes go wide, like he’s just realised. ‘Why?’
‘The little lady persuaded us. Said it was undermining me.’
Seriously, though, this place makes me wish I was allowed to swear. It’s beautiful. No matter how municipal the parly looks on the outside, it’s staggering inside. Surely Cullen would even agree with me. Like the poshest hotels, or those headquarter buildings for RBS or Alba Bank. And I’ve been in both. It’s that level of care and attention to detail that’s going on here.
Call it a concourse, don’t they? Place could fit thousands in here. Probably enough for all the MSPs and the staff and a couple of schools’ worth of visiting kids to fill up, and to get out in an emergency.
And it’s not that echo-y either, could hear a pin drop.
Magnificent. Puts a real lump in your throat.
And there’s old Budgie, waiting for us by the staircase up. English, eh? Suppose I can call him that rather than Buxton, as it’s Cullen’s nickname for him, not mine. That’s not against the rules.
Shepherd’s talking to him. Well, whispering more like. Can’t pick up what he’s saying.
Leaving Buxton fiddling with his falsers. Pair of teeth at the front, from when the daft sod tumbled through a door that someone opened.
I follow Hunter over. ‘You okay, Simon?’
‘These are really bloody sore today.’ Buxton starts off up the stairs, his shoes clicking like that smiling boy in all those dancing films.
‘You not getting implants?’
‘Dentists are only doing emergency work just now. Got to wait until August, they reckon. At least.’
‘Can’t you go private?’
‘It’s the politics of the thing.’ Buxton stops at the top and pulls up his mask to fiddle with his falsers. It’s like looking into an alien thing on a sci-fi film. Makes me sick.
‘What was Shepherd after?’
‘Like I’m going to tell you.’ Buxton grins at us, all sinister with those gnashers, then he flips his mask back down.
I clap him on the arm. ‘Still, I bet you wish your bird had missing teeth like that, eh? Shove that—’
‘Stop!’ Hunter grabs my shoulder and it’s like that wee alien bugger has clamped on. Sore as hell. ‘Enough!’
‘I’m just having a la—AAAAGH!’
Boy twists his nails in. ‘Think about it. Nobody wants their … bits talked about, okay? Big, small, bent, straight or lumpy. So stop it.’
No way am I giving him the satisfaction.
‘And he’s a person, okay? Stop reducing him to his parts.’
‘You’re always pissing in the cubicles, Craig. Can you—’
‘Shut up!’
Ow, my whole arm’s on fire, not just my wrist. ‘Aye, aye, I’ll quit it.’
And he lets go.
But Shepherd’s clocked us. Boy always looks suspicious, but this time he’s onto us. Onto Hunter’s bullying anyway.
He’s with some lad who’s seven foot tall, if a day. And he looks young, a dusting of dark stubble to make him appear a bit older than twelve.
I shake Hunter’s grip off. ‘Come on, boys, let’s at least look professional.’ Have to adjust my mask as that chump has knocked it. Don’t want some jobsworth in
here fining us or, worse, reporting us for it.
‘Gentlemen.’ Shepherd’s nostrils are flared wide as we approach. Thank God this isn’t going to be a long-term thing, as Shepherd has clearly already got the measure of what a bunch of choppers he’s dealing with. ‘This is Ms Geddes’s PA. Deacon Abercrombie. He called in the disappearance.’
Deacon…
When did surnames become first names? ‘Hi guys.’ His voice has that depth, like it’s just broken. ‘So, as I was saying to your boss here, Isobel is usually in before six. Isobel’s a workaholic, so my job is about removing distractions from work. I get here just after, make sure she’s got everything she needs, then I just let her get on with it and field calls and yadda yadda yadda.’
Boy might have the looks of someone singing soprano in the choir, but he seems to know his onions. And garlic and shallots and red onions and leeks, too.
And none of the other chumps here are jumping in, so I suppose I’d better. ‘But she isn’t in work today?’
‘Right. I called it in.’ Deacon’s scratching at his face mask. Something’s got him rattled. ‘I was worried, you know? She cycles in, and I thought maybe she’d been hit on the way? But no, there weren’t any reports of that, so they put me on to you guys. And… Well.’
Feel a bit weird standing out here in the corridor, but it’s not like there’s anybody actually about, is there?
‘I mean, I thought what if someone’s kidnapped her?’ Deacon’s looking at Shepherd.
Who just nods. ‘We’ll consider that as a distinct possibility. But without any demands received, it’s hard to assess if that’s viable.’
‘You think she could have just disappeared?’
Shepherd nods. Cool as a cucumber, this boy.
‘Why?’
‘She’s got a stressful job, Deacon. It stands to reason, doesn’t it? The world is falling apart. All of the pressure placed on a minister. And it must be constant just now. Sure, the school year will officially end in a month or so, but she’s got to make sure homeschooling is working, and all the while there’s economic pressure to get kids back so parents can be more productive, and there’s the health aspects. That’s enough to drive anyone to the edge.’