by Ed James
"Was he that tortured artist type?" said Buxton.
Johnson nodded slowly. "That sort of thing," he said, rubbing his eyes. "He was gifted."
"Did he have a girlfriend?" said Cullen.
Johnson looked away. "Not that I knew of, I'm afraid."
"Any groupies?" said Cullen.
Johnson scowled at him. "We weren't that sort of band. We were artists."
Cullen didn't want to press the point just yet. "How was Jimi around the time he disappeared?"
Johnson stared at the ceiling for a moment. "On reflection, Jimi had been a bit distant, it's fair to say. The last rejection by a label hit him hard. Really hard. Jimi wanted success more than anything."
"I thought you were artists?" said Cullen, wound up.
Johnson threw up his hands. "Artists have to eat. We were all working in awful jobs. We just wanted to make our living from music. That's not too much to ask, is it?" He took another sip of water. "That band put my academic career on hold for years. Fortunately, I've been able to pick it up again without too much of a deleterious effect."
"Tell me about how the rejection was hitting him hard," said Cullen.
"Jimi didn't seem to enjoy the music much towards the end," said Johnson. "He still had the drive, of course, kept pushing us on, but he'd lost something on the way. I believe the phrase is 'phoning it in'."
Cullen leaned back. "Is there something you're not telling us?"
Johnson nibbled at his nails. "Jimi was obsessed with something," he said, eventually. "I don't know what. He didn't tell me."
"You have no idea?" said Cullen.
Johnson shook his head. "None, I'm afraid."
"But you thought he was obsessed," said Cullen, folding his arms. "How did this obsession manifest itself?"
Johnson rocked back and forth. "You could tell when Jimi was preoccupied. Usually, it was some part of a song that didn't work. He'd fret over it for days and then come up with something that just fixed it. We did a tour and he'd been all over it, irritating the tour manager of the band we supported until he relented."
He stopped moving. "He got this look in his eyes when something was going on in his head. It was like he wasn't all there."
"And he had this look in the days leading up to his disappearance?" said Cullen.
"I believe I told the investigating officer at the time I suspected Jimi had possibly run away," said Johnson.
"You thought his obsession was running away?" said Cullen.
Johnson nodded. "He'd often talk about New York. Of course, one would need a visa to settle there. To my knowledge, Jimi hadn't done any of that."
Cullen himself was prone to fits of single-mindedness, particularly when working hard on a case.
"What did you do after the band, then?" said Buxton.
"As I've alluded to," said Johnson, "I gave up music after what happened. I still play the piano occasionally, but nothing serious. I barely listen to anything with a guitar in it these days. I started my PhD, which I will hopefully finish next summer at my current rate of progress."
"What about the other band members?" said Buxton.
"Alex, the lead guitarist, is still performing in Glasgow," said Johnson. "I've met up with him a couple of times for dinner."
"And Beth Williamson?" said Buxton.
"Beth was like myself," said Johnson. "She got married and gave up music. I don't really keep in touch with her, I'm afraid. Just the occasional text."
"We've been trying to get in contact with them," said Buxton. "Do you have numbers for either?"
Johnson nodded, fishing his mobile out. He took great pains to ensure Buxton copied the numbers down correctly.
"We need a bit more information about Mr Strang," said Cullen. "Where did he work?"
"In a record shop in Stockbridge," said Johnson. "It's closed down now. I think it became a Starbucks."
"He didn't work anywhere else?" said Cullen.
Johnson shook his head. "He was working there when I met him at university and he was still there by the time he vanished."
"What about friends?" said Cullen.
"He never had many close friends," said Johnson, "just lots of acquaintances."
"Anyone off the top of your head?" said Cullen.
"I'd have to come back to you on that, I'm afraid."
"What about people in other bands?" said Buxton.
"Other bands?" Johnson drummed his fingers on the desk for a few seconds. "There were a couple he was friendly with, but mainly to get gigs with them and so on." He frowned. "He was good friends with the singer and the bass player in Expect Delays."
Cullen scribbled it down.
"What about flatmates?" said Buxton.
"He lived in a shared flat," said Johnson, "but I don't think he mixed with his flatmates much. They were annoyed by how drunk he got and the noise he made recording demos on his four-track."
"Can you give us the address?" said Buxton.
"I'll try and recall it," said Johnson.
"Is there anyone who had a grudge against him?" said Cullen. "Someone he'd done over or let down?"
Johnson shrugged his shoulders. "Not that I can think, sorry."
Cullen thanked him and got to his feet. "We'll likely be in touch again, Mr Johnson."
"What about his family?" said Buxton.
Cullen cringed as he sat down. Schoolboy error.
"He was from a small town called Dalhousie, I believe," said Johnson, "but he didn't talk about it much. I know both of his parents were alive and well back in two thousand and eleven, but other than that, I'm afraid I can't help."
"Okay, you're free to go," said Buxton, ending the interview.
Johnson got up and hurried out of the room, led away by the uniform.
"I hope they kept his mouth shut in press interviews," said Buxton.
CHAPTER 14
After a few minutes of searching, Cullen rounded up Methven and Chantal and took them into a vacant meeting room. He spent ten minutes recounting edited highlights of the interview with Johnson, stopping occasionally for Methven's questions.
"So, in summary," said Methven, eyelids closing, "we have a positive ID on the victim, then?"
"We obviously need to confirm it by formal means," said Cullen. He looked at Chantal. "Can you make sure Deeley and Anderson know about James Strang and check for DNA, dental records and so on?"
"Already on it, sir." The sir snapped out of her mouth.
"And this band you were speaking to," said Methven, "the ones who found the body in the first place?"
"Nothing suspicious, sir," said Chantal. "They check out. It looks like none of them knew him. Two were still at school at the time. One was in St Andrews and the other Inverness. The drummer is proving a bit trickier. He's a good ten years older."
"Keep on it," said Methven.
"There's something else, sir," said Chantal. "The singer is the one from St Andrews. His brother was studying in Edinburgh at the time and he visited him on a few occasions."
"Any suspicion?" said Methven.
She shook her head. "Got alibis. Just waiting for confirmation, but it looks like Alistair Cameron was in St Andrews that weekend getting so drunk he had his stomach pumped. His brother was visiting his girlfriend in Glasgow."
"Excellent work, Constable," said Methven. "I want this investigation tight." His gaze shifted to Cullen. "Plan of attack, Sergeant?"
"ADC Buxton and I will speak to the band while DC Jain carries out those additional checks on the drummer." Cullen looked at Chantal. "Can you dig into his workmates? It'll be difficult, the shop shut last year."
"Will do," said Chantal, noting it down. "I could do with some help here."
"I'll see what I can do," said Methven. "There may be a few hours of spare manpower somewhere we can rustle up for you." He looked at Cullen again. "And then?"
"ADC Buxton and I will speak to his parents," said Cullen.
Methven folded his arms. "You say he's from the same
town as you?"
Cullen nodded. "That's right, sir."
"We need to be careful here," said Methven. "If there's a link to you at any point, we'll have to review the situation."
"I doubt there will be, sir," said Cullen. "Strang was a good few years younger than me and I don't recognise the name. Other than waiting on any other leads to jump out of the blue, we've still got the post mortem and forensics to come."
"Should get something back this afternoon," said Methven.
"The only other live leads we've got," said Cullen, "are the drummer, Beth Williamson and-"
Methven interrupted. "Can women play the drums?"
Chantal rolled her eyes. "They have to wear trousers, sir."
Methven blushed. "Well, of course."
"We've managed to get an address for her," said Cullen, trying to keep himself calm despite the constant interruptions. "We'll go there just now. Hopefully, we can confirm the identity before we head to Dalhousie."
"And the other live lead, Sergeant?" said Methven.
"We can't get hold of the guitarist," said Cullen. "A guy called Alex Hughes."
"Leave it with me," said Chantal.
CHAPTER 15
Buxton rang the buzzer and they waited outside Beth Williamson's house in Dalkeith, a sprawling dormitory town just south of Edinburgh gobbling up its neighbours.
Cullen's phone buzzed. A text from Chantal. "She's still struggling to get hold of this Alex Hughes character."
The door opened. Beth Williamson didn't fit Cullen's picture of a female drummer. She was medium height, slight build, attractive and heavily pregnant. She'd be more at home in a washing powder advert than the main stage at T in the Park.
Cullen showed his warrant card and introduced them. "Ms Williamson, we spoke on the phone earlier?"
Beth swallowed. "About Jimi. You'd better come in."
She led them to a dining room overlooking a small patch of lawn and a square of patio, fruit trees dotted around the perimeter. She sat at the end of the long dining table forcing Cullen and Buxton to sit on either side.
"How far along are you?" said Buxton.
"Just over eight months," said Beth. "I'll be glad when he's out, I'll be honest. At least I don't have to go to work anymore."
"We'd like to ask you about James Strang," said Cullen.
"Certainly," said Beth. "Hopefully I can help."
Cullen asked the same questions they'd put to Johnson, getting roughly the same answers albeit in less flowery terms. The only difference concerned Jimi's prowess with the ladies.
"Jimi was always with a groupie after a gig," said Beth.
"David Johnson said you weren't that sort of band," said Cullen.
"We might not have been," said Beth, "but Jimi was that sort of guy."
"Did you ever have a liaison with him?" said Cullen.
"Jimi tried it on once. Early on. We agreed it's best not to shit on your own doorstep."
Cullen raised an eyebrow at the slip of the yummy mummy exterior revealing the rock 'n' roll drummer underneath. "Do you know the names of any women Jimi was involved with?"
Beth shook her head. "David or Alex might, but I wasn't in the habit of tracking Jimi's bed hopping."
"So, what happened after the band?" said Buxton.
Beth looked out across the garden. "I gave up music. I'd had enough by then, to be honest. I liked writing new songs, but I wasn't enjoying performing, certainly nothing like the other three."
She fiddled with her wedding ring. "I worked in a record shop at the time and they made me store manager. It closed down last year. My husband works at Alba Bank and he got me a job there, so it's all worked out okay in the end I suppose."
"Was this the same record shop Mr Strang worked at?" said Cullen.
"He worked there, yes," said Beth. "That's how we met. I remember him putting up an advert looking for a drummer, years ago. Two thousand and six, I think. I used to play drums at school and it turned out I wasn't too rusty."
"Would you have a list of employees from the time?" said Cullen.
"I might have something somewhere," said Beth, exhaling. "The assets were liquidated and I took some of the paperwork. I'll have a look and see what I can dig out."
"That would be excellent," said Buxton.
"One thing you could also help us with," said Cullen, "is we're struggling to get hold of Alex Hughes."
Beth gave a slight grimace. "He can be evasive at the best of times. Nothing malicious, of course, just never the most reliable. He's a very good guitarist, but incredibly flaky. That was how Jimi described him."
"Do you have a number for him?" said Buxton.
"I do," said Beth, before fiddling with the giant Samsung in front of her. She read out a number.
Buxton grimaced. "That's the one we've got."
"Well, if I hear anything from him," said Beth, "I'll let you know."
CHAPTER 16
Cullen pulled into Broughty Terrace, one of Dalhousie's better streets, and turned off the engine. His parents lived two blocks over and he could still remember running down the pavement as a small boy, then using it as a shortcut home from high school as a teenager.
The Strang house was an old cottage three quarters of the way along, set back from the road. Much of the front garden was tarmaced over and turned into a drive, with a silver Ford Focus on the left, the right reserved for another car.
"You know these people?" said Buxton.
Cullen shook his head. "No. It's a big place. Second biggest town in Angus after Arbroath."
Buxton laughed. "That's a fantastic accolade. Doesn't seem too bad, though."
Cullen nodded. "Most professionals in Dundee will live here, Perth, Broughty Ferry or Carnoustie. This is furthest away, but that tends to bring different people. You can get into Dundee in forty minutes."
"Not bad," said Buxton.
"This isn't London, though," said Cullen. "Most people can afford to live round the corner from their office. That's a long commute in these parts."
A car parked behind them.
Cullen turned around. "That'll be the Family Liaison Officer."
"We're going to look a right bunch of muppets getting an FLO in if it's not definitely him," said Buxton.
"It is him," said Cullen. "I know it."
"Feel it in your water, can you?" said Buxton.
Cullen laughed. "You okay to lead? Good experience and all that."
"Trust me," said Buxton, "I've had more than my fair share of going into people's houses and telling them their son's dead."
They waited outside the car for the FLO, before getting the introductions out of the way quickly. PC Iain Taggart spoke with a broad Dundonian accent, all eh's and ken's. Cullen avoided joking about his surname, but he suspected not many of his colleagues would.
Taggart led them up the drive before knocking on the front door, a uPVC replacement matching the windows. He took off his hat and clutched it to his chest.
A woman in her early fifties answered, frowning. Taggart held up his warrant card. "Norma Strang?"
She nodded, her brow furrowing further. "Yes. Can I help?"
"My name is PC Iain Taggart. This is DC Simon Buxton and DS Scott Cullen. We'd like to speak to you about your son."
"I see," said Norma, running a hand through her greying hair. "You'd better come in."
They went inside leaving Buxton and Cullen to fight over who entered first, with Buxton just managing to sneak ahead. They were led into a room at the back, the bulk of one wall given over to a monstrous conservatory half filling the back garden.
"I would take you into the orangery," said Norma, "but it's far too cold at this time of year."
Cullen and Buxton sat on the settee, while Norma settled on an armchair opposite. Taggart opted to stand, leaning against the fireplace.
"How can I help?" said Norma.
Taggart seized the initiative. "Is your husband around?"
"George is at work," said Norma. "
He should be back in the next hour or so, depending on how many meetings he had today."
"We're afraid we believe we have found the body of your son, James," said Taggart.
"I see," said Norma, flinching slightly. "Can I ask where?"
Taggart gestured for Cullen or Buxton to continue.
Buxton cleared his throat. "We found him in Edinburgh. Near the rehearsal rooms his band used to practise in."
"And you're sure it's him?" said Norma.
Buxton nodded. "The body matches the description of your son on the night he was last seen. We are in the process of performing secondary checks, but we have a high degree of certainty."
Tears filled Norma's eyes as she bit her lip. "I knew this day would eventually come. I kept telling George he wasn't alive, but he wouldn't listen."
She took a paper tissue from the sleeve of her cardigan and dabbed her eyes, the emotion passing. "How did he die?"
Cullen nodded. "We believe he was murdered."
"Oh, sweet Jesus," said Norma. "How?"
"A screwdriver was found with the body," said Cullen. "Tests will prove whether or not it was used to kill James."
"Can I see him?"
"I'm afraid that's not to be advised," said Cullen. "The body is in an advanced state of decomposition."
"Oh dear God," said Norma, running her hand through her hair again, leaving strands sticking up. "I won't even be able to have an open casket funeral."
"This is a murder inquiry until proved otherwise," said Buxton. "We have to investigate all potential leads or suspects."
Norma nodded slowly. "I see. I want to help."
"Can you think of anyone at all who may have wished to harm James?" said Buxton.
Norma shook her head. "We went through this with the police before. James was a lovely laddie. Very warm, very popular, lots of friends. He just lived for his music."
"Please, tell us about it," said Buxton.
"He was always playing that guitar," said Norma. "He did it at the school and we got him his first proper guitar at thirteen. He would spend hours at it. It used to be a right bugger to get him to do his homework. In the end, he did well enough to get into Edinburgh. That was James all right, capable of focusing at just the right time."