by Ed James
After more than an hour, there was nothing more to be discussed. Joan Adamson suggested putting on another pot of coffee. McNeill made their apologies, and Joan took the tray through to the kitchen.
David Adamson led them into the hall and, with his hand on the door latch, leaned towards them. He spoke quietly, obviously to save his wife from hearing what he had to say. He hadn't had much to say in the living room, merely concurring with his wife's pronouncements and answers.
"Please find the bastard who killed my lassie," he said, his voice soft but struggling to contain the emotion.
McNeill tilted her head slightly. "We are trying our hardest. Our best officers are on this case."
Cullen leaned closer. "Mr Adamson, I didn't want to ask in front of your wife, but do you have any suspicions about your daughter's ex-husband?"
"Rob?" He paused for a few seconds. "Maybe." His eyes welled up. "Listen. I've no idea who it bloody was, whether it was my ex-son-in-law, or whoever, but I want you to find him, okay?"
McNeill had held his gaze throughout. "We will, Mr Adamson, believe me, we will."
David Adamson looked into their eyes for a few seconds, his own filling with moisture. "Just make sure you do, for my Grandson's sake, and for my poor wife's sake. She's on medication. Christ knows what this is doing to her."
eighteen
Cullen and McNeill got back to the Incident Room in the early afternoon. They'd made good time but had hit heavy traffic on Ferry Road coming back into Edinburgh, which Cullen put down to Sunday shoppers heading to Ocean Terminal.
On the way back, they'd dissected the meeting with Caroline's parents, hunting for clues, leads, anything, but came up with nothing. David Adamson's words still rang in Cullen's ears - he thought of Jack Adamson, playing with his Doctor Who dolls, oblivious to what was happening. Surely by now he would be aware that his mother wasn't coming back, even if he didn't quite understand why.
The Incident Room was a hive of activity; DS Holdsworth was running around with a clipboard, his face redder than ever.
Bain lurked at a laptop at the end of the room, scratching the back of his head. He looked up as they approached. "How did it go?" he asked.
"As I expected," said McNeill. "The only thing I got out of it was a form to claim back half a tank of petrol."
"Keep an eye on your expenses, you're not an MP," said Bain. "Anything to nail Rob Thomson with?"
"Were you expecting anything?"
"Not really," he said, with a grunt.
"Have you got anything to charge him with yet?" asked McNeill.
"Not yet."
"What's been happening here?"
Bain sat down at his desk. "Not much. Jim Turnbull's gone to see the Procurator Fiscal to talk strategy."
He picked up a bottle full of foul-looking pink gunk. "Pepto bismol," he grunted in reply to Cullen's stare. "Hopefully it'll nuke my insides." He measured out a capful and downed it.
"So what do you want us to do now then?" asked Cullen.
"Butch, I want you to go over all of the interviews we've done so far, and see if there's anything jumps out at you. Probably have to re-interview everyone Sundance here met on Friday - just keep away from Rob Thomson."
McNeill nodded.
"And me?" asked Cullen.
"Two things. First, you'll need to get back to those phone calls. Caldwell can't be seen to be doing them all."
"I'll need more people."
Bain poured out another capful and swallowed it, a pained expression on his face. "I'll see if there's any slack."
"And the other thing?"
Bain picked up an envelope. Cullen had last seen it on Miller's desk. "Monkey boy hasn't even looked through Caroline's phone records yet. I want you to do it. Highest priority."
"Why me?" asked Cullen.
Bain shrugged. "Safe pair of hands I suppose. I've not seen the useless bastard all morning. Need to see what on Earth Wilko's been doing with him."
Cullen sat down at his desk in the Incident Room, next to Caldwell. She had a headset on, and started rolling her eyes and winding her finger through the air.
Cullen got out his notebook and tore open the envelope. Caroline's call record for the last month comprised three sheets of A4. He checked through the numbers, both inbound and outbound, and started cross-referencing them against the numbers he'd taken for Amy Cousens, Steve Allen, Debi Curtis, Rob Thomson and the rest. He quickly eliminated at least three quarters of the list. This left him with 18 unknown numbers. He typed those into the national phone number database, and looked through them. They were mostly plausible names and numbers - her parents, work, Steve Allen, Rob Thomson. He'd have to add them to the list of calls he and Caldwell had been working through. He'd get some uniform to call through the list and verify it all.
The 18th number, from an incoming call, didn't show up.
Cullen picked up his desk phone and dialled it.
A sparkly female voice answered. "We're sorry, but this GoMobile number is unavailable. Please try again."
The line went dead, no voicemail.
GoMobile was the same network that Cullen was on, the latest big player on the mobile scene, undercutting the established players. He quickly found the customer service number and dialled it.
While he waited, he looked at the call record again. The call was made at 7.38pm on the night she was abducted. This number might shed some light on her last few minutes of freedom.
Cullen remembered that the CCTV footage they'd acquired from the Jackson Hotel was supposed to be reviewed by Miller. He hadn't received an update from him. He made a note to check with Miller, if he could find him.
He was passed through a number of lines, accompanied by Boyzone's greatest hits, before finally getting through to the legal department.
"Hi. DC Cullen? This is Becky Olivers. You're wanting to trace a mobile number on our network, is that right?"
"Yes, it's in connection to a murder case."
"I see. I'm afraid that we are unable to provide information like that without a formal request being provided."
Cullen took a note of her name and contact details, in the unlikely event that Bain could be bothered to give him another RIPSA. He completed and printed another form, ready for Bain to sign. Or not.
Looking up, he saw Bain sauntering over from the entrance, carrying a brown paper bag. He was drinking from a can of Red Bull Cola.
"How's it going?" asked Bain, as he sat down at his desk. He opened up a windowed sandwich bag, tomato ketchup smeared all over the inside, and tucked into the bacon roll within. He ate noisily, his lips slapping with every chew.
"I need you to sign another RIPSA," said Cullen, passing him the form.
"Good for you, Sundance," said Bain, through a mouthful, the pink of the bacon and the pink of his tongue indistinguishable.
"I found a mobile number I need to investigate," said Cullen. "The network needs a formal request."
"I'll think about it," said Bain, going back to his roll.
"Just sign the bloody form," snapped Cullen.
Bain stopped chewing and put the roll down. "Cullen, don't you ever speak to me like that again, okay?"
Cullen flared his nostrils. "With all due respect, I've got a lead and it may give us some useful information."
"How likely is it?"
"I won't know till I get what I need," said Cullen.
Bain shook his head slowly. "Alright." He snatched the form and signed it. "Now get this out of your bloody system, and don't go pushing anybody too far, okay?"
"Thank you," said Cullen, slowly and sarcastically. He grabbed the form back. "By the way, did Miller ever finish reviewing the CCTV from the hotel?"
Bain let out a slow sigh. "Aye. Waste of time. There's only CCTV in the reception area. Just got a few glimpses of Caroline heading to that room."
"What about when our killer left?" asked Cullen.
"No idea," replied Bain. "Can't trace him from that room, there's thi
rty rooms on that bit of the hotel. He just sauntered out the front door without us spotting him."
"What about the front desk? Couldn't they give a description?"
"Sundance, get back in your box. We've got one, but it's so vague it's unusable." Bain picked up his roll again. "Get out of my face, eh? I'm trying to eat my roll here and I've got a bloody Press Conference I need to prepare for."
Cullen called GoMobile again and was put through to their fraud department. He'd been put on hold yet again while they checked the faxed RIPSA form. He was now on the line with some guy called Ian Archibald, based at their call centre in Inverness. Cullen remembered reading an article about how the clearest English in the UK was spoken there, and the town was now full of call centres. He was dreading having to make a trip in person - GoMobile's offices were either there or in Bradford.
"Well, the records don't show much," said Archibald. "The phone came with £20 credit, of which 39p has been used. Last of the big spenders."
"How many calls were made?" asked Cullen.
"Just the one, actually. I can give you the number if you want."
"When?"
"7.39pm on Wednesday."
Cullen nodded - it was Caroline's mobile.
"You said that 39p has been used," said Cullen. "Is the phone still active?"
"Hang on." Archibald breathed heavily through his mouth. "Aye, it's still active."
"When's the last time it was used?" asked Cullen.
"Wednesday."
"Is that as in used to make a call, or the thing being on?"
"Eh, both," said Archibald.
"So it's not been on since Wednesday?"
"That's right."
"I want to know where the call was made from."
"Good luck," said Archibald.
Cullen frowned. "Don't you store the GPS information of the calls?"
Archibald laughed. "No, pal. This is the most basic model we sell; I'm surprised we still sell it, to be honest."
"So you can't tell me where the calls were made?" asked Cullen.
"Not with this phone."
"If we knew where the call was made," said Cullen, "we might be able to build a picture of who was using the phone."
"I see. We've done a bit of that in the past. You'll need to check on the Cell sites to get anything meaningful."
"And what's a Cell site when it's at home?" asked Cullen.
"When you use your phone, it connects to the nearest mobile mast or Cell site, which is connected to our network. That's logged with the call."
"And can you run a Cell site search for me, then?"
Archibald sniffed. "You'd have to get your Phone Squad or whatever they're called to do it."
"Fine," Cullen snapped. "Do you have any information about how the phone was bought?"
Archibald whistled through his teeth. "Let me have a wee look." He tapped away for a few seconds. "Here we are. Sold to Tesco. Part of a batch."
"Any idea where it went after that?"
Archibald laughed. "Hardly. You'll need to take that up with Tesco." He read out a consignment number and a depot contact at Tesco.
Cullen rubbed his forehead. "Is there anything else you can tell us?"
"Not really. There's precious little here. No texts, one call, and that's your lot."
"What about personal details; address, bank account?"
Archibald snorted. "It's pay as you go, we don't get an address or anything like that."
"So anyone could buy a phone and you don't know who's using your network?"
"That's the case."
"Can you email all of that information through?" asked Cullen.
"Will do."
He gave him his Lothian and Borders email address. "Thanks for your help. Hopefully it can help us track the killer down."
Cullen ended the call and slouched down in his seat. He tried to think through what he could do next. He knew that the phone was bought in Tesco. It might lead somewhere.
Bain had his head down, scribbling away on a notepad.
"Brian," said Cullen.
Bain looked up. "Come on, Sundance, I've got this Press Conference coming up."
"I know. I've got a lead from this phone number, wanted to walk you through it."
Bain exhaled through his nose. "Right, fire on, Sherlock."
"Caroline's mobile received a call from an unknown number at 7.39pm on the night she was killed."
"This is your wild goose chase, right?"
Cullen shrugged. "Maybe not so wild."
"So she got a call from this number and the next thing we know she's dead in that hotel?" asked Bain. "What do you know about the phone?"
"Cheap pay as you go, bought from Tesco. Can I chase it up?"
Bain nodded slowly, thinking it through. "Aye. Go for it. Let me know if you get anywhere. This guy has to have made a mistake somewhere."
"The other thing is we need a cell site search for that call," said Cullen.
"A what?"
Cullen explained in detail.
"Aye, have a look into it, okay?" said Bain, with a shrug. He went back to the notepad.
Cullen fished out the envelope with Caroline's call records. The Forensic Investigation Unit had carried out the extract. Cullen found a number.
"Phone Squad. Tommy Smith."
"Tommy, it's DC Cullen at Leith Walk. I'm looking through that set of phone records you got for Caroline Adamson. Couple of things. First, have you had a look at the phone?"
"Aye, Jimmy Anderson handed it into us to look through."
"Did you find anything?" asked Cullen.
"Not a sausage. No' even a wee willy winkie."
"Bugger," said Cullen. "Can you run a Cell site search on one of the numbers off the list?"
"Aye, I suppose I could," said Smith.
Cullen gave him the number.
"Might take a while, there are a few hoops I have to jump through," said Smith.
"If the hoops are to do with the network," said Cullen, "then we've got RIPSA approval."
"How do you think I managed to have a look at her phone?" asked Smith. "DI Wilkinson approved it."
Cullen sighed. Nothing was joined up on this case. "Give me a shout if you get any bother from them," he offered.
"Will do, buddy, will do."
"So how long will that take?" asked Cullen.
"About a day, maybe two."
Cullen leaned back in his chair. "Could you get it done any quicker?" He rubbed his temple. "This is a high priority case now."
"Aye, well," said Smith, "they all are. I'll see what I can do, buddy."
"Give me a call tomorrow with your progress."
He slammed the phone down, then dialled the Tesco depot number Archibald had given him. After the expected redirecting and lengthy periods on hold, they eventually managed to trace the mobile phone shipment to a store in Edinburgh. He sat up in his seat, looked over at Caldwell.
"I am so desperate for a cup of coffee," she said.
"Better hope you can hold out," said Cullen.
"Why? Where are we going?"
"Shopping."
nineteen
"The traffic's always this bad on a Sunday," said Caldwell. "Usually have to battle through it on my way home from a day shift."
Cullen and Caldwell were driving out to the Tesco at Hermiston Gait. At three on a Sunday afternoon, their route was more like a car park than a road. They were trudging through Corstorphine, a large characterless expanse on the West side of Edinburgh, ostensibly built around an ancient village. It had evolved in rows and rows of post-war houses stretching up Corstorphine hill, one of the many hills that defined Edinburgh, creating new neighbouring areas like Clermiston, North Gyle and East Craigs.
"So you live out here?" asked Cullen.
"Aye, Clermiston," she said, "right at the top of the hill. It's not exactly great, but it's a house in Edinburgh. Where do you stay?"
"Portobello," Cullen replied. "Just a shared flat."
/> "Do you not want to own a flat?" she asked.
He sighed. "Been saving for a deposit for two years, but the amount I need to save keeps going up. If it's not house prices, it's the percentage I need to put in."
"Aye? We've had our house for five years now, think it's doubled in value in that time."
"Alright for some," he said in an undertone.
"Well, the prices have been going down for a while," she said.
"Aye, but the deposits have been going up. Last year, I reckoned I'd need a five percent deposit, this year it's fifteen percent."
They finally got over the roundabout, past the purple PC World building. There was a Tesco to their left - roughly a mile from their target - continually in a state of extension. Cullen pressed the accelerator down and headed West.
"You can get some good deals out in Livingston," she said.
"You couldn't pay me to live out there," Cullen replied. "Used to be in F Division."
"Where were you based?"
"Livingston, Broxburn, then Bathgate."
"Ooh, lovely. The Wild West."
"Aye."
"Did you enjoy it?" she asked.
"Yes and no. I liked being in the police, but I didn't like the people I worked with."
They passed the Marriott and headed to the Gogar roundabout. The multi-level construction had been rebuilt, to let the new tram system flow above the road to the depot. Cullen had no doubt that the construction was the cause of their hold-up and was not hopeful that it would ever end.
"You enjoy being a detective?" she asked.
"Aye, it's much better," he said, pulling to a halt at the roundabout. "It's what I wanted to do."
"How long were on the beat then?"
"Six years."
"That's a long time," she said.
"Tell me about it."
"And six months as an Acting DC?"