by Ed James
"Oh, come on," said Cullen, "that could've been useful. It still can."
"How?" she asked.
"Well, for starters, it shows that using that method to link the murders together is not 100% reliable. It's not unique to the killer. The killer used it, but so did the Jimmy Armadale guy that we burst in on this morning. Assuming that Jimmy Armadale's not the killer and that he is Bain's AN Other."
She smiled. "You're something else."
There was an uncomfortable silence between them. McNeill scraped away at her lunch, while Cullen played with his empty coffee cup.
He'd found it difficult to think of the previous night, the way she'd been with Turnbull. He wondered if she had shagged Turnbull, bearing in mind Bain's comments. His stomach lurched every time he thought of it, feeling sick.
"Did you have a good night last night?" he asked, his voice a croak.
She looked up. "Wasn't bad, as these things go. I bailed out not long after you."
"Did you?"
"Of course. I was knackered, and there's only so much brown-nosing I can do with Turnbull before he starts getting creepy. Besides, you're supposed to be buying me a drink tonight."
She looked into his eyes. His heart pounded.
She broke off and finished eating the last piece of charred potato skin. "Okay, Scott," she said, "I'll tell you what, you go through your deduction about how this guy used Schoolbook, and I'll tell you if you're mad or not."
"Fine."
He sat back and collected his thoughts.
"First," he said, "we know that it's someone with behind the scenes access to Schoolbook, someone with access to the audit records, who can hack in and change them. Now, Charlie Kidd told me that it doesn't have to be someone actually at Schoolbook." He paused for a moment. "How does he do it? First, he finds a victim, then creates a dummy account and uses it to send messages to the victim."
"Isn't it a bit convenient to just pick those particular people and get 100% success?"
"I've thought about that," he said. "All those messages are just bits of data on a database. I've seen how they look on Charlie Kidd's PC. Somebody can have a look round those private messages, if they've got the right access. So they get access to the whole set of intimate, private messages. These sites are like email nowadays, loads of people communicate through them. Our killer could look through the messages and see what makes these women tick, what their desires and needs are and so on. It makes it easier to lure them in if he's already got the answers."
She tossed her head from side to side, seemingly weighing it up. "Okay, I can buy that so far. But what about with Kim Milne? Those messages that you found with Charlie this morning weren't from some made up 'character' like Martin Webb or Jeremy Turner, were they? They were from a real person. Jenny Scott is a living, breathing person that you've met."
"Agreed." He sat and thought for a moment. "Holy shit," he said.
"What is it?"
"I just remembered something," said Cullen. "What I was just saying there, this killer accessed their messages to read up on them, yeah?"
"Aye."
"Well, what if he didn't have to dig for Kim, what if he already knew her pretty well? He used his access to the messages to keep tabs on what's going on in her life, but he's also in there looking for an opportunity to frame Rob Thomson."
"Right, that's it," she said, "you have gone mental."
He laughed. "Maybe I have."
"What about motive?" she asked, putting both hands around her mug of tea. "Why does he want to trap Rob Thomson?"
He picked up a sugar sachet from the dispenser on the table. He tore it open and started grinding the grains of sugar between his fingers.
He thought it through. They were after somebody that badly wanted to frame Rob. One of the things that Bain focused on, as a motive for Rob to kill Caroline, was the affair that ended their marriage. In that scenario, there were two people cheated on - Caroline Adamson and Kim Milne's boyfriend at the time. Cullen remembered Amy Cousens saying something about having met Kim Milne's boyfriend.
He got up. "I need to go speak to Amy Cousens."
"Your girlfriend," said McNeill.
"You know I don't have one," he said, suddenly feeling guilty about Alison. "If a certain lady wants to play her cards right, then..."
He winked at her and walked off to the stairwell, leaving her with her tea. Back in the Incident Room, he got his mobile out and called Jenny Scott's number again. He picked his jacket up from the back of his chair, the phone clamped to his ear.
"This is Jenny, I'm not in the country just now so I might not have reception. Please leave a message and I'll try and get back to you."
Cullen left his umpteenth message. Where the hell was she?
He had one last shot, he figured. Maybe McNeill was right, maybe he was mental. After this, he would give in, let Bain get thrown out of court. Or worse, convict someone with scant evidence.
Cullen spotted Miller wandering over. "That potion did the trick, by the way. I feel reborn!"
"Glad to hear it," said Cullen. "How did you get on with that statement?"
Miller shrugged. "That Duncan boy's not got back to me yet, eh?"
Cullen nodded. "Can I borrow you for an hour? I need to go speak to somebody, and I might need corroboration."
"Amy," said Cullen, "I need you to tell me everything that you can about Kim Milne's boyfriend at the time."
Amy Cousens frowned. "I don't remember much. It was just the once that I met him. I think he worked at Alba Bank with Kim and Rob. Can't remember his name."
They were in her flat, in the living room. Miller sat on the sofa next to Cullen. She looked better than she had the previous afternoon, but still appeared drawn and haggard.
"What did he look like?" he asked.
She exhaled deeply. "This was a couple of years ago."
"Did he look like me?"
"Not really, no. He was much bigger."
Cullen pointed at Miller. "What like ADC Miller, was he big like him?"
"He's not big," she said, "he's just tall." Miller raised his eyebrows. "I mean big, the same way that Rob's big. I think that Kim girl maybe has a type."
"Thanks," said Cullen, nodding. That could explain Bain seeing what he wanted to see on the CCTV footage.
"Do you know what happened to him after Rob and Kim got found out?" asked Cullen.
"I heard some stuff," she said. "He went off the rails a bit."
"How so?"
"He was stalking Kim for a bit, following her home. This and that, eventually he went back to his parents' house out in West Lothian somewhere."
"How do you remember that but not his name?"
"I'm bad with names." Amy shrugged. "We talked about West Lothian. My boyfriend at the time was from Linlithgow, near where he came from, and they were talking about it the night we went out for dinner."
"Do you know anything else about him?" asked Cullen.
"I think Rob got him sacked from the Bank."
He frowned. "Are you sure?"
"Yes. Some guy that they both knew told Caroline a few months ago. She told me when we were pissed once."
His mobile rang.
"Thanks," he said. "Keith, can you take a statement?"
"Aye, will do."
Cullen went into the kitchen to take the call.
"Will you accept the charges for the call?" came the voice.
"Yes," he said, hoping he didn't regret it.
"Connecting you now."
After a moment, he was through. "Hi, it's Jenny Scott."
Cullen leaned back against the kitchen wall. Finally.
"Sorry, I was out of reception area. Then I moved on and got like fifteen voicemails from you. Thanks for accepting the charges."
"Okay, thanks for calling me back. Are you still in Thailand?"
"I am."
He was relieved. It looked really unlikely that she had sent the messages to Kim.
"I assume it's
important?" she asked.
He suddenly realised that she wouldn't know about Kim's death.
"There are a couple of things. Are you with someone just now?"
"There's my boyfriend, Tom."
"Okay," he said, "you might want to sit down."
"Go on," she said, tentatively.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but Kim Milne was found dead yesterday evening."
"Oh my God." She cried. "Is this some sort of wind-up?" she asked after about ten seconds.
"No, Ms Scott, this is not a wind-up. She was found dead at roughly seven thirty last night."
She burst into tears, pained gasps coming down the line. "How did she die?"
"She was murdered."
"Murdered?"
"Yes," he replied.
"Have they got the bastard that did it?"
"Our investigations are ongoing."
"How's Rob coping?" she asked.
"He's helping us with the investigations. He's not taking it particularly well."
"Bloody hell."
Cullen waited a moment. "There are a couple of things that I'd like to ask you."
"Go ahead," she said, voice thick with tears.
"First, have you been sending messages to Kim on Schoolbook?"
"Schoolbook? I've not been on the internet since I got out here."
"So you didn't send the messages?"
"Absolutely not."
"Someone has hacked into your account and sent some messages to Kim."
"Oh my God."
Cullen switched his phone to the other ear. "Did Kim have a boyfriend before she started seeing Rob?" he asked.
"Aye, she did," said Jenny. "He was an absolute prick. I never liked him."
"What was his name?"
"Duncan Wilson."
Kim
Tuesday 3rd August, 6.30pm
Kim sat in the kitchen, looking through paint swatches for the room.
She glanced at the clock on the wall, an antique she'd picked up in North Berwick a few months ago, and one of the few things that she planned to keep in that room. Jenny was due in fifteen minutes. Rob might be home early and Kim wanted to keep them apart. She could chat with Jenny in the kitchen, Rob could go and do whatever he did on the internet in the study.
She was worried for Jenny. Her and Tom were a sure thing, as sure as anyone. She couldn't believe that they'd had such a bad argument. She opened up her laptop and checked Schoolbook to see if there were any more messages. There weren't. She re-read the last few - classic Jenny.
"Can't believe it either. She was from Sheffield. I'm flying home from Phuket tonight. Jenny x"
"No, I left in a real hurry. Left most of my stuff behind, including my phone. Can I stay at yours? Jenny x"
"Thanks! I'll get the bus in and walk down, think I'll be there by half six. Don't meet me at the airport - I'll be fine on the bus, it's quicker. Could do with seeing Edinburgh. Jenny x"
The buzzer went - must be Jenny. She went over and buzzed her up. She opened the door and waited in the doorway, listening to Jenny trudge up the stairs, slow and steady. Her mobile rang in the kitchen. She dashed inside and picked it up. It was an unknown number. She bounced it to voicemail and went back to the front door.
A fist slammed into her face. She fell back, her fingers scrabbling at the wall.
"I'm early," rasped the voice.
She looked up and saw a face she hadn't expected to see again, followed by another fist to her face.
forty-eight
Cullen pulled the street door open and they headed out to the car.
As they walked, Cullen tried to call the senior officers - Bain's mobile was engaged, McNeill wasn't picking up, Irvine the same. He was even considering calling Wilkinson to get some guidance.
What he had just learned was dynamite. He tried to piece it together in his mind.
Wilson had been Kim's boyfriend.
He'd lost Kim to Thomson.
He had been sacked by Thomson.
It was a bit extreme to go on a killing spree, but Cullen had heard of lesser grievances being settled the same way.
This would show Bain. This was the silver bullet to tear the case apart.
They got in the car, parked on Dalmeny Street and Miller drove back towards the station.
Cullen's phone rang. Kidd.
"Finally," said Kidd.
"What do you mean?"
"I've been trying you for the last quarter of an hour."
"Sorry," said Cullen, "but I've been trying to nail this case down. Is it important? I need to speak to Bain."
"You bet your life it's important," replied Kidd. "I've been looking into Jenny Scott's account. There's some metadata that he's not blocking. And I've managed to find another account that's been hacked into, same as Jenny's."
"Go on."
There was a pause. "It's yours."
Cullen couldn't speak.
"Scott, this guy has hacked into your account and has been sending messages to some girl."
"My account?" Cullen's head spun. What was going on?
"Yes. He's been sending messages to someone called Alison Carnegie. Is that your bird?"
"No, it's not," said Cullen. "What do the messages say?"
"Stuff about meeting up last night."
Cullen swallowed. He thanked Kidd and ended the call.
He felt sick to the stomach. That explained why Alison thought there was more going on between them than he had. That explained her pitching up at his flat and all the confusion. Why him, though? Why pick on him?
"Who was that?" asked Miller as he pulled in at the lights on Leith Walk, indicating left for the station.
"Charlie Kidd."
Cullen opened the Schoolbook app on his iPhone. He went to messages and then Alison Carnegie. There it was. A chain of messages between him and Alison, messages that he'd never sent. Soppy, cloying stuff, nothing like him.
Katie had called earlier, looking for her. He called Alison. Nothing.
He called Katie.
"Katie Lawson." Her phone voice still sparkled.
"Katie, it's Scott. Has Alison been in touch yet?"
"No, I was just about to call you again," she said. "She's still not turned up. I went home and she's not there. Her phone's not even ringing."
He felt queasy; he was being set up for a murder.
"I'll find her," he said.
He hung up, fervently hoping that when he found her she was still alive.
He desperately needed to see Duncan Wilson.
They still hadn't got through the lights, still sat in the middle of the road, indicating left.
"Head to Portobello," said Cullen.
"Aw, come on, man, I'm not giving you a lift home."
"Keith, just do it. This is serious. We're going to visit Duncan Wilson."
They stood outside the entrance to the block of flats. Cullen pressed the button for Duncan Wilson.
"Who is it?" answered Wilson.
"It's the police," replied Cullen.
"In you come."
The door buzzed open. Cullen led the way, taking the steps two at a time, right up to Duncan Wilson's flat.
He hammered at the door. He glanced at Gillespie's flat door, wondering if he'd kept his volume down. The stairwell was a lot brighter during the day. He looked up at the glass ceiling. There was a ladder leading up to the roof. Cullen wondered if anyone sat up there during the warm summer days they only got very rarely.
Finally, Wilson's front door opened.
Wilson stood there in jeans and a t-shirt. "How can I help?"
"I need to ask you a few questions," said Cullen. "We can do it here or down the station."
Wilson frowned. "I already went in this morning, at your insistence, but I'm more than happy to come back in."
Cullen pushed past him into the flat. "Here will be fine."
"We have been unable to corroborate the story about death threats that you gave to my colleague," said
Cullen, as Wilson led them through to his living room, at the far end of the flat.
The internal layout of the flat was unlike next door - the kitchen and living room were one room. Wilson sat down on an armchair, leaving Cullen and Miller to the sofa.
"Nice place," said Cullen.
"I bought it a fair few years ago, didn't cost that much at the time, but its value has soared."
Cullen nodded slowly. "Not working today?"
"I don't work 9 to 5 at Schoolbook," he said. "It's a 24/7 thing. Got a few days off just now, then I'm in nights. I'm sure a policeman would understand that."
"Mr Wilson," said Cullen, leaning forward on the sofa, "can you describe your relationship with a Kimberly Milne."
"I told you on the phone last night," said Wilson, with a light sigh. "We had briefly worked together."
"You didn't mention that you had been in a relationship with Ms Milne for six years."
"Who told you this?"
"A friend of Ms Milne's."
"Sorry," he said, "the wounds are still a bit raw, you know? We only broke up last year."
"So I gather. Was it Rob Thomson that moved in on your territory?"
"Aye," said Wilson, "it was." He looked out of the window, avoiding Cullen's gaze. He turned back, his eyes locking onto Cullen's. "What is this about? I've given you my source."
"I'm afraid that we need a further source of corroboration, now that Ms Milne is deceased."
"What?" said Wilson after a pause.
"Ms Milne was found murdered at her flat last night."
There was a crash from another room. Wilson looked at the sitting room door.
"What was that?" asked Cullen.
"Think it was outside," said Wilson.
The crash sounded again. Then a cry. "Scott!"
"Miller, keep an eye on him."
He left the room and went into the hall.
"Hello?" he called.
There was another noise from behind a door to the right, away from the flat entrance.
Cullen dashed for the door and ripped it open. A bedroom. Alison lay tied up on the large bed.
Alison
Tuesday 3rd August, 11.08pm
Alison stormed out of Scott Cullen's stairwell onto Portobello High Street. She turned right and powered on towards King's Road.