by Ed James
contents
Copyright
Other Books
Dedication
Wednesday 27th July 2011
One
Friday 29th July 2011
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Saturday 30th July 2011
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Sunday 31st July 2011
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Monday 1st August 2011
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
Forty-Seven
Forty-Eight
Forty-Nine
Fifty
Fifty-One
Fifty-Two
Fifty-Three
Fifty-Four
Fifty-Five
Fifty-Six
Fifty-Seven
Fifty-Eight
Tuesday 2nd August 2011
Fifty-Nine
Sixty
Sixty-One
Sixty-Two
Sixty-Three
Sixty-Four
Sixty-Five
Sixty-Six
Sixty-Seven
Sixty-Eight
Sixty-Nine
Seventy
Seventy-One
Seventy-Two
Seventy-Three
Seventy-Four
Seventy-Five
Seventy-Six
Seventy-Seven
Seventy-Eight
Seventy-Nine
Eighty
Eighty-One
Eighty-Two
Eighty-Three
Wednesday 3rd August 2011
Eighty-Four
Eighty-Five
Eighty-Six
Eighty-Seven
Eighty-Eight
Eighty-Nine
Ninety
Ninety-One
Ninety-Two
Ninety-Three
Ninety-Four
Ninety-Five
Ninety-Six
Ninety-Seven
Next Book
DEVIL IN THE DETAIL excerpt
CULLEN YEAR ONE
Afterword
Other Books by Ed James
Copyright © 2012 Ed James
All rights reserved.
Published by Ed James
Version 2.0
OTHER BOOKS BY ED JAMES
THE SCOTT CULLEN SERIES
1GHOST IN THE MACHINE
2DEVIL IN THE DETAIL
3FIRE IN THE BLOOD
4DYED IN THE WOOL
5BOTTLENECK
6WINDCHILL
Writing as Edwin James -
SHOT THROUGH THE HEART, a standalone supernatural thriller
for C
Wednesday
27th July 2011
one
Caroline
Wednesday 27th July, 7.30pm
Where was he?
Caroline was still waiting in the bar where they'd arranged to meet. She checked her watch - he was twenty minutes late.
It felt like hours.
She shouldn't have got there half an hour early. She took another sip from her cocktail, staring into the ice.
The music playing on the bar's stereo switched song. She recognised it, something about making him magnificent tonight. She looked over at the barmaid and pointed up at the speakers. "What's this?"
The barmaid checked a CD case. "Sleeper. Atomic."
Caroline nodded. "Thanks."
Taking a deep breath, she hoped Martin would be magnificent. She rummaged around in her handbag and found her mobile. She opened the Schoolbook app and found her train of messages with him, re-reading the instructions again, just like she had four times on her laptop at home.
No, there it was - meet in the bar of the Jackson Hotel at half seven.
She went into Martin's profile, looking at the baby-blue eyes in the photo, the wide smile, the perfect teeth. Almost too good to be true.
The only messages on his profile were hers - she wondered if she looked like some mad stalker woman.
She scanned around the room again for anyone even vaguely resembling Martin's profile shot. Nobody came close.
Caroline looked over at the barmaid. "I'm supposed to be meeting someone." She held up her mobile. "Has he been in?"
The barmaid inspected Martin's profile for a few seconds before shaking her head and returning the phone. "Don't recognise him. He's pretty, though." She wiped the counter with a cloth then pointed at Caroline's mobile. "Did you meet him on Schoolbook?"
"If you can call it meeting."
"Happens a lot these days, I suppose."
"We'd been talking about films on a message board."
The barmaid moved off to fuss over the coffee machine.
Caroline took another sip and looked back at the message chain stretching back almost two months, the flirtatious subtext getting ever stronger towards the inevitability of their meeting.
She'd not felt that level of connection with anyone for a long time. It felt like he knew everything about her.
Her heart was thudding in her chest. She took another sip to steady her nerves.
The CD switched track again and she started humming along. She made eye contact with the barmaid. "What's this one?"
The barmaid looked at the box again, her eyes squinting. "New Order, Temptation."
Caroline frowned, thinking she knew the album. "What CD it?"
The barmaid held up the box. "Trainspotting soundtrack. It's just what was here. Got some decent tunes on it, though."
"That's my favourite film. It's what we were chatting about on Schoolbook." Caroline looked down at her glass again and bit her lip. "Rob bought me that."
"Who's he?"
"My ex-husband. He's a wanker."
The barmaid snorted. "Don't get me started on mine." She moved off to serve another customer.
Caroline stabbed at her phone, tempted to delete Rob from her friends list there and then. She should never have accepted his invite in the first place, but she'd been trying to be friends for Jack's sake.
She noticed her fists were clenched. She let them go, taking another drink, hoping nobody noticed.
She looked across the bar area, seeing herself in the mirror. She sighed, reflecting on how little had outwardly changed in her - she'd lost weight after having Jack and didn't look much older than her thirty-two years. The divorce had added dark rings around her eyes she just couldn't get rid of.
Her mobile lit up - a text from Amy. "Jack's just gone to sleep. No more phone calls. A x"
Caroline swallowed hard, fe
eling guilty at being out and leaving her son with a friend.
The music changed again. Anger burned through her as she thought of Rob moving on, leaving her with Jack. Not that she resented him it was just-
Caroline put the phone back on the bar.
It buzzed almost immediately - a text from Steve Allen, one of her oldest friends. "Just on my way to Parkhead, wanted to wish you good luck for tonight. Not that you'll need it."
She texted back. "I don't think I will. You might."
She tapped send and the phone rang, an unknown number. Her hands shook as she put it to her ear.
"Caroline, hi, it's Martin."
His voice was familiar, almost reassuring. She loved Northern Irish accents.
"Hi." Her voice was a nervous croak. She cleared her throat. "Hi, Martin."
"I'm really sorry, but I'm running late. I've just got back from the office, had a last minute meeting thrown at me and I'm only getting ready now. And I left my personal mobile in my hotel room like an idiot."
Caroline wasn't sure what to make of it. "That's okay."
"Tell you what, I'm just about ready now so why don't you come meet me at my room and we'll go on from there?"
"Sure."
"It's just at the back of the ground floor. Room twenty."
The phone clicked dead.
Her heart was racing again. She was finally going to meet him. In person.
She wondered about meeting him in his room but they'd talked so often on Schoolbook it felt like they'd known each other for years.
She grinned at the barmaid as she got up, leaving the ice at the bottom of her glass. She walked through reception, a brass plate on the wall indicating room 20 was along a wood-panelled corridor.
When she got there, the door was ajar.
She called into the room. No answer.
She frowned and looked back along the corridor, her heart racing.
She took a deep breath and knocked on the door. It opened further.
"Come in."
She entered.
The door slammed behind her. A hand clasped over her mouth. "Hello, Caroline."
As she twisted around, she saw his face. Her eyes bulged.
A rope bit into her neck.
A fist slammed into her skull.
Friday
29th July 2011
two
Detective Constable Scott Cullen stood on Leith Walk, staring up the road at the police station. He held an Airwave handset and glared at Keith Miller, the Acting DC who had been shadowing him for the last month. "You've done it again, haven't you?"
Miller shrugged. "Done what?"
"Arsed it up." Cullen shook his head. "We've been staking that flat for a week. Kenny Falconer killed someone. You let him get away."
Miller sniffed. "You were in the shop. He must have seen you."
"I wasn't the one pissing about on his phone when Falconer did a runner."
The Airwave crackled to life. "PC Angela Caldwell for DC Cullen. Over."
Cullen glared at Miller as he put the device to his mouth. "This is Cullen. Over."
"I've just spotted Falconer at the entrance to Pilrig Park."
Cullen started running, turning right into Pilrig Street. "On our way." He jogged down the pavement, heading for the park at the end, a large patch of grass between side streets.
Cullen called into his Airwave again. "Give me an update. Over."
His reply was a burst of feedback from Caldwell, still out of sight a couple of hundred metres ahead of them in the park.
Cullen was breathing hard. "Have you got him?"
"He's still here. You don't need to worry. Just apprehending him now."
Caldwell screamed.
Cullen quickened his pace. "What's happened? Are you okay?"
"Little bastard's hit me and made a run for it!" Another blast of static. "Shite."
Cullen entered the park and spotted Caldwell, doubled over in pain.
Miller quickly overtook Cullen, his long legs giving him an advantage. He changed direction to follow a figure in a hooded top closing on the football pitch, the goalposts still down for the summer.
Cullen stopped alongside her. "Are you okay?"
"I'll be fine," said Caldwell. "He got me right in the guts. Go on, get after him."
Cullen darted after Miller, now being led towards the road through the park.
Miller caught up with Falconer just as they entered a thin wood and Cullen quickly lost sight of them.
Cullen tentatively entered the patch of trees and heard a shout.
"Here!"
He slowed to a walking pace. Through the branches, Miller stood with his hands out in front of him, baton extended. Falconer had a knife out, his hand and Miller's eyes doing a synchronised dance. He kept lunging towards him, thrusting the knife closer.
This was all Cullen needed - as well as running operation clusterfuck, he was now risking the death of a fellow officer. It wasn't going to happen. He circled round and came at them from the road side, hoping the steady stream of mid-morning traffic would mask his approach.
Falconer was shouting. "Think you can catch me, you pig scum? I'll fucking gut you."
Miller had his hands held high. "I'm not trying to start anything here, Kenny. Put the knife down on the ground and we can all have a chat about it."
"This knife is going in you, pal, and then I'm getting out of here." Falconer slashed forward, causing Miller to dodge backwards. "Fucking stay still, would you?"
Miller backed off a little, letting Falconer approach him.
Cullen came up behind Falconer, readying himself to grab hold.
Miller's eyes darted from the knife to Cullen.
Falconer spun round and lashed out, catching his knife in the bark of a tree.
There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other - Cullen with his baton still retracted and Falconer with his knife stuck.
Falconer tugged at it. Cullen extended his baton and lashed out. Falconer dodged at the last minute, much faster than Cullen had expected, and lurched forward, slashing the knife at Cullen, missing by inches. Miller jumped in but caught an elbow in the face from Falconer, sending him sprawling on the ground.
"Fucking pig scumbag." Falconer lashed out at Cullen with the knife, each slash getting closer and closer.
Cullen moved quickly forward, flicking out with his baton, cracking Falconer's wrist and making them both drop their weapons. Cullen kicked the knife towards Miller, lying prone on the ground. Falconer moved his knees up quickly, almost battering Cullen in the groin. He grabbed Cullen by the hair and tried to punch him. Cullen yanked Falconer backwards, pulling him down. He rolled over, putting Falconer in a hold he'd learned long ago in his training days. Breathing hard, he reached behind his back for his handcuffs.
Falconer elbowed Cullen in the stomach and pushed him over, kicking him in the side - twice - before running off.
Cullen tried to get up but couldn't.
Falconer dashed into the middle of the road - cars screeched to a halt.
Cullen thought about giving chase but decided assessing Miller's condition was his highest priority. He jogged over, Miller still lying on his back, staring up and making a lot of noise.
"Are you okay?" said Cullen.
"I'll live," said Miller. "Did you catch him?"
"He got away."
"Fuck's sake," said Miller. "I took a kicking for nothing. Next time that happens, go after him, right?"
Caldwell appeared beside them. "That's gratitude."
"Tell me about it," said Cullen. "Did you see where he went?"
"Rosebank cemetery, I think," said Caldwell. "There's like a hundred ways out of there."
Cullen closed his eyes. If he could have run after Falconer, he would. "I'm going to get such a doing."
This wasn't going to look good on his record.
three
Cullen yawned as he walked down the corridor in Leith Walk police station, heading back
to his desk, trying to ease out the lactic acid in his legs. It was Friday lunchtime at the end of four straight day shifts and he was knackered, and not just from the incident in Pilrig Park. He carried his lunch - a BLT clutched in one hand, a coffee in the other, steam wafting out of the hole in the lid.
Detective Sergeant Sharon McNeill was walking alongside. She stopped, looked around at him and laughed.
Cullen frowned. "What?"
"You haven't listened to a word," she said, with a grin.
"Sorry," said Cullen. "I'm starving. I've not eaten since six this morning and I've had too much excitement for one day."
McNeill was tall, early thirties, her dark hair loosely tied back in a ponytail. She was maybe carrying a few extra pounds, but if Cullen could ever be described as being selective enough to have a type, she was it. She wore a charcoal trouser suit and a cream blouse, open at the neck. "Yeah, well, at least you're not in tomorrow." She led on.
"What was it you said anyway?"
McNeill's eyes darted over at him. "I asked if you had any plans for your days off."
"Avoiding detective inspectors."
McNeill grinned. "Other than that?"
"Just out drinking with my flatmates tonight," said Cullen. "If the pain in my side eases any, that is."
"Messy one?"
Cullen smiled. "Hope so."
She stopped outside their office space, a small portion of the third floor. Egg mayonnaise roll in one hand, tea beaker in the other, McNeill struggled to push the door. Cullen had learnt the hard way not to offer his assistance. Eventually, she barged it open.
Cullen's four-man team occupied a bank of desks by the window. Leith Walk station had opened the previous summer and now housed the bulk of Edinburgh's CID, though there was still a presence in Torphichen Street and St Leonards stations.
Cullen and McNeill both reported to Detective Inspector Brian Bain, who sat at his desk poring through a file, an open can of Red Bull in front of him. He was early forties, tall and thin with a neat moustache and grey hair shaved almost to the bone. He wore a black suit and white shirt with a red tie hanging loose from the collar. He glanced up, made eye contact and looked back down again.
Cullen sat at the desk across from Bain and logged in to his computer.