Ghost in the Machine: An edge-of-your-seat serial killer thriller (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 1)

by Ed James

  Cullen finished putting on the overall and a pair of disposable plastic shoe covers, and Bain led them both through.

  James Deeley, the city's Chief Pathologist, stood with his back to them, his bulk blocking the doorway into the bedroom, talking into a digital recorder as the temporary spotlights gleamed off his bald head. He turned around and nodded acknowledgement to Cullen. They knew each other from St Leonards.

  "Got a time yet, Jimmy?" said Bain.

  "I'd say between eleven pm on Wednesday and seven am on Thursday," said Deeley. "She's been dead for at least a couple of days, but she's clean as a bloody whistle."

  Cullen thought he noticed an air of disappointment in Deeley's voice.

  "Have you or Anderson found anything yet?" said Bain.

  "We haven't managed to find any forensic traces here," said Deeley, "but we may be able to get something back at the lab."

  "Thanks for that. I'll take it up with the SOCOs." Bain pointed into the room. "Now, talk to me. What's happened here?"

  "It looks like she was tortured for a good few hours before she died," said Deeley.

  Bain looked at McNeill. "And nobody heard anything?"

  "No," she said, shaking her head.

  "Go on, Jimmy."

  Deeley cleared his throat. "Cause of death is strangulation. Some sort of rope. Hopefully we can get some fibres from the wound that Forensics can do something with."

  From the way they talked to each other, Cullen guessed they were either old friends or old adversaries, but he couldn't decide which.

  "Anything else?" said Bain.

  "There's a huge gash on her throat caused by a large knife." Deeley's expression darkened. "It didn't kill her, though. It looks like a serrated blade."

  "Was there anything sexual here?"

  Deeley shrugged. "Too early to say for sure, but it doesn't look that way. What I would say is this is definitely a deliberate killing, not some sex game gone wrong or anything like that."

  "No signs of rape then?" said Bain.

  Deeley rolled his eyes. "As I say, I'll know for certain once I've done the post mortem, but I don't think so."

  Bain scratched at his scalp. "Cheers."

  "I'll get out of your way for now," said Deeley. "Let me know when you've finished and I'll get one of the boys to remove her. Don't be too long, mind - I need to get that PM done, cos some bloody DI wants to know if she's been raped."

  Bain grinned at Deeley as he made his way past, allowing them into the room.

  Cullen stopped and looked at Caroline's body. She lay on the bed, arms and legs spread, her skin pale, as if all the blood had drained from her, the white sheets now almost completely dyed dark red. Her mouth was covered with gaffer tape. The only colour on the upper surface of her body was a set of crimson, raw-looking marks all over her throat, beneath a long ragged cut, looking like someone had crudely hacked at her rather than doing a neat butchery job.

  Cullen's stomach lurched. He raced through into the bathroom, just catching his vomit in the pan. Three heaves and it was over.

  A voice behind him swore.

  Cullen slowly turned around, a dribble of sick still on his chin.

  A SOCO stood over him, the one with the goatee. "I've not finished examining the bog yet."

  twenty

  Cullen finished his second mug of canteen tea just before noon, starting to feel a little more human, but he was still exhausted. He had changed back into his suit in the locker room and put on the same crumpled shirt he'd worn the previous day, only slightly sweat stained.

  Cullen, Bain and McNeill stood in front of a whiteboard, Bain running through the file Cullen had collated, trying to summarise the case so far. He looked stressed, but still he spoke calmly and clearly in measured tones. He'd already got through at least half of a litre bottle of Red Bull clone, enough to stop anyone else's heart, Cullen figured. Or start it.

  DS Holdsworth was called in from a day off to set up the Incident Room - a large custom space at the opposite side of the building, facing north towards the Forth. The giant plasma screen mounted on the wall showed the standard Lothian & Borders screensaver. The opposite wall was covered with large prints of the photos taken at the crime scene, interspersed with some of Caroline alive, including the one used in the press release plastered all over that morning's papers.

  Officers were being dragged in from the day shift - Cullen had already seen McAllister hovering around. Wilkinson and his team were now formally allocated to the case and were interviewing guests at the hotel, trying to track down anyone who was there on Wednesday night.

  Miller was assigned to putting the case into HOLMES - the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System. He'd done the training course while still in uniform - Cullen was grateful to have avoided the dubious pleasure so far. No doubt Miller would mention his HOLMES certification to Turnbull in his quest for full detective status.

  "The post mortem's in an hour, so I want to get this out of the way quickly," said Bain. "Sharon, I want you there with me."

  "Fine."

  "How are you getting on with the RIPSA form?" said Cullen.

  Bain evaded his gaze.

  "I thought I didn't need to come in today and you'd progress it?" said Cullen.

  "Well, I never got round to it, did I?" said Bain. "I was in at seven then I got called out to that hotel."

  "Yeah, but what time was that?" said Cullen. "You called me at half ten."

  Bain glared at him. "Constable, drop it."

  Cullen took his gravelly voice as a warning, which he decided to ignore. "Come on."

  "Sundance," said Bain, "you've just decorated a crime scene with the contents of your guts and you turned up for work half-cut."

  "Today's supposed to be my day off."

  "Okay, okay, okay." Bain shut his eyes and stroked his moustache. "What was this RIPSA request about again?"

  Cullen took a deep breath. "To get access to Schoolbook."

  "Right." Bain checked his watch. "Turnbull's in this afternoon, I'll have a word with him then."

  "Can't you authorise it now?" said McNeill.

  "No." Bain fixed a glare on her. "It needs to go through Jim."

  Cullen shook his head in disbelief.

  "Can't you get anything off them without a warrant or RIPSA?" said Bain.

  "They were pretty hard line about it yesterday," said Cullen. "They gave us what they could."

  "What about playing the daft laddie? Or the big, scary policeman?" Bain laughed at his own joke.

  "I thought you were worried about how this would look to the press?" said Cullen. "Breaking through red tape wouldn't exactly look good."

  "As I say, I'll speak to Jim this afternoon and that's the end of the matter." Bain took another swig of energy drink. "Let's think about suspects." He wrote 'Rob Thomson' on the whiteboard. "What do we know about him?"

  "He's the victim's ex-husband," said McNeill.

  Cullen felt his stomach lurch again, realising Caroline was no longer a missing person - she was now officially a murder victim.

  "And there's no history of violence between them?" said Bain.

  "Not that we can find," said Cullen. "Miller checked his record - nothing came up when we asked her friends."

  Bain looked thoughtful for a moment. He drew in a line connecting Rob's and Caroline's names. "They've got a wee boy, right?"

  "Jack," said Cullen.

  "What's Thomson's relationship with his son like?" said Bain.

  Cullen smiled. "He's not going to climb up a crane dressed as Spiderman to get access rights, put it that way."

  McNeill laughed.

  "Very good, Sundance, but this is a murder now, so try and cut the humour a bit, okay?"

  "Fine." Cullen was starting to see which buttons to press with Bain.

  "How often does he see him?" said McNeill.

  "Once a fortnight," said Cullen. "Debi Curtis said they'd recently had a row about it."

  "Climbing a crane time?" said
Bain.

  "Thought there was no joking allowed?" said Cullen.

  "Only from me," said Bain. "Was Rob arguing about more access?"

  "I got the impression it was about Thomson cancelling at the last minute," said Cullen. "It happened a few times."

  "If that's true then we can rule out him killing her to get access to his son," said Bain.

  Cullen thought it over. "Probably. He acts like a single guy, if you know what I mean. He's got a younger girlfriend, and neither of them seems to be into the whole family thing."

  "Is he getting stung for a big wad?" said Bain.

  "I don't know," said Cullen.

  "We can look into that," said Bain. "Sharon?"

  "Okay." She scribbled it in her notebook.

  "Even though he's got an alibi, he's our number one suspect here." Bain wrote 'Martin Webb' and 'AN Other' on the board. He tapped 'AN Other'. "I've put that up just to cover all bases. We might be dealing with a random attack, but that'll come out in the wash, I guess." He put the cap back on the pen. "So, Martin Webb. Amy Cousens reckons Caroline was meeting this guy for a date?"

  "Corroborated by Steve Allen," said Cullen. "I spoke to him on the phone yesterday. He lives in Glasgow. I think they were at school together, but they were still close. She'd told both Steve and Amy about a date but neither of them knew Martin Webb's name."

  "Right." Bain's eyes were focused on the board.

  "There were a few postings by Caroline on Schoolbook about meeting him," said McNeill. "Stuff like 'Off on date tonight'. Nothing too explicit."

  "I still don't get what Schoolbook actually is when it's at home," said Bain.

  Cullen threw his pen on the table - he'd been over this several times already. "It's like Google+ or Facebook. Have you seen that Social Network film?"

  "Like I get time to go to the bloody pictures," said Bain.

  "But you get the general idea?" said Cullen.

  "Right, I've had the training." Bain sniffed. "So people go on it and find their friends?"

  "And meet people," said Cullen.

  "Then what?" said Bain.

  "They chat," said Cullen. "You can find people you were at school with. It's like an online pub."

  McNeill piped up, a wry smile on her face. "Not such a good analogy. The Inspector doesn't go to the pub to meet people, he goes to sit with his cronies and make bad jokes about me."

  Bain laughed and looked at Cullen. "Who's been grassing?"

  McNeill grinned but Cullen knew she was just putting a front on it.

  "So Caroline met Martin Webb on this website," said Cullen.

  "Do we know for definite it's where they met?" said McNeill.

  Cullen thought it through for a few seconds. "Her friends said she met him online."

  "Could she have known him offline?" said McNeill. "Could she have met him elsewhere on the internet, some dating site or a chat room?"

  Cullen shrugged. "Could have done. I do get the impression it was Schoolbook, though."

  Bain looked thoughtful for a few moments.

  Cullen butted in. "The RIPSA would help."

  "Aye, whatever." Bain glared at him. "Cullen, I thought you said you'd looked for Martin Webb?"

  "I have," said Cullen. "I didn't find him, though."

  McNeill looked at Cullen. "You've struggled to find him in the real world. It could be someone posing as Martin Webb."

  Cullen nodded. "He's not in any of our databases. There's nothing to match his profile picture. I put this stuff in the file - there are matches for the name, but they don't fit the profile."

  Bain pinched his nose as he stared at the whiteboard. He scribbled 'Assumed Name?' under Martin Webb then clipped the lid back on the pen. "Right, so AN Other. This could just be a random crime, nothing related to Martin Webb or her ex. Is that likely?"

  "Don't know," said Cullen.

  "We can't discount it," said McNeill.

  "We shouldn't discount it, no." Bain took another drink. "But at the moment, we've got a hell of a lot of other stuff to think about before we're that desperate. So this Schoolbook, when you add someone as a friend can you see who's friends with who?"

  "Yes," said McNeill.

  Bain was looking at Cullen. He could almost see the gears grinding behind his eyes. "I need someone to look through her list of friends on that website."

  "Me?"

  "Aye," Bain had an evil grin on his face. "Go through all of her friends and try to find something to go on. Speak to them, ask questions. Usual drill."

  "Fine." Cullen felt deflated - from pretty much leading the investigation, he was now running a stupid little errand. "When do you need it by?"

  "Yesterday would've been useful," said Bain.

  Cullen tried to think back to how many friends Caroline had. There were pages and pages of them, at least forty. He wouldn't surface for weeks. "A couple of bodies might help."

  "I can spare Caldwell and McAllister till the new press release goes out," said Bain. "They're yours today."

  Cullen scowled. "McAllister? Jesus." He sighed. "I need detectives for this."

  "Remember you're the detective, Sundance," said Bain. "Get the uniform to do the donkey work."

  twenty-one

  Half an hour later, Cullen sat with Caldwell and McAllister in a corner of the Incident Room, briefing them on the search through Caroline's friends. He had printed off their Schoolbook profiles and allocated them between them, keeping a smaller list for himself.

  Cullen prepared a list of questions to ask: confirm they were friends with Caroline; when they'd last heard from her; ask if anyone would want to harm her; finally, tell them she'd been murdered and see if the shock jogged any memories.

  He explained the process they were to go through, though McAllister struggled with the concept. They were to find contact details for everyone on the list they'd been given and then phone them - some had mobile numbers on the profile, some didn't. They had access to enough search engines to be able to find details for them all, unless there were other enigmas like Martin Webb on there.

  Caldwell had been asking sensible questions and had stayed alert, while Willie McAllister had slouched and fiddled with his cigarette papers, continually glaring at Cullen.

  "Is everything clear now?" said Cullen.

  McAllister was still frowning. "I'm still struggling to get how would they be friends with her on this site, but not know her."

  "I take it you've never used a social network, Willie?" said Caldwell, like she was speaking to a small child.

  McAllister squinted at her. "Do I look like I'm on Schoolbook?"

  "All you need to know is there are people on there who've become Caroline's friend without knowing her," said Cullen.

  "How?" said McAllister.

  "There are message forums on there," said Caldwell. "If you're talking about, say, a film or a record, then you might chat to someone and they might add you as a friend."

  McAllister scowled. "That's a bit weird."

  "Just accept it," said Caldwell.

  "Fair enough." McAllister dropped his roll-ups, then slowly reached down to pick them up.

  Caldwell rolled her eyes.

  "Anything else?" said Cullen.

  McAllister stopped playing around, then held his hands up. "What's the point in all of this? From what I see, we've been roped in to do your work for you."

  Cullen glared at him. "I've been asked to do this by the Senior Investigating Officer. Yourself and PC Caldwell have been allocated to help me. There are forty-three potential leads sitting there. Would you be able to look at yourself in the mirror if the murderer got away with it because we didn't look through the list properly? If anyone can shed any light on this Martin Webb, it does the case good."

  McAllister glanced at his cigarette. "Fair enough."

  Cullen knew then he was going to have to double-check McAllister's list himself.

  twenty-two

  Caldwell stood by Cullen's desk. "Can I get you a coff
ee?"

  He looked up at her - his head was still throbbing. She was possibly the tallest woman he had ever met - well over six foot and not a beanpole, either. He found it strange having to look up to a woman - he didn't have to with many people.

  "I'm just away up to the canteen," she said, as if to elaborate.

  Cullen decided a coffee might help. "Aye, go on, then." He reached into his pocket and handed her a fiver. "Get us a ham sandwich as well."

  She smiled. "Last time I ask you."

  "How are you getting on?"

  Caldwell raised her eyebrows. "Not too bad. Made a few calls, got nothing so far."

  "Good opportunity for overtime." They'd been at it almost two hours, but it felt like days. "Where's McAllister, by the way?"

  "He's been out for a fag every two minutes," said Caldwell, "and he never stops complaining."

  "I'll have to do something about that," said Cullen.

  After she left, Cullen picked up her sheet and scanned through it. She'd made some solid progress, though there were a couple of clarifications he wanted. He was already dreading having to write it all up, but at least her notes were decent.

  He went over and picked up McAllister's sheet, sitting back down and looking through it. As far as Cullen could see, he'd completed just one call compared with Caldwell's six and the notes he'd made were poor. Perhaps he'd made more calls but hadn't got through or found contact details - Cullen simply couldn't tell from the notes.

  He leaned back in his chair. He was going to have to replace McAllister - it was his neck on the line for this.

  McNeill sat without greeting him, her face white.

  "You okay?" said Cullen.

  "Just been at the post mortem," said McNeill. "Time of death looks like eleven thirty on Wednesday night, plus or minus an hour. She'd been strangled and stabbed."

  "Any DNA?"

  "None at all."

  "None?" said Cullen. "Shite."

  "Aye." McNeill took a drink from the bottle of water on her desk.

  "What about that rope burn?" said Cullen. "Did they get anything from it?"