by Ed James
"Cheers," said Cullen. "Did you get an IP address or anything out of it?"
"That's my next task," said Kidd. "Shouldn't take too long, really."
"Good. Is there anything else we can do?"
"Aye." Kidd pointed to the image of Martin Webb on his profile. "I was thinking earlier, you can see why she'd go on a date with this punter."
"How?"
"Well, I'm not gay," said Kidd, "but he looks like a model."
Cullen looked at the image and saw his point. "Aye, he does."
"Want me to run a search for him?" said Kidd. "That's something I can actually do. We've got access to image banks all the law enforcement agencies pay for. They mostly use it for anti-terrorist stuff, but I think this would be a good excuse as any. Google are going to introduce a public one soon."
"What does it do?"
"Searches every image on the internet, looking for a match," said Kidd.
"So we can see where else Martin Webb has used this image?" said Cullen. "And maybe who he actually is?"
"Aye," said Kidd. "Are you with me?"
Cullen thought about it for a moment. "Right, do it." He collected the printout and headed back downstairs.
***
Cullen's eyes were stinging - he'd had his contacts in for over thirty-six hours. The words on the pages were starting to dance before him. He either needed sleep or more coffee.
The bulk of the messages he'd read were between Caroline Adamson and Martin Webb. They mostly tallied with the story Cullen had collated so far, as vague as it was. He found some potentially useful nuggets, though they were mostly about Caroline. There were messages between her and a few of her other friends, such as Steve Allen. Cullen realised the extract they'd received was obviously not fully secure, as it contained other users' messages, but he wasn't in a hurry to tell Schoolbook.
He scribbled a note in the margin to follow up on Martin being in town on business at the time and therefore wasn't an Edinburgh resident. It was likely another tale he had spun Caroline, but it was something that should be checked out - if they became really desperate, every business in Edinburgh could be trawled for employees visiting the city.
Cullen checked the next message, between Caroline and Debi Curtis. Caroline said she had to slam the phone down on Rob Thomson, going into detail about the number of times he had failed to show up to take his son as agreed. She complained about how much it cost her. Cullen initially thought she meant having Jack, but it quickly became apparent she didn't resent her son. She did resent her ex-husband not meeting his responsibilities, stopping her from going out and having a social life.
The next alarmed him - it was from Debi Curtis. He checked his notebook - she'd said she hadn't replied to the message from Caroline. He read it again and almost fell off his seat - the message was between Debi Curtis and Martin Webb.
His pulse started racing as he scanned through it.
"Hey Martin! That was really funny what you said on Caroline's message board. I think exactly the same thing about that film - really tedious. I can't believe she likes it. Have you seen Superbad? It's much better. Debi x"
Cullen realised Debi was introducing herself to Martin, similar to the way Martin had introduced himself to Caroline - using a conversation on a forum.
Cullen flicked through the remaining sheets - in amongst the messages between Caroline and Martin was a rich seam between Debi and Martin. He turned to the last few sheets and check the final one - it was from Martin to Debi, sent that morning.
"Hey Debi. See you there. x"
He looked at the previous message. Debi gave Martin Webb her home address. They were meeting at half six.
Cullen's hand shook as he checked his watch - it was just before seven.
twenty-six
Debi
Saturday 30th July, 6.30pm
Debi Curtis sat waiting in her living room. Where was he?
Fifteen minutes late and he hadn't phoned. If he'd warned her, she could have done something useful like getting stuck into the MBA work or cleaning the house again.
She was so nervous. She didn't need this.
The buzzer sounded.
She shot over to it and answered. "Hello?"
"Hi, Debi, it's Martin."
She buzzed him up and opened the flat door, listening to him trudge up the stairs, slow and steady. She looked at the wall opposite, nervous of making eye contact too early.
A fist slammed into her face.
twenty-seven
Bain acted quickly, resisting bringing an Armed Response Unit in, telling Cullen he preferred to take those around him, those he could trust. Or as near to trust as Bain got, Cullen thought.
Those he trusted include Cullen and McNeill alongside Caldwell and two other uniforms. They stood outside Debi Curtis' flat on Bryson Road, a low-end street in the west side of Edinburgh between Gorgie and Fountain Park. The flats on this stretch were all brick, unusual for the city.
"Remember, we're to be subtle here, okay?" Bain looked around the officers. "Cullen, Caldwell, I want you in the flat with me. The rest of you cover the exits - two at the back, two on the street. Let's go."
The stairwell door was propped open with a flower pot. Debi Curtis' flat was on the first floor. The carpeted stairs were straight with a landing at each half turn, not the curving stairwells Cullen was used to. There were a few neglected pot plants in the space between the two flat doors.
Bain marched up to Debi's door and knocked. "Ms Curtis, this is the police. Please open the door."
He waited a few seconds. Nothing.
"Right, Cullen," said Bain. "Break it down."
Cullen had done this a few times before in his uniform days in Livingston. The trick was to lead with the shoulder. It took him three clear attempts before it gave way, the lock splintering open, the door still on the hinges.
Bain burst past as Cullen clutched his shoulder.
A scream came from the room immediately to the right.
Cullen ran into the room. Debi Curtis lay on the bed, naked and covered in her own blood. "Help me." Her throat was lacerated.
There was a crash from behind. Cullen spun round.
Caldwell clutched her head and crouched. "Ah, you bastard." A cereal bowl lay broken on the floor at her feet.
The flat door slammed shut.
"I've got it." Cullen ran for the door, fumbling with the door handle and pulling. It didn't give, the splintered door lock still stuck on the snib. He twisted the catch and tore the door open.
There was a noise from below, a door banging. He leapt down the stairs three at a time.
A uniformed officer lay prostrate on the floor, clutching his head.
McNeill appeared in the stairwell from the front. "What's going on?"
"Bastard smacked my head off the wall." The uniform pointed to the door behind him. "He went that way."
Bain came running down the stairs. "Fuckin' get after him."
"Come on," said Cullen to McNeill.
The rear door led to a car park. Cullen saw a pair of legs disappear over the wall at the back. He clocked a Volvo estate backed up against the wall. He ran for the car, jumped onto the bonnet, over the car roof and clambered onto the wall. There was a sharp drop to another car park below.
As he set himself for the jump, he spotted the figure running away between the houses. A big, stocky man, not a million miles from Rob Thomson's build.
Cullen jumped onto the pavement, his ankle almost snapping as he landed. Limping, he followed the path between the houses onto Angle Park Terrace beyond.
The road ran left to right just across from Ardmillan Place. He looked up and down but couldn't spot his target anywhere.
He turned around as McNeill and Bain closed on him. He gestured for them to go left and right, and for him to head across the road.
He stepped into the traffic waving his warrant card. Cars reluctantly stopped. He staggered on across the street then around the bend opposite, coming out
opposite the cemetery.
There was no sign of his quarry.
twenty-eight
"I can't believe it," said Bain. "I cannot fuckin' believe it."
They were back at the station, Bain, Cullen and McNeill having left SOCOs crawling all over the crime scene in Debi's flat. Debi was rushed to the Royal Infirmary at Little France, the paramedics suggesting she had very little chance of pulling through.
"We fuckin' had him," said Bain.
Cullen piped up. "He got away and he assaulted two officers in the process."
"We still should have had him." Bain stroked his moustache. "How good a look did you get of him?"
"Not much better than you," said Cullen. "Big guy, shaved head."
Bain raised an eyebrow. "That fits Rob Thomson, doesn't it?"
Cullen nodded slowly. "Aye, it does, but I couldn't reliably identify him from a line up, put it that way."
"For Christ's sake," said Bain.
"How's Caldwell?" said McNeill.
"She's okay," said Cullen. "Just bruised."
"Did she see anything?" said Bain.
"Nothing," said Cullen. "Came at her from behind."
"What about the plod at the back door?" said Bain.
"Nothing either," said McNeill. "He was off to the side, looking up at the flat."
"Couldn't make some of this shite up." Bain took a deep breath. "I could do with speaking to Caldwell, see if I can jog anything in her memory."
"I sent her home," said Cullen. "Doubt we can keep her from coming in tomorrow, though."
"She's a decent copper," said Bain. "Much better than Miller. Any idea where he's got to this time? Could have used the lanky bastard tonight."
McNeill shrugged. "Not sure. I haven't seen him for a while."
"What do you want us to do now?" said Cullen.
"I want you to keep on checking through Caroline's friends and acquaintances," said Bain, "try to see what else you can find."
"What about Debi?" said Cullen. "These attacks are related."
"I know that," said Bain. "I want Irvine on it. I don't want you spread too thin, all right? Slow and methodical, okay?"
"Fair enough," said Cullen.
***
Cullen spent another ten minutes looking at the messages before realising his brain had stopped taking anything in. He grabbed his jacket and headed down the back stairwell to the garage, his car still there from the previous day. He had planned to come in and collect it that afternoon.
"I got those tickets, Scotty."
Cullen turned round. Miller. "Where have you been all day? Bain's been looking for you."
"Been doing some HOLMES stuff for Wilko," said Miller. "Stupid arse can't use it. Wait till I tell the gaffer."
Cullen shook his head in amusement. "Bain reckoned you were looking at CCTV."
"Shows how much he pays attention."
Cullen laughed. "What tickets are you on about?"
"The Hibs game on Wednesday," said Miller.
Cullen had forgotten. "Oh, right, aye. How much am I due you?"
"Nothing," said Miller. "My brother and his mate couldn't make it, so I got the pair for nowt."
"Thanks." Cullen yawned. "Right, I'm off home. Catch you tomorrow."
"No bother, Scotty." Miller headed off towards his own car.
The prospect of sitting in the Hibs end as Barcelona thumped them didn't fill Cullen with anticipation. Still, when else would he get to see Messi or David Villa in the flesh?
Cullen got into his car and fiddled about with his iPod, cueing up some German techno Tom had given him. He needed to chill out. He thought about what to get for tea - he'd hardly eaten anything all day. Curry.
His phone rang - he looked at the display but didn't recognise the number.
"Hi, is that Scott?" It was a girl's voice, vaguely familiar.
"Yes it is."
"Hi, Scott, it's Alison."
It took a moment for Cullen to remember who Alison was. Kimono girl. The one he'd shared bodily fluids with that morning. Shite.
"How are you doing?" he said, trying to recover from his pause.
"I'm okay. I was just wondering if you fancied meeting up for a drink sometime? I mean you disappeared so quickly this morning and, well..."
"That would be good. I'm really sorry about that. It's the nature of my job, I'm afraid. I've got to be available twenty-four seven."
"I understand," said Alison. "When are you free?"
"How about Monday night?" Cullen half hoped the case would still be too busy then, giving him a good excuse to get out of the date.
"Sounds good. There's this great bar on Hanover Street, Number 99. Can we say seven?"
"I'll see you there."
"Great," she said, then hung up.
Cullen saved her number to his phone then put it back in his pocket.
With everything that happened, he just hadn't thought about their one night stand and whether there would be any other nights.
***
Cullen struggled up the stairs, still limping from the chase. He had a curry carryout bag in his hand. Opening the door, he was serenaded by Tom and Johnny singing Sex Bomb. Johnny got up and pranced around like Tom Jones.
"Piss off," said Cullen, only half-joking.
Dawn looked hurt.
Johnny frowned. "We're just arsing about, mate."
Cullen slumped at the table with his head in his hands. "Yeah, I know. Sorry. I've just been at work all bloody day."
"Oh," said Dawn.
"We thought you'd been boning that girl in the kimono all day," said Johnny.
Dawn punched him on the arm.
"No." Cullen looked up. "I got a call from my DI at the back of ten, had to go to a crime scene."
"Jesus," said Johnny.
"So are you seeing her again?" said Tom.
"Yeah. Monday night."
"Wow, it's serious," said Dawn.
Cullen shrugged. "We'll see. I barely spoke to her for ten minutes."
Tom shook his head. "You're such a shagger."
Cullen yawned. "Look, I've only had about two hours sleep and I've got to be in for a briefing at seven tomorrow, so I'm eating my curry then going to bed."
Sunday
31st July 2011
twenty-nine
Sunday morning, seven on the dot and Bain stood at the front of the Incident Room, clutching a mug of coffee. He took a sip, winced at the taste then looked around the room at the forty-odd police officers before him. The majority were uniform and Cullen only recognised Caldwell and McAllister. A couple of the other faces Cullen recalled from the previous evening, including the guy who got clobbered at Debi's flat. McNeill nodded at him as he found a place to stand.
Cullen hadn't slept the full night, managing about four hours after his head hit the pillow then tossing and turning for the remainder. The killer escaping his clutches continuously ran through his mind, at times appearing to be Rob Thomson, at others someone else. He never clearly saw his face.
At the front, Bain closed his eyes, called everyone to attention and took a deep breath while the room quietened.
"Caroline Adamson." He paused before pointing at the plasma screen showing a picture of Caroline taken from above, lying on the bed - naked, bruised, damaged. Dead. "You've all seen the photographs and read the briefing packs. You should all know her story, but I'll go through it anyway."
He looked over at Cullen, held his gaze. Cullen folded his arms, determined not to look away. Bain glanced at the screen.
He went on to brief them on Caroline's background - Rob, Jack, Amy, her parents, Margaret Armstrong, briefly mentioning Martin Webb then going over the searches at the hotel. Cullen zoned out - nothing new.
Bain put his mug on the desk and looked around the room again. "Caroline's body was found in the early hours of Saturday morning at the Jackson Hotel on Minto Street. She'd been dead since Wednesday night and had suffered significant injuries. The post mortem was performed
yesterday. Jimmy Deeley couldn't find anything that could help us identify the killer, the body having been thoroughly cleaned. The cause of death was a large knife cut to the throat. In addition, there were signs of prolonged strangulation using a rope, probably over a number of hours. It looks as if Caroline suffered a great deal during the last few hours of her life."
He took another deep breath before switching the plasma screen to a picture of Debi Curtis in a hospital bed, tubes coming from her mouth. "Deborah Curtis was one of Caroline's closest friends, known as Debi. Yesterday evening we discovered she had also been in contact with Martin Webb and they'd arranged to meet at her flat in Gorgie last night. When we arrived, the attacker was still in the flat. We were distracted by cries from the bedroom, where Ms Curtis was still alive. The attacker fled the building and we gave chase, but he lost us in the surrounding streets. Ms Curtis was taken to the Infirmary."
He took another drink of the coffee.
"She died during the night."
Cullen felt as if the wind was being ripped from his lungs. He thought he'd saved her. Why hadn't Bain told him when he arrived? He thought back to when Miller and he had spoken to her at her office - he felt guilty for commenting on her looks. He could be such a dick.
Bain took another sip of coffee then put the mug down. "Scene of Crime are going over her flat as we speak. Given the killer was still there when we arrived and subsequently fled, there's a significant chance he's left some forensic evidence. The post mortem is this afternoon." He nodded at James Anderson, the SOCO whose toilet Cullen had decorated. "Mr Anderson, can you give an overview of your investigation?"
It was unusual in Cullen's experience for any of the SOCO team to be involved in a CID briefing, but there he was.
"Both bodies were strangled," said Anderson. "We believe it was with the same piece of rope or the same type, at least. On Caroline's body, we found a few threads of a blue rope in the burn marks on her throat. We found similar threads on Debi, but more of them."