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

by Ed James

  "And?"

  "Inconclusive at best," said Cullen.

  Bain snarled a smile. "And I'm supposed to be impressed?"

  Cullen ignored him. "Charlie Kidd's found something. The image on Martin Webb's profile came from a photographic model site on the internet."

  Bain frowned. "Come again?"

  Cullen handed him the sheet of paper Kidd had given him then explained the process in sufficiently simple language Bain would understand.

  "So this profile's a total fabrication then?" said Bain. "Someone's created Martin Webb?"

  "Looks that way," said Cullen.

  "I'm thinking that someone is Rob Thomson," said Bain.

  Cullen frowned. "I'd say we need a bit more evidence before we can definitively say it's him."

  Bain turned round to Miller and tossed the DVD at him. "Right, Monkey Boy, I want you to look through this CCTV, see if it shows Rob Thomson buying Martin Webb's phone."

  "We've not got proof it's Martin Webb's mobile," said Cullen. "We only know it was used to call Caroline just before she disappeared."

  "That's a matter for the PF," said Bain. "We need to overload her with evidence." He rubbed his moustache. "We've got to prove Rob Thomson is Martin Webb, that's the only way to nail him."

  "Did you get any more resource for me?" said Cullen.

  "Holdsworth's going to get back to me by five with a name for you."

  "I'll need more than one," said Cullen.

  "Cullen, just quit moaning and get on with it." Bain walked off, muttering to himself.

  "So, Scott, what do I do with this DVD then?" said Miller.

  "Just watch it, Keith," said Cullen. "There's a guy buying a mobile phone, we want to know who it is."

  "That it?" Miller's face lit up. "Happy days." He put the DVD in his laptop with a big smile on his face.

  ***

  Cullen spent the next hour and a half calling through the friends list, soul-destroying work.

  He could have done with another coffee, but he decided it was a carrot he needed to keep in front of his nose. There was the sound of a phone dropping to the desk. He looked over at Caldwell - her face was several shades paler than normal. "Are you okay?"

  She looked up at him, eyes barely focusing. "Somebody just told me Rob Thomson made death threats to Caroline."

  thirty-five

  The new Edinburgh city morgue was situated in the basement of Leith Walk station. Cullen sat in the reception area, set aside for grieving relatives waiting to identify a body - sombre colours, well furnished, a metal box of tissues on the oak coffee table.

  Debi Curtis' autopsy was just finishing according to Jimmy Deeley's assistant.

  Cullen looked up on hearing Bain's voice - he seemed less than happy. He recognised the Procurator Fiscal as she marched off, thinking it unusual to see her at a post mortem, but then this was turning into an unusual case.

  "Sundance." Bain didn't stop. Cullen had to hurry to catch up. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

  "I need to speak to you," said Cullen.

  "Well, we're having a briefing," said Bain, "so you can wait."

  "I need to speak to you now."

  "Not now." Bain turned to face Cullen. "Whatever it is, Sundance, it can wait."

  Cullen spun around and stopped in front of Bain, blocking his progress down the corridor. "It's about Rob Thomson. Evidence."

  Bain huffed when he couldn't get past Cullen. "Go on," he said, with a great deal of reluctance.

  "Caldwell's just found out Rob Thomson threatened to kill Caroline after their divorce."

  Bain eyed him suspiciously. "Aye?"

  "It was to do with the custody of their son, apparently," said Cullen. "It's common knowledge in Carnoustie."

  "Fuckin' hell." Bain rubbed at his moustache, almost tugging at the hairs. "How tight is this?"

  Cullen shrugged. "We'll get it backed up with a statement."

  Bain checked his watch. "Right, it's time to bring him in."

  thirty-six

  Cullen went back upstairs to see Kidd.

  "Whoever this Martin Webb guy is," said Cullen, "that's who's killed these two women."

  Kidd scuttled his trackball out of frustration, sending it tumbling across his desk. "I know that."

  "Well, how are you getting on?" said Cullen.

  Kidd tossed his ponytail nervously, not speaking for what felt like an age. "I'm not getting on as well as I thought. I made a good breakthrough with that stuff last night, but that's the easy part. What I want to look at is the log files and that sort of thing."

  "And why can't you?"

  "It's like what we were talking about yesterday," said Kidd, "they haven't given us the header data for those tables."

  "I thought they were giving us it," said Cullen.

  "Aye well, so did I," said Kidd. "But they haven't."

  "Who have you been dealing with?"

  "That Duncan Wilson boy."

  "Right, I'm calling him." Cullen flicked through his notebook and found a phone number.

  "This is Duncan."

  "Mr Wilson, this is DC Cullen. We met yesterday at your office."

  Wilson sigh echoed down the line. "What is it this time? Why do you lot keep chasing me?"

  "If you'd given us what you promised on that database extract," said Cullen, "then we wouldn't have to keep calling you up like this."

  "Oh, okay," said Wilson. "This is Charlie Kidd's stuff, right?"

  "It is." Cullen wondered what else it could be. "And if you want me to come back over there with uniformed officers to confiscate some of your servers, then you're going the right way about it."

  "Do you want me to go to the press with this?" said Wilson. "I'm not sure how they'd view the police trying to strong arm a social network."

  "And I'd be asking myself how they'd view someone using your social network to perpetrate two murders due to your lack of adequate security."

  Wilson paused. "Okay, okay, fine. I'll need to run this by Gregor Aitchison first."

  "I've already spoken to him," said Cullen, a barefaced lie. "Just send Mr Kidd what he needs and I won't have to pay you a visit."

  "I'll be a few hours," said Wilson.

  "Listen, if it's not here by five pm," said Cullen, "I'm turning up with some uniformed officers and crowbars."

  "Okay, okay, okay."

  "I don't want to hear anything about this again." Cullen ended the call.

  "Think he'll play ball?" said Kidd.

  Cullen gave a shrug. "I hope for his sake that he does."

  thirty-seven

  Half an hour later Cullen sat in the Incident Room finishing a large beaker of strong coffee, a filter with two extra shots of espresso. He had only managed to get back to one person on the list so far and they'd not heard about the death threats. He checked his watch - five pm. It seemed to him their earlier luck had run out.

  He looked through his list of Caroline's friends, ready to get back to calling people to check on the threats.

  "Sundance." Bain had a wide grin on his face. He loomed over Miller, staring at a laptop screen a few desks over. "Come here. Have a look at this."

  Cullen slowly wandered round. There was a video player open, black and white footage of the inside of the Hermiston Gait Tesco. "We watched this at the Tesco."

  "Aye, but not on equipment like this." Bain tapped Miller on the shoulder.

  Miller rewound the video until the display showed 11.24am then let it run. Cullen could just make out a large figure wearing a baseball cap walk across the screen towards the mobile phone area. He picked up a package from the GoMobile section of the display. Miller froze the frame.

  Bain grabbed Cullen's shoulder, his face like a kid on Christmas morning. "It's him."

  Cullen looked more closely at the image. "Who?"

  Bain's nostrils flared. "Rob Thomson."

  Cullen squinted at the display. "You think?"

  Bain sighed. "Not you as well." He leaned into the screen
, pointing at the figure and pressing so hard it deformed the display. "It fuckin' is him."

  Cullen leaned forward even closer, tried to see it, but just couldn't. "I think you're reaching."

  "Christ's sake." Bain drew a box around the figure with his finger. "Here, Miller, enhance that bit."

  "Eh?"

  "Come on, what's the matter with you?" said Bain. "Make it clearer."

  "That sort of stuff only happens in films," said Cullen.

  Bain's grey skin flared purple at the cheeks. "Right." He cleared his throat.

  As far as Cullen knew, only he and Miller had actually met Rob Thomson. "Have you even seen him in person?"

  "Aye," said Bain. "He's downstairs."

  "You've spoken to him?" said Cullen.

  "Aye," said Bain. "I went in and had a wee chat then I left him to stew in his own juice, waiting for his lawyer to turn up. Wait till I show him this."

  Cullen shook his head. "I can't see this being admissible as evidence."

  Bain glared at Cullen. "Miller, show him the other bit."

  Miller skipped forward to 11.30am. The view switched to a self-service till, people looking bored, one middle-aged woman getting progressively angry with the machine. Cullen's limited experience of the machines made him sympathise.

  "If he's using self-service," said Cullen, "you won't get a witness statement from a checkout operator."

  Bain growled at Miller. "Next bit."

  Miller skipped forward again - the screen now showed 11.32am. The same man they'd seen earlier was now waiting in the queue. Gradually, he moved through, scanned the phone then paid with cash. Miller paused the video.

  "That's certainly the time it was bought," said Cullen.

  "Right." Bain leaned in. "And it is him."

  "Is there any more?" said Cullen.

  Miller pressed play. The man walked away from the till towards the front of the shop. Again, the display switched showing the same man walking across the car park.

  All the while, Bain stayed silent until the clip finished. "That's our man."

  "Yes," said Cullen.

  "Rob Thomson," said Bain.

  Cullen looked at the screen. "You can't see him clearly enough."

  Bain glared at him.

  Cullen took a big gulp of his coffee.

  McNeill joined them, tapping Cullen's cup. "Could have got me one."

  "Here, Butch," said Bain, "have a look at this."

  Miller repeated the playback. Bain watched her reaction throughout.

  "And?" she said, hand on hip.

  "Oh, for Christ sake," said Bain. "I need to speak to Jim about getting some proper bloody coppers in, you pair are fuckin' useless."

  "What am I supposed to see here?" said McNeill. "Big man in baseball cap buys mobile phone."

  Bain held his hands out. "It's Rob Thomson."

  She shrugged her shoulders. "I wouldn't know, I've never met him."

  Bain cracked open another can of Red Bull. "So, what have you been up to, Butch?"

  "Apart from wasting another half tank of fuel getting stuck in traffic on a Sunday, Chantal and I have been out interviewing people who knew both Caroline and Debi."

  "And not Rob Thomson?" said Bain.

  "No, I left that to you," said McNeill. "I need to get a whole load of witness statements taken."

  She looked at Miller, who swore.

  "Anything else?" said Bain.

  "I've got another suspect for you," said McNeill.

  Bain scowled. "Who?"

  "Alistair Cruikshank. He used to work with Caroline and Debi in the Linguistics Department. Chantal ferreted it out of them. I gather he's now training as a minister in some sect up north. Bit of a religious nut by all accounts and he made some comments to Caroline Adamson when she was getting divorced from Rob."

  "And when was this?" said Bain.

  "Last March," said McNeill. "Cruikshank was in his third year of a divinity degree, mature student. He needed the cash and his job mainly involved sending prospectuses out. He kept going on about how it was unlawful in the eyes of God to get divorced. He went on and on about it to anyone who'd listen. Caroline eventually made a formal complaint, backed up by Debi. He got the push."

  "And who told you this?" said Bain.

  "Margaret Armstrong," said McNeill.

  "Caroline's boss, right?" Bain downed the rest of the can then looked at Cullen. "Did she mention any of this when you went round, Sundance?"

  "I would've told you if she had."

  Bain nodded. "Did anything else happen? Any threats? This seems pretty shaky stuff."

  "He dropped out of his course, I believe," said McNeill. "Then he joined this sect."

  "So this guy joined a cult?" said Bain. "That's your evidence?"

  McNeill smiled. "He has previous. Control gave me his record. An ex-girlfriend had a restraining order taken out on him. He also made some phone calls to a girl on his course."

  Bain closed his eyes. "For Christ's sake."

  "He has a clear grievance against Caroline and Debi," said McNeill. "He's a strong suspect."

  Bain nodded slowly. "Maybe. Any idea where he is now?"

  "Up north somewhere," said McNeill. "Inverness, Forres, Nairn, someplace like that. Armstrong couldn't remember."

  "Get Chantal on this," said Bain. "I don't care what Wilko or Irvine say, this is the highest priority. We need to discredit him as a suspect pretty fuckin' quickly."

  "You what?" said Cullen.

  "Well, now we've got two suspects," said Bain. "And this punter looks like he's got something against the two victims. Our man is clearly Rob Thomson, so we need to eliminate this second guy."

  "Why's Sharon finding another suspect a problem?" said Cullen. "This could be your AN Other."

  Bain gritted his teeth. "It's a problem because I've got this video footage against Rob Thomson and I'm away downstairs to give him a fuckin' doing about it."

  He stood up, buttoned up his suit jacket and tightened his tie.

  "Sundance, you can see how this is done."

  They walked down to the ground floor in silence.

  Bain held the stair door open. "Right, Sundance, I'm going to lead this, okay?"

  Cullen nodded - he had no intention of trying to lead over a DI.

  They turned the corner to the interview suites. Bain stopped in his tracks. "Oh, for Christ's sake."

  "Hello, Inspector."

  Outside the interview suite was Campbell McLintock, Edinburgh criminal defence lawyer and notorious pain in the arse. He was a thin man, wearing a purple suit, black shirt and matching purple tie. He was eye-catching, if nothing else.

  "Mr McLintock," said Bain.

  "I hope you don't mind me sitting in on my client's interview, Inspector?"

  Bain's eyes narrowed to a slit. "Rob Thomson?"

  "The same," said McLintock.

  "Since when has he been your client?" said Bain.

  McLintock gestured at Cullen. "Since about three o'clock on Friday when your gorilla here started prodding around at my client's workplace."

  Bain sighed. "And if I refuse to let you sit in?"

  McLintock raised an eyebrow. "I shall remind you of the Cadder case, Inspector."

  Cullen knew it well. The case had changed everything in criminal law in Scotland. Previously, the police had six hours grace with a suspect before a lawyer got involved. Now, they had to be in from the start of the first interview, like in England. Since October, Cullen had seen outright obstruction in some interviews, with every answer "no comment". McLintock was already a specialist.

  "Even if you get a judge and jury favourable to whichever distorted view of the world you're peddling this time, Inspector, I seriously doubt you'll get a conviction."

  Bain just pushed past him into the interview room.

  thirty-eight

  Bain and Cullen faced Rob Thomson whose hands gripped the wood of the tabletop tightly. McLintock sat next to him. The digital recorder had silently
recorded the interview for more than twenty minutes.

  Bain sneered. "Mr Thomson, I'll ask you one more time. Did you, as several witnesses have informed us, threaten to kill your late ex-wife, Caroline Adamson?"

  Thomson slammed his hand on the table.

  "For the purposes of the tape," said Bain, "that was the interviewee's hand hitting the table."

  "I refer you to my client's previous response." McLintock had used that trick all along, referring back to an initial "no comment". It probably looked marginally better on a transcript, Cullen figured. They had nothing out of Thomson so far.

  "What's wrong with you?" said Thomson. "I've not done anything."

  "Mr Thomson," said McLintock, "please remain calm."

  Bain ignored the lawyer. "You not doing anything wouldn't appear to be the case, Mr Thomson. We've heard you made death threats."

  "I was at work when Caroline went missing. I've got alibis for the rest of the time. And I know you've checked them out."

  "Mr McLintock, I hope your client hasn't been monitoring an active police investigation," said Bain. "As you know, the courts take a very dim view of that."

  McLintock glared at his client. "Mr Thomson, can I remind you not to be goaded by the aggression shown by these police officers?"

  "Okay, let's change tack shall we?" said Bain. "Where were you on Saturday evening?"

  McLintock raised his hands.

  "As I already told you," said Thomson, "me and Kim watched some telly, had a takeaway then went to bed early. Just ask her."

  "At what point did you sneak out and kill Debi Curtis?" said Bain.

  "That is not appropriate and I insist you strike this entire conversation from the record," said McLintock.

  "Did you leave your flat on Saturday evening?" said Bain.

  "No, I was watching TV," said Thomson. "I know Kim will back me up on this."

  Bain stroked his moustache. "Back to the monitoring."

  "I didn't kill Caroline or Debi," said Thomson.

  "But you did threaten to kill Caroline?" said Bain.

  "Inspector," said McLintock.