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

by Ed James

  "Fine by me," said Cullen.

  "Good." McNeill drank, all the while keeping her eyes locked on his.

  Cullen spotted Turnbull enter the pub. The DCI clocked Bain's group and headed over. McNeill hustled Cullen into the centre.

  Turnbull beamed at him. "DC Cullen, I gather you're responsible for a lot of the progress in the case?"

  "I noticed a few links along the way," said Cullen. "I can't take all of the credit."

  "Nonsense," said Turnbull. "Brian, get this man another drink. I'll have a pint of IPA."

  Bain went to the bar and ordered.

  Turnbull patted McNeill on the back. "You're doing a great job of coaching young Cullen here, Sharon."

  McNeill grinned. "Thanks."

  "I was just saying to Bill Duffin we need more young officers like the pair of you, especially detective sergeants who are looking to better the police service, rather than merely their own careers - those who take a long view of things."

  Bain and company slipped back to the bar, leaving Cullen with McNeill and Turnbull.

  Cullen thought McNeill was flirting with Turnbull even more blatantly than she had with him.

  "You should think about going for a DI job, Sharon," said Turnbull, "you've clearly got the skills."

  "I'll bear it in mind," said McNeill. "I've only been a DS for a year."

  "We've got ways and means of promoting people who demonstrate key behaviours, Sharon. Officers who deliver on our targets, you know that."

  Cullen went to the bar to fetch their pints.

  Bain leaned over and spoke to him. "Keep an eye on that one, Sundance. She'll shag anything to get ahead. Just you watch." He turned away before Cullen could reply.

  Cullen slowly shook his head before he went back. He handed Turnbull his pint, who took it without looking, totally engrossed in the world of Sharon McNeill.

  Cullen noticed McAllister had left Miller on his own. He moved over, neither McNeill nor Turnbull noticing his departure. Sitting next to Miller, Cullen sipped his pint and tried to figure out what was going on. He was getting tied in to Bain's vendetta in a way he didn't like. In the upper echelons of Lothian & Borders, his name was being bandied about as the officer who'd pulled everything together. The real clincher was Thomson being caught with Kim's blood on his hands, but not from anything Cullen had done. Was Bain trying to spread the blame should the collar go pear-shaped?

  "All right, Scotty," said Miller, his voice slurred, "didn't notice you there, my man."

  "Aye, I've only been sitting here for about five minutes, Keith."

  Miller didn't just look fucked, he was fucked. If Bain was three sheets to the wind, Miller was the whole ream. He'd taken the free bar as an opportunity to consume as much as possible, as quickly and as stupidly as possible. The table was covered in empty beer and whisky glasses.

  "You're a good copper, you know that?" said Miller. "That's what everyone is saying."

  "Thanks."

  Miller rummaged around on the table looking for something else to drink. There was a glass of white wine on the far edge, the last remnants of some ice cubes floating on the top.

  "Seen Caldwell?" said Cullen.

  "She just left." Miller held up the glass. He burped. "Spoke to Jim Turnbull earlier, by the way, did I tell you?"

  "No?"

  "Aye, he's making me a proper DC."

  "When?"

  "Early September," said Miller.

  Cullen couldn't believe it - he'd worked with Miller for a while now and had come to realise he was completely useless. There were a significant number of competent officers who were miles better than him, but who were in the wrong roles. Caldwell was a shining example. He held his glass up. "Congratulations," he said, not exactly meaning it.

  Miller tried to clink glasses but missed. "We got tonked tonight, by the way. Five nil. Fuck's sake, man." He threw back some wine. "Messi was superb. Best player I've ever seen in the flesh." He leaned in close to Cullen, laughing conspiratorially. "Don't tell the gaffer, right, but I went to the match."

  Cullen rolled his eyes. "Keith, for Christ's sake, you were supposed to be watching that house for us."

  "Aye, I was, but there wasn't anybody there."

  Cullen wondered if he should tell Bain. "You shouldn't do stuff like that, Keith. Turnbull could rescind his offer."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Take it back."

  "Nothing bad happened," said Miller.

  Cullen knew there was no telling him. He might have to tell Turnbull himself.

  "Look who it is." McAllister was clutching two pints of lager. "It's Robocop." He sat and handed one to Miller. "You're the hero of the hour, pal, everyone loves you. No idea why you're sitting here with us plebs. That DCI of yours is over there. Why don't you go lick his arse, get yourself a nice promotion out of it?"

  Cullen gripped the pint glass tightly, barely controlling his anger. He put his half-empty glass on the table and got to his feet. "Catch you later, Keith."

  He left the pub, his mind thinking of two things - a curry and a bottle of wine.

  eighty-three

  Cullen carried the plastic bag up the stairs, the smell wafting out. He was starving - the beer hadn't exactly helped. He'd had a few handfuls of Bombay mix in the Prince's Balti as he waited, but it only made him hungrier. As he unlocked the door to the flat, he noticed the lights were on. He checked his watch - quarter to eleven. Dawn was sitting at the table talking to someone. A girl. She turned around.

  "Alison," said Cullen.

  She got up. "Scott."

  "Where have you been?" said Dawn.

  "At work. You know how it is." He couldn't look Alison in the eye. He took off his jacket, put the bag on the table. He turned his gaze to Dawn. "Are Johnny and Tom in?"

  "They were at the Hibs match. I'm off to bed." Dawn smiled at Alison. "Nice meeting you."

  Dawn went into Johnny's room, leaving Cullen with Alison. She walked over to him.

  Standing there, just the two of them, Cullen realised there was an opportunity. "Listen, I'm sorry about having to dash off like that the other night. I've been really busy with work."

  "I understand."

  "It's genuine, believe me. I'm working on this murder case that's in the papers. I wish I could tell you about it."

  "It must be hard. Katie gave me your address, suggested I might as well come over."

  Cullen sighed. "She did, did she?"

  Alison bit her lip. "Scott, I really like you. I understand about your job and... Well, I'm here."

  Shite, thought Cullen. Shite, shite, shite. What should he do? She looked good. She was here, throwing herself at him. He could get into something with her. He made a snap decision. "Alison, thanks for coming over. I appreciate it." He paused. "But I'm just not looking to get involved with anyone just now."

  Alison's glare almost cut him in two. "What?"

  "I'm sorry, I'm really not," said Cullen. "It's the truth."

  Her eyes were full of fury. "Then why the hell did your friend there talk to me for the last hour and a half about how sweet you are and how you're looking to settle down?"

  Cullen closed his eyes. "That's just Dawn, all right? She means well, but I'm just too busy for a relationship just now."

  Alison held his gaze for a few moments then shook her head. "Katie was right about you."

  "I wouldn't listen to her. She was shagging that accountant behind my back."

  "Maybe if she'd seen your front more often she wouldn't have had to."

  "What was all that stuff on Schoolbook?" said Cullen. "Saying you're in a relationship with me?"

  Alison slapped his face. "Scott, we slept together and went on a date. That's pretty close."

  "Not to me."

  Alison snatched up her jacket and made for the door, tears flowing down her face. "You don't know what you're missing, Scott."

  As the door slam echoed through the flat, Cullen sat and put his head in his hands. He knew all t
oo well what he was missing and that, well, he didn't want it.

  He wouldn't miss it one bit.

  ***

  "Cullen, you are a stupid bastard," said Bain.

  Cullen had just told him about making friends with Martin Webb on Schoolbook, expecting praise.

  "You've probably jeopardised any chance of getting a conviction," said Bain. "A police officer doesn't get involved in a case in this manner. You've been like this all along, doing stupid shite for the last three months."

  "But I can-"

  "But nothing." Spittle covered Bain's chin. "This is the sort of thing I'd expect from Monkey Boy Miller, not from you. I know you've put in for a DS position. I'll make sure you don't fuckin' get it. You'll stay a DC forever, son, that's if they don't chuck you off the force."

  Cullen woke up with a start.

  It was just a nightmare.

  He sat up, relieved but with a deep ache in his gut and a throbbing head. He picked up a glass of water from the bedside table and took a sip. He couldn't get it out of his head. The Bain in his dream was right - he was a stupid bastard. What had he been thinking?

  Christ knew what the consequences of his idiocy would be.

  Wednesday

  3rd August 2011

  eighty-four

  Cullen sat at his desk at ten to nine and tore the lid off the double-strength coffee he'd bought from the canteen. The Incident Room was deserted - no doubt the result of fifty-odd hangovers.

  He'd spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, continually waking up with the recurring vision of Bain taking any hope of a promotion away from him. Ironic, he thought, given he had no great ambitions, not for a few years at least - it must be all the talk of Bain chasing a higher rank. The dream sometimes had a Glaswegian taking his job away, which he figured was Strathclyde coming in and stealing the case from Bain - sometimes it was a cockney, meaning the Met.

  He took a big gulp of the burnt-tasting coffee and noticed a piece of paper on his keyboard. It was a note from one of the desk sergeants downstairs. 'DC Cullen - A Duncan Wilson came in for a meeting at 7.45. I let him go at 8.30. Sgt Mullen. 8.35'. Scribbled in the corner was another note. 'Call Tommy Smith'.

  Cullen crumpled it up. He was past caring now. Bain had his collar - maybe McNeill was right. He'd done some good work, tied things together, chased down some key leads and contributed to the arrest. One conviction for four counts of murder was what they wanted at the top.

  "Morning, Scotty." Miller looked totally destroyed.

  "Late night I take it."

  "Aye. We ended up in the Liquid Lounge till two."

  "Was Bain still with you?"

  Miller shrugged. "No idea." He looked at Cullen's coffee. "Jesus, that smells bad."

  "Filter with two extra shots. They call it a red eye."

  "Smells like they burnt it." Miller took out a four pack of Lucozade Sport and two cans of Red Bull. "Magic tonic this - the gaffer told me about it."

  "I'm not surprised." Cullen stared at the bottles. He had an idea. "When you've had your tonic, can you get a statement from Duncan Wilson about these death threats? He said it was Kim Milne who told him. I want you to check. You'll need to head to his flat."

  Miller slouched in his chair, his eyes shut. "Aye, okay."

  Cullen checked his watch. "Bain time."

  ***

  Bain stood at the front of the Incident Room. He took a sip from a mug - Cullen wondered if it was the same potion Miller was drinking. "Okay, I'll keep it brief this morning as we're all feeling a bit tender."

  Cullen was leaning against the side wall by the large window. He looked around the room and all he saw was hungover cops, none quite as bad as Miller, but nobody looking particularly fresh. That said, he didn't feel on top form with his dire lack of sleep. Hopefully, his indiscretion with Martin Webb wouldn't come to light.

  "First, DC Cullen has managed to dig up a connection between Rob Thomson and Gail McBride. I've spoken to the Procurator Fiscal and she's happy to add Gail's murder to the list of charges. Well done, Constable."

  Cullen felt the room looking at him again, wondering if anyone had noticed his early exit the previous evening.

  "Second, Jimmy Deeley pulled a late shift last night and completed Kim Milne's post mortem. We had already proved Caroline and Debi were killed by the same person, who also killed Kim Milne. The post mortem uncovered our key piece of evidence - traces of the same murder weapon - linking him to the rest of the murders. Good work to all involved in securing this."

  Cullen could see a game plan forming. There was a wealth of circumstantial evidence that could be deemed to connect Thomson to the killings but, using the similarity of the murders, they could add what appeared to be hard evidence and make the case against him much stronger and seemingly backed up by facts.

  Bain wasn't mentioning the links to Schoolbook, about how the killer had used the same method to lure his victims online.

  "Jimmy Anderson's submitted a draft report of their search of Thomson and Milne's flat. The only thing of note is there's damage to the wallpaper by the flat's front door, probably caused by fingernails. This shows there must have been a struggle. We can make the assumption Rob Thomson pushed her inside the flat, she fell and scratched the wall - we found paint under her nails."

  He took another sip.

  "We can also assume she would've screamed or made a noise. If she did, a neighbour could have heard and made the 999 call. Cullen couldn't find any of the neighbours who would take responsibility for the call, but I'm not too concerned about this."

  He cleared his throat and looked at a sheet of paper.

  "One of the key challenges we face is raising the awareness of domestic incidents and anonymity is a part of that. Therefore, nobody owning up to making the call isn't unexpected."

  Cullen would have liked to speak to the caller. He still felt there was something not quite right with it.

  "Finally, today's evidence day. I want you all to check your statements and notebooks, make sure everything is consistent and supports the case. We've done a great job here, four murders solved. You'll all be aware of the pressure we're under due to rising crime figures in Lothian & Borders. This result helps to ensure the public has faith in the ability of the police to bring killers to justice."

  He took a long drink from the mug. "Dismissed."

  Cullen remained leaning against the wall, realising how much pressure Turnbull and Bain were under from on high to get convictions for the murders. This was four in one, an easy statistic.

  Bain wandered over. "Sloped off a bit early last night, didn't you?"

  "Wasn't in the mood."

  "You need to be more of a team player, Sundance."

  "I thought I was," said Cullen.

  "You need to accept the plaudits and celebrate a decent collar."

  Cullen sighed. "What do you want me to do now?"

  "I won't pretend I understand what you found on Schoolbook," said Bain, "but I want you to tidy all that up and get it linked to Rob Thomson properly."

  "Fine."

  Bain almost smiled. "And cheer up, you miserable bugger."

  eighty-five

  "Cullen, you really are a stupid bastard," said Kidd.

  "I know, I know, I know," said Cullen. "You don't need to keep reminding me."

  They sat at Kidd's PC investigating the effects of Cullen making friends with Martin Webb on Schoolbook. There was a big audit trail, like giant neon lights pointing at Scott Cullen.

  Data danced across the screen. Cullen struggled to concentrate. His vision was blurry from the lack of sleep.

  "Here we go," said Kidd.

  Cullen leaned in close, trying to focus on the screen. "What?"

  "See this?" Kidd pointed to a row of data. "This is the audit trail of him accepting your message. It's all blank values on his side, but the record is still there. He can't delete it, so when the database writes a new record when he does something, he has to overwrite it
immediately."

  "How difficult is that to do?"

  "If you had admin access it would be easy."

  Cullen stared at the wall. "So if you were a DBA there?"

  Kidd laughed. "Not so fast, cowboy. Their security's a bit shit. They've had some big hacks this year, passwords leaking all over the place. If you had access to the server remotely it would work. Anyone could have set this up."

  Cullen tapped his pen rhythmically against the desk. "And their data's stored on servers at Alba Bank, right?"

  "Think so, aye. That's what they said."

  "So Rob Thomson could have had access to it?" said Cullen.

  "Maybe," said Kidd. "I'm sure there would be some sort of audit on it at their end."

  "Can you look into it?"

  Kidd sighed. "I suppose I'd better, aye."

  "Does this mean we've worked out how he's been doing it?"

  "Aye."

  "So, I'm not such an idiot, then?"

  Kidd tossed his ponytail. "I wouldn't go that far. This is probably inadmissible as evidence, given you've gone in two footed and ripped your own kneecap off."

  He started tapping again, leaving Cullen to feel slightly positive about the potential blunder. Still, he just knew Bain would give him a proper doing when he came clean.

  "What can you tell about my actual message?" said Cullen.

  "The 'call me' one?" said Kidd.

  "Aye."

  Kidd pulled it up on the screen. "Well, he's read it." He ran his finger along the line. "Hang on. This is a different access record."

  "What?"

  "Every time he accesses the account, it logs it on a table." Kidd went into another screen. "Here we go. This is a list of all the times the Martin Webb account's been accessed."

  "Is this the first time you've looked at it?"

  "It's the first time I've been able to," said Kidd. "I only got this extract sorted out last night. That security firm's given me access to a backup at the Schoolbook end, so I'm dialling in to their server rather than having them send stuff here." He searched along the line. "Got it. He's using the same values to default the record."