by Ed James
Bain raised an eyebrow. "That name rings a bell."
"Charles Gibson mentioned him," said Cullen. He read out what Mulgrew had told them.
"This boy's got the fuckin' devil in him?" asked Bain. "What the fuck sort of place is this?"
"This is an isolated incident," said Lamb. "Just this one little group in this one little town. It's a prosperous place, anyway."
"It's not all prosperous," said Cullen, thinking back to the neds outside Mulgrew's cottage.
"Every town has a downside," said Lamb. "This is no worse than North Berwick or Linlithgow, say."
"Right, so what about this Cook boy?" asked Bain.
Lamb cleared his throat. "Charles Gibson said that he's the local bad boy," he said, "and he's right. We've picked him up over thirty times, charged him on ten occasions. He was fined mainly."
"What are we talking here?" asked Bain.
"Mischief mainly," said Lamb. "Nothing too serious, either. Bit of graffiti, petty vandalism, petty theft." He nodded at Law and looked at Cullen. "Eva will probably have already told you, but I picked up Jamie Cook on Saturday night for urinating against God's Rainbow."
"And that's this Mulgrew boy's church?" asked Bain.
"It is."
"Was there anything malicious going on, or was it just too much cider?"
"Who knows," said Lamb. "He was absolutely out of his skull. No idea what he'd been drinking, but he was as pissed as a tramp. We put him in one of the cells here, let him sleep it off."
"How old is he?"
"Seventeen."
"So he's underage drinking then?"
"Aye."
Bain shook his head. "You should have fuckin' done him for that," he said. "If you had, we'd not be investigating a murder here."
Lamb put his hands together in a 'T' shape. "Time out," he said. "Are you seriously thinking that Jamie Cook is behind this, without a single piece of evidence?"
"Sergeant," said Bain, "I'll remind you that I'm in charge here. He is our primary suspect now. When I get a fuckin' whiteboard or a flipchart then I'll do some thinking on it." He looked at Cullen. "Sundance, can you take Batgirl here and try and find this Cook boy?"
eight
The Cooks lived on Dunpender Drive, three doors down on the opposite side from the Gibsons. The house was in the same style but looked to Cullen like it was a few rooms smaller. The garden had been extensively landscaped, a complex web of bushes, pebbles and decking, making it look like more of a family home than the Gibsons' show home.
"Is this another Bain vendetta?" asked Caldwell, as they parked on the road outside the house. A large ginger cat took the opportunity to rush across the street.
"Let's hope we find Jamie Cook before he does," said Cullen, as they marched up the drive.
There were three cars parked in the paved drive: a silver Exec-class Lexus; a dark green Volvo SUV; and a Renault Clio. The Lexus was a dead ringer for Charles Gibson's Audi, as if they were both in some pissing up the wall contest. The Clio was part of the way on the route to being modded - Cullen couldn't remember if that was the current in phrase. Its headlights had been replaced by tinted variants and a Day-Glo strip along the top of the windscreen read 'Clio Sport'.
"I wonder which car belongs to the tearaway son?" asked Cullen.
"Knowing some of these people, it'll be the Volvo," she replied, with a raised eyebrow.
She pressed the doorbell. The front door was eventually opened by a man in his mid-40s.
"We're looking for a Jamie Cook," said Cullen.
"I'm his father. Who might you be?"
Paul Cook appeared to be in the same league of casual affluence as Charles Gibson, though physically he was at the opposite end of the spectrum being tall and broad with a belly. His hair was receding at the front but was shaved short, like Charles Gibson's. The house and car suggested to Cullen that he was fairly senior in some organisation and his casual golf wear suggested a lot of the deals were done on the course rather than the office.
Cullen held up his warrant card. Cook squinted at it. "DC Cullen, Lothian & Borders Police," he said. "This is Acting DC Caldwell. We'd like to ask your son a few questions."
Cook frowned. "I'm afraid that he's not in just now."
"Okay," said Cullen. "Do you know where we could find him?"
"I'm afraid not," said Cook. "He's not been here since Sunday."
Cullen exchanged a look with Caldwell. "Would we be able to speak to you instead?" he asked.
"Can I ask what it's about?" asked Cook.
"It's regarding a serious matter," said Cullen, "so I'd rather discuss it inside."
"Certainly."
Cook showed them in to the living room and gestured to a large sofa which went round three corners. The house had been decorated in an antique style which jarred with its modern build. There were fake wooden beams across the ceiling of the living room and the walls had rustic rough plastering. It was filled with contrasting modern furniture in very dark wood.
Cook called up the stairs for his wife and then sat down opposite them on a leather reclining chair that looked as comfortable as it did expensive, though Cullen wondered how good it would be for the back.
"Are you not at work today?" asked Cullen.
"I work from home," said Cook. "I own a procurement business, buying, selling and leasing farm equipment. It's very lucrative these days."
At that moment, Cook's wife entered the room.
"This is my wife, Wilma," said Cook. He looked at her. "The police want to ask us a few questions about Jamie."
To Cullen, she was a virtual clone of Elaine Gibson in all but the face, round where Gibson's was pointed. She sat on the sofa to the left of Cullen and Caldwell, nearer to Cook. Cullen thought that they seemed unfazed by two detectives turning up looking for their son.
"The twins are playing that stupid computer game in the play room," she said to her husband, ignoring Cullen and Caldwell.
"Aren't they at school?" asked Cullen.
There was a nervous look between them. "We thought it wise to take them home, given what's happened..."
"I see," said Cullen.
"Now, how can I help you?" asked Cook, with a thin smile.
"Mr Cook," said Cullen, "we believe that your son is acquainted with one Amanda Gibson."
Cook gave a pained expression. "Mandy?"
Cullen nodded. "Mandy's body was found this morning," he said. "It would appear that she has been murdered."
The Cooks exchanged a look, which Cullen considered might have been more concerned with what their son had done than anything else.
"Was this what you were referring to as 'having happened'?" asked Cullen.
Cook took a deep breath then nodded his head slightly. "It is," he said.
Cullen noted that down. "So why did you take your kids home from school?"
"Well, in case there is some madman around," said Cook.
Cullen frowned. "Is that what you suspect?"
"It could be anything."
"Could you describe your family's relationship with Ms Gibson?" asked Cullen.
"Well, we are all members of the God's Rainbow church," said Cook.
"Can you elaborate?" asked Cullen, wanting to hear another take on the church.
"It's just," said Cook, pausing in search of the correct word, "a group, a church group that we attend as a family." He paused. Cullen didn't fill it. "We never socialised with the family much, just church activities."
"And do you know Charles Gibson well?" asked Cullen.
"A little," said Cook. He glanced at his wife. "Look, can I ask what this is about?"
"We're just trying to obtain some background to the deceased," said Cullen, sitting back in the settee, in an attempt to relax the tense situation. "We want to paint a picture of what this town is like in general, and also of Mandy's life. If we can understand her normal habits and behaviours then there are things that we can include or indeed exclude in our investigation."
"Would Jamie have any contact with Mandy on a regular basis?" asked Cullen.
"Only through the group."
"What about Mandy's brother, Thomas?"
Cook slowly nodded. "Jamie was the best of friends with Thomas and Malcolm." He rubbed his forehead. "They used to have sleepovers."
Cullen frowned. "I'm sorry?"
"Jamie would sleep at Thomas's and occasionally at Malcolm's."
Cullen swallowed. This was news - this gave the boy opportunity. "How often would this be?"
"We're talking once a month," he said. "Maybe more."
"Who is Malcolm?"
"Malcolm Thornton," said Cook. "He's the son of another parishioner. They live round the corner, on Dunpender Loan."
"Did they ever stay here?"
"No," was all Cook said.
"What can you tell me about Father Seamus Mulgrew?" asked Cullen.
Wilma answered this time, her voice strong. "Father Mulgrew is a very strong, God-fearing man," she said, eyes locked onto Cullen. "He has helped us out considerably." She smiled beatifically. "He's helped us repent our sins and helped us live a life true to God's wishes."
Cullen sat forward, and turned back a few pages in his notebook. "We have heard one or two things about your son," he said, "which is one of the reasons we would like to speak to him."
"I imagine he did," said Cook, with a deep sigh. "Our boy has had a troubled life." He had an earnest expression on his face, his eyebrows raised up and creasing his forehead. "Jamie is plagued by demons."
"He seems to have a bit of a reputation in this town," said Cullen.
Cook raised his voice. "What's Jamie got to do with Mandy Gibson?"
"As I said earlier, we're just trying to follow up on some information we've had," said Cullen. "We need to identify whether Jamie is a potential suspect in this case."
Cook stared at the floor for a few moments. "As I say, our boy has had some trouble with his soul. He used to be such a good boy, very smart, very good at school. He just sort of went off the rails and there was nothing we could do to stop it."
"Just sort of went off the rails?" asked Cullen.
"He's been in trouble with police," said Cook. "It started out with him being disciplined at school, but quickly we just lost control of him. We tried locking him in his room but he'd just manage to escape."
"How long ago would this have been?" asked Cullen.
"About two years ago," answered Cook. "Jamie left school about a year and a half ago and he's not worked since. He just lies around the house watching television, or he's on the internet all day. He spends more time on that Schoolbook site than he spent at school."
"Do you have any idea why this started?" asked Cullen, looking for a trigger incident.
Cook slowly shook his head, as if in despair. "Believe me, we have asked ourselves many, many times. We've given Jamie everything he's ever asked for." He rubbed his face and sat forward, the springs in the chair creaking. "Father Mulgrew has said that the boy has had Satan in him, that it is not our fault. We are doing everything we can to make sure that his brother and sister are not similarly afflicted and we're making sure that Seamus begins his counselling with them a lot earlier. They're good kids and we have high hopes for them."
"What counselling is this?" asked Cullen.
Cook nodded. "All of the members of the church receive counselling with Father Mulgrew," he said. "Some of them have it on a monthly basis, like our Sophie and Isaac. Most of the older kids have it on a weekly basis. Jamie had been receiving it, until he left the group."
"What was he like before he went off the rails?"
"As I said, he was a kind, loving boy," said Cook. "He was a straight A student and very diligent with it."
"Mr Cook," said Cullen, "in cases like your son's there is usually a rational explanation for such drastic changes in behaviour. Can you think of any potential triggers?"
"The only trigger is that Satan has possessed my son," said Cook, tears welling in his eyes. "That's what started him getting involved with bad groups."
"Do you mean gangs?" asked Cullen.
"Not city gangs as such," said Cook, "just undesirable elements in East Lothian. Prestonpans, Tranent, that sort of place."
Cook said the names of the less salubrious towns with a curl to his lip.
"I noticed a Renault Clio out there," said Cullen. "I take it that is his?"
Cook looked up at the ceiling. "Yes, he passed his test just two weeks after his seventeenth," he said. "We bought the car as a desperate attempt to try and bring him back from the abyss. It is pretty much the only test he's passed."
"Do you know where he is?" asked Cullen.
The Cooks exchanged a look. "I'm afraid not," answered Wilma. "We haven't seen him since yesterday."
"Have you any idea where he could be?" asked Cullen.
Cook shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, I'm afraid," he said. "As I say, our son is a troubled boy. We don't know where he is from day to day."
"You said you saw him yesterday?" asked Caldwell.
Wilma Cook slowly exhaled. "Yes, at lunchtime," she said. "He grabbed one of those microwave hamburgers, mumbled something at me and then went up to his room. We went to see some friends in Haddington with Sophie and Isaac then we went to the supermarket. When we got back, Jamie had already left."
"What time would this have been?" asked Cullen.
"It was late, back of eight, maybe?" said Cook. "One of the plates was out on the counter, so I presume that he'd just left."
"And you have no idea where he might be?"
Cook scowled at Cullen. "As I've explained, Jamie is a law unto himself," he said.
Cullen looked to Caldwell. "Any more questions?"
"Not from me," she said.
Robert Cook gave them Jamie's mobile number.
"Okay, thanks very much for your time," said Cullen, getting to his feet.
nine
Cullen lucked out and pulled into a parking space directly in front of the station. Caldwell was on the phone to Bilston to try and obtain Jamie Cook's record.
He sat and stared at the street and the cars in front of them, the harsh winter sun appearing from behind the clouds, lurking low in the sky, almost touching the tips of the spires at the far end of the street. The high street was at its widest point here, the ancient mercat cross in the middle of the road splitting the traffic around the circular stone base, which Cullen imagined would be full of flowers in the summer but was now a patch of mud. The rows of modern shops, intermingled with more traditional outlets, were in stark contrast with the upper floors of the buildings and their ancient Scottishness. It reminded Cullen of the Royal Mile in Edinburgh, but also of the crow step gables in Culross in west Fife, an ancient town marooned in the Elizabethan era while the rest of Scotland moved on. Garleton had a similar feel but it hadn't been impervious to the march of progress - the old town centre had its chain shops, and with every passing year new housing estates were thrown up alongside supermarkets, dual carriageways and roundabouts.
Cullen saw Caldwell jot information down about Jamie Cook. They desperately needed to speak to him, if only to shut up all of the innuendo and hearsay that was already beginning to cloud the investigation.
Cullen couldn't get his head around the way that these high-earning professionals had been so rapidly converted to this faith. In Cullen's experience, religion was the province of three categories: older people frightened of death; people his age who were dealing with a tragedy, say the death of a parent at a young age; and the born-again, total fuck-ups who'd been alcoholics, gamblers, or just nasty bastards, and who were looking for absolution for their sins or crimes. The Gibsons and Cooks didn't obviously fall into any category. The world was pretty broken now, thought Cullen, with austerity measures and a failing global economy - maybe the end of days scenario meant that Mulgrew's group would thrive. Or maybe they were just another typ
e of fuck ups looking to repent their many sins.
Cullen took his iPhone out of his jacket and dialled the number he'd been given for Jamie Cook. It rang a few times and then went to voicemail. He left a short, curt message and hung up.
"No answer?" asked Caldwell, snapping her phone shut. Cullen had abused her many times for her old phone, what the networks now called 'feature phones'. She would defend herself with having to pay for a mortgage, which usually shut Cullen up.
"No answer," he confirmed. "Did you get anything?"
"His Dad's story checked out," she said. "Ten minor crimes. Picked up thirty-one times. Nothing serious but ten is a lot."
"It is."
"So what do you reckon?" asked Caldwell.
Cullen looked out of the window down the street - the leads were drying up, he thought. "We really need to speak to Jamie Cook."
"Seems like it."
"I am absolutely starving," he said.
"Me too," said Caldwell.
He checked his watch - it was just before two. "Christ, how did it get to that time?"
"That's called being busy," she said.
"I don't think I can face Bain on an empty stomach," he said. "I can't decide which of the three glories across the road I'm going to sample the delights of."
"Mickey D's for me," she said.
"Not a fan," said Cullen. "It'll have to be Subway."
They got out of the car and crossed the road. The local Big Issue salesman - a young guy with a hooded top - approached him as they reached the other side. Cullen found it impossible to decline him.
"You're such a sucker for them," said Caldwell.
"Am I?"
"That's the fifth time I've seen them get you."
He shrugged. "Poor guy needs all the help he can get."
"I'll see you in the station," she said. She walked off towards the MacDonald's.
Cullen checked his wallet - he was down to a fiver, which should be enough. He entered the Subway and joined the three-strong queue. He looked at the display behind the counter. He wasn't much of a fan of the chain, either, but he figured that it was the least worst option. He struggled to make a decision but settled on a pastrami sub. He took his phone out and tried Jamie Cook again while he waited. It went straight through to voicemail this time, no rings. Cullen frowned and pocketed the phone.