by Ed James
"Tell me you've caught him," said Gibson.
"I'm afraid not, Mr Gibson," said Irvine. "We are still actively pursuing him."
Gibson closed his eyes. "I do hope that you've given up hunting down Seamus."
"Has he been in contact with you?" asked Cullen.
"No," Gibson replied. "I'm afraid not. I will start to get concerned after a few days but really I've got other things on my mind."
"I understand," said Irvine. "We are looking to find out whether Jamie had any concrete opportunities to abuse your daughter."
"I told your colleague here that he may have done."
"Is there anything to back this up?" asked Irvine.
"I've been thinking about this," replied Gibson, "and I've spoken to my wife as well." He took a drink from the mug of tea he had been cradling. "We looked over the family calendar from the last couple of years. Jamie hasn't stayed here for a few weeks, as I said." He set the mug down on the coffee table. "One thing we noticed, though, was that he started staying over around about the same time that Mandy's disappearances started up."
"Are you sure?" asked Cullen. Robert Cook had mentioned something similar - Cullen had in the back of mind that there was some sort of plot afoot.
"Absolutely," he replied. "August 2010 was when Mandy started wandering and he'd been here for the previous six months, once or twice per month on average."
"Do you think that he could have abused your daughter?" asked Cullen.
Gibson closed his eyes. "It would explain a few things," he said. "We could never understand why Mandy ran away but the timelines sort of fit, don't they? Putting that together with what Seamus said about the boy and his fantasies, well..."
"Would you mind if I spoke to your son?" asked Cullen. "I want to find some links to Jamie Cook and I'd like to ask him about Jamie staying over."
"Certainly," said Gibson, looking reluctant.
*
Cullen sat on the desk chair in Thomas Gibson's bedroom, facing into the room. The boy was hunched on his bed, back against the wall, knees raised, shrouded in duvet. The bedroom wall was covered in football posters – Fernando Torres, Andrey Arshavin, Didier Drogba, Robin van Persie. The furniture was all classic teenage IKEA, expensive-looking but basically chipboard covered in laminate.
Cullen pointed at the wall. "Not settled on a team?" he asked.
"Arsenal," muttered the boy.
"Good side," said Cullen. "They play attractive football. Surprised you'd have Drogba and Torres up as well."
"Great players," he replied. "Torres is incredible but he's injury-prone. He's been off the boil since he went to Chelsea."
"Do you think Arsenal will finish in the top four this season?" asked Cullen.
"I hope so," said Thomas. He sat forward and pushed the duvet off. "We need to keep Van Persie fit. We're pretty weak at the back." He pointed at the Arshavin poster, finger across the mouth in his famous goal celebration, shushing the crowd. "Andrey is really inconsistent. If only we had someone like Torres."
Cullen smiled. "Thomas, I know you've had some bad news," he said, "worse than you could have imagined, but I need you to help me if we're to find who killed your sister."
Thomas gulped. "Okay."
"I believe that you're good friends with Jamie Cook," said Cullen. "Is that right?"
He nodded. "He's a Man U fan."
When Cullen was growing up, everyone had an English team - usually Man United or Liverpool - but they usually had a Scottish team first. For Cullen, it was Aberdeen and then Everton. With these boys - the Sky generation - there was no Celtic or Rangers, even Hearts or Hibs. Cullen wondered if Thomas Gibson had even been to a live football match. He wondered if it was Cullen's or Bain's generation that had ruined Scottish football. When Cullen was growing up, Rangers and, to a lesser extent, Celtic were dominant. His own Aberdeen dwindled, alongside Dundee United and the Edinburgh clubs, to just merely exist in the morass of mediocrity that was the Scottish Premier League. Cullen still clung to the run in the Europa League a few years ago, where Aberdeen made it through the group stages and drew with Bayern Munich at home only to be humiliated in the away leg. Bain was a Rangers fan and could recount myriad tales of seeing Rangers struggle before their resurgence in the early 80s, trying to prove how true a fan he was. Cullen took a small amount of joy from the current plight of Rangers, their tax case looking gloomier by the day.
"What's Jamie like?" asked Cullen.
"He's cool," said Thomas. "Really cool."
"In what way?"
The boy shrugged. "Jamie just does what he wants."
"Did Jamie have a good relationship with Mandy?"
Thomas frowned. "Mandy?"
"Yes, your sister."
"Why are you asking about Mandy and Jamie?" asked Thomas.
Cullen looked to the bedroom door. Charles Gibson was listening in to their conversation, out of the sight line of his son. Cullen was immediately furious with Irvine - he was supposed to be keeping Charles Gibson occupied. Gibson turned around and walked off.
"Was there anything between them?" asked Cullen.
"How could there be?" said Thomas, a scowl on his face. "Mandy was a spacker."
Cullen was stunned that the boy could describe his own sister as a 'spacker'? "Did Jamie call Mandy a 'spacker'?" he asked.
"Once or twice, just as a joke," said Thomas. "If we were talking about girls, he'd tease Malky about going out with Mandy. They both said they wouldn't touch her 'cos she was a spacker."
"And how did that make you feel?"
"They were just joking," said Thomas. "Malky doesn't have any brothers or sisters, so he didn't understand. Jamie's twins are quite a bit younger than him..."
"Were you protective of Mandy?"
"I was," said Thomas. "There were boys at school that would take the piss out of her."
Cullen recalled Jonathan Hulse and his protective attitude to his pupils. According to Hulse, Jamie Cook had been one of the worst culprits. "What did you do to them?" he asked.
"Jamie helped me sort them out," he said. "They were in Mandy's year and we were a lot bigger than them."
"Jamie helped you?" asked Cullen. That was counter to what Hulse had told them.
"He did, aye," said Thomas. He scratched the back of his head. "What you'll hear about Jamie is the bad stuff. You won't hear about him sticking up for me or Malky."
"I gather that Jamie had directed abuse at Mandy," said Cullen. "Is that correct?"
Thomas scowled. "He did, aye," he said. "He stopped after the other kids started."
"And this was when Jamie sorted them out?"
"It was, yes."
"Was Jamie ever violent to these boys?" asked Cullen.
Thomas shook his head. "Jamie wasn't a fighter, really," he said. "He could make a good threat, though."
"Okay," said Cullen. He looked to the door - Gibson hadn't returned. "What happened to Jamie after he left school?"
Thomas sighed. "I told you already," he said. "He just did what he wanted."
"Did he keep going to God's Rainbow?" asked Cullen.
"No way," said Thomas. "He left at the same time he left school."
"How did his parents take this?"
"Not well," said Thomas. "They shouted at him a lot. He came over here, went to Malky's, hung out in the park. Just avoided them."
"Did he ever stay over?" asked Cullen.
"Yeah, quite a bit actually," said Thomas. "Used to stay on the floor. Dad has an inflatable mattress from when we used to go camping. Malky stayed, too."
"When was this?"
Thomas seemed to think it over. "When Jamie was at school, I think."
"And since then?" asked Cullen.
"Usually after he'd had a row with his parents, which was most weekends."
Cullen noted that down - he needed to check whether the timelines stacked up. "And how did your parents and his get on?" he asked.
"Not that well, really," said Thomas. "Dad wasn't
a big fan of Jamie's Dad, said he was a bit simple."
"When Jamie and Malky were staying over," said Cullen, "did either of them say anything or do anything to Mandy?"
Thomas screwed his eyes up. "What are you saying?"
Cullen leaned forward. "Thomas, I'm trying to put together a picture of your sister's life," he said. "One of the things we want to find out more about is Jamie Cook and his relationship with Mandy."
"There was no relationship with Mandy," said Thomas, his voice rising. "I told you before, he wouldn't touch Mandy 'cos she was a spacker."
Cullen was wary of pushing the boy too far, so decided to change tack for a while. "Were you out with Jamie on Saturday?" he asked.
Thomas paused for a few moments. "Is my Dad still there?"
Cullen glanced over; Charles Gibson had not returned. "No."
"Can I tell you this in secret?" asked the boy.
"This is inadmissible as evidence anyway, Thomas," said Cullen. "I need corroboration from another officer, so you're speaking off the record."
Thomas gave a breath of relief. "I had a bottle of cider," he said, "Malky did too. We got pretty pissed then came home at about ten. I heard from Malky that Jamie had been nicked."
"Who bought the alcohol?" asked Cullen.
"Jamie did. White Lightning."
Cullen knew the brand well - 2 litre bottles of high strength cider. He drank it himself as a teenager and remembered picking up kids in West Lothian who had drunk too much of the stuff.
"When was the last time you heard from Jamie?" asked Cullen.
"On Saturday, just before we came home."
"No phone calls or texts since?"
"No," said Thomas, "nothing. That's the truth. Malky told me they'd kept him in all night. You can check my mobile if you want."
Cullen smiled. "That won't be necessary just now," he said. "Did Jamie have other friends? Out of town, maybe?"
"Jamie's quite a drifter," said Thomas, slowly nodding. "He always meets up with people and gets on well with them. There's a load of people in Haddington he knows. Tranent too. There was a girl in Dunbar that he was seeing."
"What can you tell me about her?"
"Don't know much about her," said Thomas. "Can't remember her name. Malky might know."
"Okay." Cullen scribbled the note down - he'd pass it on to Lamb. "These friends in Haddington and Tranent, do you have any names or phone numbers?"
"No, me and Malky never met them," said Thomas.
The Tranent link was news to Cullen - he made a note to pass that on to Lamb as well. He looked over at the door. Gibson was back. "What did Jamie have to say about Father Mulgrew?" asked Cullen.
"Jamie blamed him for ruining his life."
"How?"
"He'd never say, but..."
Gibson burst into the room. "Constable, that is enough," he said, voice raised. "My boy's been to hell and back, and you've had your questions."
Irvine jostled in and went forehead to forehead with Gibson. "Mr Gibson," he said in a strong but measured tone, "please back off."
"My son needs space and time to grieve," shouted Gibson.
"And we need to find your daughter's killer," said Irvine. "Now, we can speak to your son here off the record about finding our two suspects, or we can put him on the record at the station."
Gibson flared his nostrils.
Cullen stood up and looked at Gibson. "Mr Gibson," he said, "I'm asking questions which may help to bring your daughter's killer to justice. Your son seems to have a lot of useful information."
Gibson stared at his son. Eventually, Thomas looked away. The boy pulled the duvet back over his legs. "Fine," said Gibson, exasperated. "The news that Jamie had been abusing Mandy has clearly upset us, Thomas in particular."
"Thomas," said Cullen, "do you have any idea why Jamie thought that Mulgrew had ruined his life?"
"No," was all Thomas would say.
"Father Mulgrew kicked Jamie out of the group," said Gibson. "That's what ruined his life."
"Is that true, Thomas?"
The boy shrugged.
Cullen glared at Gibson.
twenty-four
Cullen stood outside the Gibsons' house, fists clenched, heart pounding. The rain teemed down on his head, still thick from the hangover. Gibson had frightened the boy. He hadn't let him finish. There was something going on and Gibson appeared to be intent on stopping it. Jamie Cook had opportunity to abuse Mandy. Gibson had shut his son up when Cullen asked him about Mulgrew. Why?
Irvine was standing on the front lawn with PC Wallace, chatting her up. Wallace was smoking, with Irvine drinking in each puff. Cullen reasoned that the chewing gum was the crutch of an ex-smoker.
"So did you get anything?" asked Irvine.
"Nothing much," said Cullen. "Got a couple of vague leads on Jamie Cook."
"Well, that's good," he said.
"I would thank you for keeping Gibson away from his son," said Cullen, "but you just didn't bother."
"Eh?" said Irvine.
Cullen walked right up to Irvine and pointed his finger at him. "You were supposed to keep him out of my hair," said Cullen. "He shut Thomas up when I was asking him about Mulgrew."
"Sorry, eh?" said Irvine. "I had to go to the bog."
"This is important," said Cullen. "We missed out on information that might otherwise have proved useful."
"Just have to take your word for it," said Irvine, grinning away. "Pull him into the station and get a statement out of him."
Cullen looked Irvine up and down then decided that he wasn't worth the effort. He started to wonder if he might have a point - they were pussyfooting around the family, and they needed to start getting harder with them. He wondered what tack Cargill would take, whether she was the face of caring policing, as Turnbull saw it, or the ice queen everyone said she was. He turned to Wallace. "Have you just turned up?" he asked her.
"Aye."
"What happened yesterday?" he asked.
"How do you mean?" she asked. She turned to the side and let out another puff of smoke.
"Any visitors or phone calls?"
"Nobody's been in," she said. "The phone was going constantly while I was there. I didn't get to answer all of the calls. It was mostly family members, friends, work colleagues."
"Is that the house phone?"
"Aye."
"What about mobiles?"
She took another drag. "Mostly the husband," she said. "He's taken a few calls on his mobile. Work, I think. There've been a couple I haven't heard, mind."
Cullen took a deep breath, trying to avoid inhaling the cigarette smoke. One thought suddenly came to him, something they had not considered at all - that Charles Gibson had been abusing his daughter and had killed her to hide his crime. "Do you have any reason to suspect that Gibson might have been abusing Mandy?"
Wallace paused and thought it through. "I don't think so," she said. "I mean I've been doing this for years and I've seen my fair share of that sort of thing, in the Pans or Mussie, ken? Gibson doesn't seem the type, you know? Got a good job, got a fit young wife."
"Isn't it the quiet ones you've got to watch?" asked Cullen.
"I'll keep my eyes and ears open," she said with a smile, "but really I just can't see it."
"I think you should have a word about that one with the gaffer," said Irvine.
Cullen looked sideways at Irvine.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked.
"Stay here as long as they'll let you."
She looked at her watch. "I'm not sure they need me any more."
"I'll speak to Lamb when I get back," said Cullen. "Just make sure there's a point in you being here, okay? Answering the phone, answering the door, counselling them, that sort of thing."
She smiled.
Cullen looked at Irvine. "Let's get back."
*
Cullen sat at the back of the Incident Room and watched the rain thunder down on the yard. The view was of the rooftops o
n the southern side of School Brae, which joined the High Street to the school.
He was feeling seriously dehydrated and drank down his second mug of tap water. He felt a slight pang of conscience about being idle but thought it better than keeping himself busy for the sake of it.
When they had arrived in the Incident Room, Cullen had passed his leads to PC Watson, who seemed to have become the case Admin Officer. Cullen thought it would only be a matter of time before Bain brought DS Holdsworth in from Leith Walk, if Bain himself could survive that long.
Lamb was out leading the hunt for Cook and Mulgrew. Bain had given Watson clear instructions that Cullen and Irvine were to pass any information on to Lamb. Cullen smelled game playing and wanted to distance himself from it.
The only other person in the room was ADC Law, typing on a laptop. Cullen had no idea what she had been doing and didn't want to ask in case he gave her any ideas. He looked over - she was reasonably pretty - and figured that he must still be pissed. She caught his look and smiled at him. He nodded and looked away. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted her walking over.
"How's it going?" she asked.
"I feel like shite," he said. He didn't feel at his most beautiful - he'd caught sight of his blotchy skin in the toilet earlier, the bags under his bloodshot eyes adding to the sexy image he portrayed.
"You were at that thing, then?"
"The Burns Supper," said Cullen.
"Aye, that." She sat on the table beside him and crossed her legs. She was wearing a skirt that day and Cullen clocked that she wasn't wearing tights. "Was it fun?" she asked.
"It wasn't bad," he said. "Got arseholed on free whisky."
She laughed, throwing her head back. "I love a good night like that."
He nodded. He didn't want to keep encouraging her so he remained silent.
"What time do you reckon we'll be finished tonight?" she asked.
He shrugged. "No idea," he said. "You know how it is with these cases, in the early days they can drag on and on."
"Never been on a murder before."
He nodded.
She sat looking at him, biting her lip. "I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go for a drink after?"