by Ed James
A new addition to the squad, Cullen noticed, was DS Bryan Holdsworth, Bain's usual office manager, who had been busy organising the Incident Room. He carried a clipboard but steadfastly refused to share its contents with anyone.
"DC Cullen here noticed that the car was missing," added Bain. "He, along with ADC Caldwell, visited the property yesterday morning and identified three cars. A Volvo SUV, a Lexus silver saloon and a modified Renault Clio. The Lexus is linked to the car that was seen by Morag Tattersall, disappearing from the scene of Seamus Mulgrew's murder." He took a sip from a fresh can of Red Bull. "Jimmy Deeley has not performed the postmortem on Father Mulgrew but he gave an indicative time of death for Mulgrew at some point yesterday evening, between 8pm and 11pm. This mystery car fits right into that window and it's likely it could be our suspect."
Bain took a pause and opened his notebook. "I want to talk about suspects for a bit," he said, putting his glasses on and reading. "Jamie Cook is now the main suspect in this case. He now has a means with which to carry out the murder. And also DS Lamb has still not managed to find him. The most likely scenario is that Jamie Cook murdered Mandy Gibson and then murdered Father Mulgrew. It is likely that the car we have a witness statement for was Robert Cook, Jamie's father, having helped his son to kill Mulgrew."
"Any idea why Jamie would kill Mulgrew?" asked Lamb. He was leaning against the wall at the back of the room, arms folded, one hand stroking his beard.
"We have many accounts of likely motives for the murder," said Bain.
"Okay, so why would Robert Cook help his son out?" asked Lamb.
Bain held Lamb's look for a few moments before answering. "I'm sorry?"
"Robert Cook is one of the key members of this God's Rainbow group," said Lamb. "I find it a bit strange that he'd murder the leader."
"What about to protect his son?" asked Bain.
"But why? I don't get it."
"Fine," said Bain, "let's discuss this later." He finished the can of Red Bull and crushed it with some force. "Of the car suspects, we have alibis from Gibson, Thornton and Cook."
"It could be someone else," said Lamb. "You've focused on those three to tie it to Jamie Cook, haven't you?"
"Drop it, Sergeant," said Bain.
Lamb shrugged. "Fine."
"As I said earlier," said Bain, entirely focused on Lamb, "Jamie Cook now has the means with which to commit the crimes. Balgone Ponds is roughly four miles from Garleton and it had been a mystery as to how Cook could travel between the two. Fortunately that is now resolved."
Lamb started to speak but Bain cut him off. "Sergeant, you and I will have a conversation after this."
Cullen could guess what Lamb was going to say - there were means and motive for the Mulgrew murder but they couldn't pin Mandy on Cook. They only had Bain's assumptions and the matching MO.
"Now, I'm going to set some actions and I want hourly updates from all officers to be passed through DS Holdsworth and PC Watson," said Bain. "I will contact each lead officer every three hours for personal updates. Expect some difficult questions."
He looked at Caldwell. "ADC Caldwell, I want you to go into Edinburgh and go through the CCTV network from the A1 into Edinburgh. I want you to find Jamie Cook's car." His focus switched to Lamb. "DS Lamb, I want you to perform a similar exercise locally. Search all of the CCTV on the A1 and any other main roads leading from Garleton." Cullen noticed Lamb screw his eyes shut.
Bain dished out further instructions to the uniformed officers - mainly door-to-door in the Dunpender estate, checking on the movements of Charles Gibson and Robert Cook, but also searching the streets around Seamus Mulgrew's cottage.
"Finally," said Bain, "I want DS Irvine and DC Cullen to take over the search for Jamie Cook. For over 24 hours now, DS Lamb has been leading the investigation but we need to change things around and actually find the boy. Dismissed."
Time was Cullen would have appreciated being paired with his DS but now he was in a relationship with her, they had been separated at work. Now that he was to be joined at the hip with Irvine, it was a different matter entirely.
"DS Lamb," called Bain, "a word."
thirty
Bain had instructed Cullen to obtain all Lamb's information about Jamie Cook. Lamb insisted they discussed the matter away from the Incident Room, so were in the Starbucks again, sitting by the window, looking across to the police station. Most of the rain had dried off and the day was brightening up again. The first hints of a bitter wind was making its presence felt. The early afternoon shoppers making their way up the high street were struggling against it.
"You're looking better than you did this morning," said Lamb, "though it's fair to say that you can hide a hangover well."
"Aye, well," said Cullen, "you look like you survived Bain's one-on-one mauling pretty well."
Lamb snorted. "He's a pussy cat when you get him alone."
"Is he?"
Lamb laughed again. "Not really." He drank his latte. "What's with all this Batman shite with him?"
"I've no idea where he's picked that one up from," said Cullen. "He likes to have nicknames for people. You'll have noticed that he calls me Sundance. That's a cheap joke at my girlfriend's expense. He calls her Butch."
"Is she a lesbian?" asked Lamb.
"Hardly."
"Wonder what he calls me," said Lamb.
"If he calls you by your real name, you know it's bad," said Cullen. "So what happened with him, then?"
"He tore into me," replied Lamb, "usual stuff about don't question him in front of all of the officers."
"You were raising some valid points."
"I think your DI isn't someone who appreciates valid points," said Lamb. "I have to say, he's lucky that my DI has been excluded from this case."
Cullen had wondered why the local DI, based in Musselburgh, had not at least been consulted. The regional stations were staffed by DSs and DCs - like Lamb, Murray and McLaren - but they reported into a single DI in the division, more of an admin function. It was a similar set up in West Lothian, though the higher population and crime rate meant that Livingston had its own full-time operational DI as well as the divisional one. "Any idea why he has been excluded?" he asked.
"No idea," said Lamb. "Other than the fact that Bain seems to like a divide and conquer strategy."
"You don't know the half of it," said Cullen. He finished his espresso - the only coffee in the place that he could stomach.
"I think I'm going to have a discussion with DCI Turnbull about DI Bain's conduct," said Lamb.
Cullen was puzzled by the use of formal titles and language. "It's your battle," he said.
"I never lose," said Lamb.
Cullen took his notebook out. "Okay, onto the reason that we're here," he said. "Can you give me the list of all leads on Jamie Cook?"
"Certainly," replied Lamb. He took out a stapled document from the pile of papers he had in front of him and passed it to Cullen. "This is the detailed list of all lines of investigation that we've followed. I had Murray type it all up at lunchtime there - I suspected something like this might happen."
From glancing through the many pages, Cullen noticed that they'd spoken to more than eighty witnesses so far. "That's a lot of people," he said.
"I'm nothing if not thorough," replied Lamb.
"Where should I be focusing my efforts?"
Lamb grabbed the paper and turned to the last page. "Here," he said and pointed at a line of text. "That's my next line of enquiry. It's one of yours."
Cullen read the name - it meant nothing to him. "Keith Green?"
"One of Jamie's friends in Tranent," said Lamb. "It was you that unearthed that link but it still took a hell of a lot of asking around to get a name. For a young lad, Jamie Cook sure doesn't like to leave a trail behind."
"Thanks," said Cullen.
Lamb grabbed hold of the paper before Cullen could take it. "One thing, Cullen," he said. "If any of this turns out to be useful in finding Jami
e, please make sure that I'm given some of the credit for it."
"You're not afraid of the big bad Bain are you?" asked Cullen.
Lamb laughed, a little too loud for Cullen to think it was genuine. "No, I'm not," he said, "but I recognise a game player when I see one and I don't want to be on the losing side."
"I'll make sure you get all credit that's due you," said Cullen.
"You mean that?" asked Lamb, his face suddenly betraying a fear.
"Of course."
*
Irvine indicated off the dual carriageway, the sporty Astra heading inland away from Prestonpans and the Forth coastline.
Cullen had been pretending to review his notes so as to avoid conversation. He looked up and studied the town.
The exit from the A1 hid most of Tranent behind new housing estates - Barratt, Miller, Stewart Milne and a few local builders - a sprawl of white buildings with red or blue roofs leading up from the valley floor to the town. Cullen had been to Tranent only once before and that had been a fleeting visit, driving through on the way to New Winton, a small hamlet south of the town. To Cullen, it was typical of the planning of many Scottish towns - find an area of outstanding natural beauty and put a set of hideous buildings right in the middle of it. The high street had the typical Lothians combination of pubs, charity shops and takeaways, all housed in either badly-butchered old buildings or the concrete lumps that had sprung up in the last half century.
Irvine pulled in just past a large Co-op on the long straight street Cullen supposed would lead through to Macmerry, Pencaitland and on to Haddington.
"What did you say this felly's name was?" asked Irvine as they got out of the car.
"Keith Green," said Cullen.
They quickly found the block of flats which looked ex-council to Cullen. Irvine pressed the buzzer and waited. "Bet this fucker's not in," he said, then pressed it again.
"Aye?" came a short, sharp burst on the intercom.
"Mr Green, it's the police," said Irvine, "we need to come inside and speak to you."
"Fine."
The buzzer didn't sound, the door didn't click.
Irvine closed his eyes. "Mr Green," he said, "will you let us up."
There was a delay. "Aye," came the voice and the door opened.
"Little prick," muttered Irvine, as they entered the building.
Green lived on the second floor. His door was slightly open. Irvine gestured to Cullen to go in first. Cullen entered slowly. The flat was in a state - the paint flecking off the door surrounds, the walls mostly unpainted and the carpet worn down to the underlay in places.
"Mr Green," said Cullen, getting his warrant card out and walking down the hall, "it's DC Cullen and DS Irvine of Lothian and Borders CID."
The voice came from a door at the end of the hall. "I'm on the bog."
"Fine," said Cullen, "we'll just wait for you here."
Irvine shut the flat door behind them. He whispered in Cullen's ear. "I'm beginning to think that this is Lamb fucking us about," he said.
"What makes you think that?" asked Cullen.
"This just feels like amateur hour."
"We can't all aspire to your levels of professionalism," said Cullen.
The expression on Irvine's face made it clear to Cullen that he didn't know how to take the remark.
The toilet flushed and Keith Green appeared. Cullen noticed that his hands weren't wet and made a mental note not to shake his hand. He was tall and skinny, with short dark hair in the same style as John Terry. He was wearing grey Adidas tracksuit bottoms and a Super Dry t-shirt that had seen better days.
"C'mon through," he said, and led through into the kitchen which doubled as a living room. It was a yellowing melamine affair with strips coming unstuck. An old bottle green three piece suite was at one end of the room, not many shades darker than Cullen's car, set in front of a cheap LCD TV on a unit covered in copied DVDs. An electric fire sat in a dark wooden surround, a large bong taking pride of place on the mantelpiece. Green spread himself out on the armchair in front of the TV. Cullen and Irvine remained standing.
"What do you want?" asked Green.
"Mr Green, is this your home?" asked Cullen.
"It is, aye," said Green. "I pay the rent. I work as a joiner, eh? This is mah day off so you're lucky to get us, ken?"
"I believe that you're acquainted with a Jamie Cook," said Cullen
"I ken Jamie."
"Do you know where he is?"
"Are you looking for him, likes?" asked Green.
"Yes."
Green gave a little chuckle. "He's a daft wee bastard," he said.
"That aside," said Cullen, his voice severe, "do you know where he is?"
"I haven't seen the boy in weeks," he said.
Cullen caught Irvine's look.
"Do you know anyone who might have?" asked Cullen.
"Big Alan McArthur would," he said.
"And do you know where big Alan McArthur is?"
Green gave them an address a few streets away.
*
"Did you see his drugs and DVDs?" asked Irvine.
"I did," said Cullen. "We could get Lamb out there to bust him if we wanted."
"Give that useless bastard something to do you, you mean?" asked Irvine.
Cullen was beyond fed up with Irvine's attitude to the local CID. "I didn't say that."
They were driving towards Alan McArthur's parents' house in the middle of an estate halfway out of Tranent. The houses were generic 50s post-war council housing, none particularly well presented.
All Cullen knew about the town was that its focus had been coal-mining but before it had been killed off in the 80s. Scotland struggled to generate industry at the best of times - leaving a huge vacuum in the worst of times. Cullen had seen what social cleansing had done to local communities from years of working in West Lothian. From the loins of the salt of the earth emerged generations of lost kids with no future, no prospects and no hope. The social structures of strong patriarchs disappeared along with the men's self-respect, replaced with cheap alcohol, heroin and crime. Kids that Cullen had dealt with in the west were scumbags, but in reality the crimes they committed were minor misdemeanours compared with crimes committed by those who should have been looking after the best interests of the country rather than lining their own pockets.
Irvine pulled up in front of a badly run down semi-detached house. The front lawn was mostly bare and with puddles of water. A battered Vauxhall Cavalier sat on bricks.
"Help me out with something here," said Cullen.
"What?"
Cullen pointed at the house. "This doesn't look like the best house in East Lothian," he said, "if you catch my drift."
Irvine looked out of the side window. "What's your point, caller?"
"Jamie Cook is from a well-off family," said Cullen. "His Dad runs his own business, lives in a big house in Garleton."
Irvine looked around. "I'm still not getting you, Cullen."
"Why's he mucking about with guys from Tranent that live in places like this?" asked Cullen.
Irvine shrugged. "I've seen it happen before," he said. "I'm a bit surprised that you haven't. Cultural slumming, I think it's called."
"Of course I know what you mean," said Cullen, "but I've never seen it like this."
"Aye, well," said Irvine, stretching out, "let's just see what this boy has to say."
They walked up to the house. All the blinds and curtains were drawn.
"Fuck sake," said Irvine. "Nobody's in."
"You've not even tried yet," said Cullen.
He reached over and pressed the doorbell. It was answered quickly by a woman who looked mid-40s, her ginger hair full of streaks of grey. She was wearing a dressing gown. Cullen checked his watch - it was just after 3pm.
"Mrs McArthur?" asked Cullen.
She nodded. "Who's asking?"
"We're police officers, Mrs McArthur," said Cullen, holding up his warrant card. "This is DS Irvine
, I'm DC Cullen."
"And?"
"We're looking for your son," said Cullen.
"Which one?" she asked. "I've got four."
"Alan."
She tutted. "Right."
"Is he in?" asked Cullen.
"No."
"Do you know where he is?"
"He's at his pal's."
Cullen took a deep breath. "Mrs McArthur, can you please tell me exactly where your son is."
She scowled at him. "Across the road, number fifteen," she said. "His pal's called Paul."
"Thank you," said Cullen.
She turned around and pulled the door shut.
"Charming," said Irvine, looking across the road.
"Your turn next," said Cullen.
"Come on, then," said Irvine, "show you how it's done."
Irvine crossed the road. He reached into his pocket and retrieved a green drum of Wrigley's Extra. He threw a handful of pieces into his mouth.
"Are you not going to offer it around?" asked Cullen.
Irvine stared at him. "You want some?"
"Not really but you never offer it around," said Cullen.
"Did you offer around the sausage roll you had with the gaffer?" asked Irvine.
"That's not the same thing."
"How not?"
"It just isn't," said Cullen.
Irvine stopped outside the front gate. "Keeps me off the fags," he said.
"Fair enough," said Cullen, suddenly losing interest in winding Irvine up.
Irvine looked up at the grey concrete building, part of a terrace of six. It looked barely one room wide. "Time to do this properly," he said. He hammered on the front door.
Cullen heard a muffled voice through the door. "Get that will you?"
He shared a look with Irvine while they waited. The door was opened by a tall, heavyset man wearing a saggy grey jumper and light blue jeans.
"What?" asked the man.
"We're looking for Alan McArthur," said Irvine.
"You've found him."
"Mr McArthur," said Irvine, "I'm DS Alan Irvine of Lothian and Borders. This is DC Cullen. We're looking to track down an acquaintance of yours, a Jamie Cook."