by Ed James
McArthur's face was blank. "Who?"
"Jamie Cook," said Irvine. "Lives in Garleton."
Cullen held up the photo they had of Jamie, taken at a party a few months before. McArthur's face continued to look blank for a few moments. Suddenly, it was as if a light switch came on. "Oh, you mean Biscuit, right?"
"Biscuit?" asked Irvine.
"Aye, that's the boy," said McArthur. "Skinny wee bastard. Curtains haircut. Gets called Biscuit or Cookie." He tapped the photo. "That's him."
"Well, have you seen him?" asked Irvine.
"Not since last weekend," said McArthur.
"What, the 14th?"
"Sounds about right," said McArthur.
"And you haven't heard from him since?"
"No."
"No texts or emails?" asked Irvine. "Nothing on Facebook, Twitter or Schoolbook?"
"Do I look like I tweet?" asked McArthur.
"Mind if we have a look in here?" asked Cullen.
A wave of panic crept across McArthur's face. "Eh, you got a warrant?" he asked.
"No," said Cullen, "I'm just looking for Jamie Cook."
"He's not here," said McArthur. "This isn't my place, eh?"
"Then you won't mind me having a look inside," said Cullen.
Cullen pushed past McArthur. The flat was sparsely furnished, like Keith Green's flat. Cullen headed into the living room - there were three people in there, sat round a 42" LCD and an Xbox, playing a shooter. Cullen looked at each of them: one woman, who seemed bored with the game and was flicking through a celeb magazine; the two men were mid-20s, overweight, shaven heads, nothing like Jamie Cook.
"Have any of you seen Jamie Cook?" he asked, holding the photo up.
They looked up from the game long enough to glance at the photo and shake their heads.
Cullen went upstairs. There was a bedroom and a bathroom. Jamie Cook was in neither room. He headed back outside.
"You satisfied now?" asked McArthur.
Cullen looked at Irvine. "He's not here," he said, "and none of the three people present recognised him."
"Do you know of anyone who might know where Jamie is?" Cullen asked.
"Have you checked with his bird?" asked McArthur.
"Excuse me?"
"He's got a bird in Dunbar," said McArthur. "Works in the Asda there. Think her name is Kirsty."
*
Cullen waited at the customer service desk. The assistant put out a call on the PA system for a Kirsty-Jane Platt. Cullen took out his notebook and scribbled the name down.
Irvine went to the toilet while Cullen asked for her. Irvine's leg had been jigging up and down all the way from Tranent to Dunbar.
Dunbar was a seaside town in decline. It sat atop a hill at the far east of the county and still had a functioning harbour. The mainline London trains still stopped at the station but, to Cullen, that was about all Dunbar had going for it. It had some charm but had been disconnected from Edinburgh for too long. The town had been handed a lifeline with the extension of the A1 dual carriageway from Edinburgh and had consequently seen an upsurge in house building, leading to the opening of a new Asda, just off the second roundabout as the road led south to Berwick-upon-Tweed and England.
"Excuse me?"
Cullen turned back to the desk. The attendant was looking at him.
"That's Kirsty there," she said, pointing away from Cullen.
"Thanks."
He turned around and spotted Irvine coming over, tugging at his trousers. In front of him was a girl wearing a green Asda jacket. She looked at the service desk attendant then at Cullen.
"What is it?" she asked.
Up close she looked really young, barely over sixteen. He showed her his warrant card. "DC Scott Cullen of Lothian and Borders," he said. Irvine caught up with them. "This is DS Alan Irvine.
"Right."
"Ms Platt," said Cullen, "I believe that you are acquainted with a Jamie Cook of Garleton."
She looked at him for what felt to Cullen like minutes. "Jamie?" she asked.
"Yes, do you know him?"
"I do." She pulled her fleece tighter around her. "If this is about the rape then I've told the police to drop the charges."
thirty-one
Cullen and Irvine sat across from Kirsty-Jane at a plastic table in the corner of the supermarket canteen.
Cullen had been stunned by the revelation and it left him on the back foot for a while. Fortunately, for once Irvine had the common sense to insist they went somewhere private. The only place free was the canteen. There were no big shift breaks due for another hour, so the only other person in the place was the cleaner, sitting reading the Sun by the counter at the front of the room.
Cullen couldn't work out why they hadn't been informed of the rape - surely Lamb or his officers would have found something out by now.
"What did you mean by the rape?" asked Cullen.
"Nothing," she said.
"Come on," said Cullen. "
"I don't have to say anything, right?"
Cullen decided to leave it for a bit. "Can you tell me about your relationship with Jamie Cook?" he asked.
"Why?"
"We are looking to interview him in connection with a case," said Cullen.
She closed her eyes. "What's he done now?" she asked.
"I'm not at liberty to divulge that information," replied Cullen. "Can you please describe your relationship with Jamie?"
"I'd rather not," she said, and tugged her fleece tighter.
"When was the last time you saw Jamie?" asked Cullen.
"A couple of weeks ago," she said.
"Do you know precisely when?"
She thought it through for a few moments. "Last Monday."
"Was this when he raped you?" asked Cullen.
There were tears in her eyes. "Aye."
"Were you romantically involved with him?" asked Cullen.
She nodded. Tears were flowing down her face and her nose had started to run. There was a box of tissues on the next table - Cullen reached over and handed them to her. "Thanks," she muttered.
"How long were you seeing Jamie for?"
"About eight months," she said. "It was great at first. He used to take me driving in his car."
"So what happened?"
She blew her nose. "He started talking about sex."
Cullen left a pause, waited for her to fill it.
"We used to, you know." She gave a 'wanker' gesture with her hand. Cullen recognised it - the dying art of mutual masturbation. "But that wasn't enough for him. He wanted to do it."
"And did you want to?"
She closed her eyes. "I don't know," she said, her voice tiny.
Cullen looked at Irvine. His jaw was tightly clenched for once, no chewing.
"Did he put pressure on you?" asked Cullen.
"He did, aye," she said. "He became a right pest about it."
"Did you talk to anyone about it at the time?" he asked.
"No."
"So what happened?"
She blew her nose again then rubbed at her eyes with another tissue. "We were in his car," she said. "Last Monday, this is. We'd parked at Tyninghame beach. It's halfway between here and Garleton. We were sitting in the back seat and we were, you know... Jamie then said he wanted to do it properly. He had a condom and everything. He put it on, then..."
She stopped and burst into tears. She huddled forward and rocked with the tears.
Cullen rested a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay," he said.
She looked at him suddenly, her eyes red raw. "It's not okay," she said, her voice loud. "I didn't stop him."
"Did you say yes at any point?"
"No," she said.
"And did you want him to have sex with you?" asked Cullen.
"No."
"Then he raped you."
She closed her eyes. "I didn't say no either," she said. "I just let him do it. It didn't last very long."
"Can I ask what happened after?"
/>
"We just lay there," she said. "He pulled me close to him and we lay on the back seat for a while. That bit was actually quite nice." She took a fresh tissue and dabbed at her eyes. "Then he dropped me at home. I was late and my Dad was shouting at me." She clenched the tissue tight in her fist. "I panicked and told him what happened. He freaked out and called the police."
"What did they do?"
"They came out and took my statement," she said. "They took me to the hospital, got some tests done then took me back home."
"Did they pick Jamie up, do you know?" asked Cullen.
She rubbed her nose. "Aye."
"And what happened?"
She didn't say anything.
"Ms Platt," said Irvine, "what happened next?"
Kirsty took a deep breath. "My Dad's a policeman in Dunbar," she said.
It was Cullen's turn to close his eyes. He could just picture it - a local old-school officer so disenchanted with life in the police after years on the beat that he battered seven shades of shite out of the animal that had just raped his daughter. Cullen could see the case file still sitting on a desk in Dunbar police station, hence the reason it hadn't shown up in any of the checks they'd done so far.
"What did your Dad do?" asked Cullen.
"I wasn't there."
"Was it something other than questioning him?"
"I think so."
"And then you dropped the charges?" asked Cullen.
She nodded, almost imperceptibly.
"Did your Dad tell you to?"
"I'm not saying anything else," she said.
Cullen slumped down in his chair, feeling totally spent. He rubbed his forehead. "Do you have any contacts that you think could help us to track Jamie down?" he asked. "We've already spoken to Alan McArthur and Keith Green. Is there anyone else?"
"I can only think of Stevie."
"Stevie?" asked Cullen.
"It's how we met," she said. "Stevie Young. He's a friend of my brother's. We were at a party at his flat about a year ago, when I was still at school. That's how I met Jamie. He was good friends with Stevie. Jamie used to be round there all the time, you know. When he wasn't seeing me, that is."
"So this party is when you started seeing Jamie?" asked Cullen.
"It was," she replied.
"How old were you at the time?" asked Cullen.
She closed her eyes. "Fifteen."
"Are you sixteen now?"
"Aye," she said, "I am. Turned sixteen in July. Left school then, got a job here. Mum works on the checkouts, so she helped me out."
"And had Jamie been pressurising you to have sex with him before you were sixteen?"
"Aye," she said, after a long pause.
"And did you do anything with Jamie?" asked Cullen.
"I'm not answering that here," she said.
Cullen scribbled a few notes down on his notebook. "Could you give us the address of this Stevie, please?"
She took her mobile out of her pocket, a flash looking Samsung with a large screen. Cullen wondered if the contract took up most of her wages. "The invite was on Schoolbook," she said. "I'm sure it's got the address." She fiddled with the phone. "There."
She handed Cullen the phone and he took down the address. It was just by the Aldi in Haddington.
*
Cullen and Irvine were in the car park at Aldi, arguing over the usual trivia that Cullen thought always seemed to follow Irvine around. It was still dry, though the wind was even colder and it was getting dark, the sun having disappeared behind the Garleton hills that surrounded Haddington.
Rather than spook Jamie Cook with the arrival of a strange car, they decided to park at Aldi and walk over. Bain decided to send DC Murray and two uniformed officers to help with the arrest, assuming that Cook would actually be at Steven Young's flat. Cullen hadn't informed Bain of the rape charge yet, preferring to do that face-to-face.
"But isn't Aldi for poor people?" asked Irvine.
"No," said Cullen, "I do all of my shopping there. There's one in Musselburgh."
"Thought you lived off takeaways?"
"Okay, when I occasionally put something in the oven," said Cullen.
"Can't beat Tesco for me, man," said Irvine.
"Look at the people and cars," said Cullen, gesturing across the car park. While barely a quarter full and it being a Tuesday afternoon, there were three Audis, two Range Rovers and a selection of Volkswagens, Saabs and Volvos, in amongst a few cheaper makes.
"Never noticed that before," said Irvine. "That's bizarre."
"Look after the pennies and the pounds look after themselves."
Irvine nodded.
"On the subject of supermarkets," said Cullen, "what are we going to do about Kirsty-Jane?"
Irvine shrugged. "That's something Bain can get Lamb lost in," he said. "It's part of this case, isn't it? Suspect rapes a young girl, something funny going on there."
"He was going out with her before she was sixteen," said Cullen. "Christ knows what they got up to."
"From what she says, it was nothing and I'd be tempted to believe her," said Irvine. "But still, he could have done anything. Silly little bastard shouldn't have been doing what he was doing with an officer's daughter."
They had let her go back to work but Cullen didn't imagine that she would have been in a particularly good frame of mind.
"What about the Dad?" asked Cullen.
"He's going to get Professional Standards having a word with him as soon as Bain finds out about this, I think," said Irvine. "Can understand where he's coming from though, eh? Some wee toe rag is noncing up his daughter, stands to reason that he'd want to boot fuck out of him."
Cullen closed his eyes and spoke in slow, measured tones. "He's perfectly entitled to do that as a citizen on his own time and face the full force of the law," he said, "but doing it on duty in a police station is not a good idea. If that gets out, someone senior will get a doing for it. He's obviously got some other officers involved as well."
"Don't tell me that you are into all that checks and balances shite, Cullen," said Irvine.
"Of course I am," said Cullen, his voice rising.
Irvine laughed. "No, you're not," he said. "You take the piss all the time."
Cullen shook his head. "I've no idea where you get that from."
"You're the biggest game player I know," said Irvine.
"What the fuck do you mean?" asked Cullen, his voice raised, staring at Irvine.
"That case last summer," said Irvine, "you were always going behind the gaffer's back."
"Bain was in the wrong," said Cullen.
"You've got to support him, though," said Irvine. "He's the Senior Investigating Officer on the case. It's his arse on the line. It's his call."
"He was wrong," said Cullen.
"You should have presented your case to him," said Irvine, "let him make the decision."
"Have you lost your mind?" asked Cullen. "You were on that case. Bain was not listening to reason."
Irvine leaned over and whispered at Cullen, his voice low and harsh. "You were playing games, Cullen," he said. "You were up to your own little investigation, keeping the rest of us in the dark. You and that dyke bird of yours."
Cullen grabbed Irvine by the collar, pulling him close. He pointed his finger at Irvine's face. "Don't you fucking dare bring Sharon into this," he said, looking Irvine right in the eyes. "And don't forget who was wrong and who was right in that case. I wasn't playing games. I was doing my fucking job."
Cullen let go and Irvine cowered back against the door.
"I don't play games," said Cullen. "Are we clear?"
Irvine didn't say anything.
"I said, are we clear?"
"Aye," muttered Irvine.
Cullen got out of the car. He slammed the door and leaned against the side of the car, his pulse racing. He started to regret his actions but Irvine was out of order. This shite about Sharon being a dyke or butch - he should make sure that Bain wa
s given a doing for it. His stupid acolytes like Irvine just followed along, looking for a lead from the alpha dog of the pack. Keeping in with Bain gave them protection. Cullen would have to watch his steps – while things had been not bad with Bain recently, Cullen knew that he was only ever a minute or two from snapping.
Cullen perked up when he spotted a squad car pull into the car park. He tapped the side of the car and opened the door. "Back up's here," he said to Irvine, before slamming the door shut again. He hurried over to Murray, who was first out. "That was quick."
"Aye, anything to get away from that CCTV," said Murray, smiling. "Bain's stitched Bill up good and proper with that."
Irvine marched across, throwing more gum into his mouth as he walked. The two uniforms got out - one of them was PC Watson. Cullen hadn't seen the other before - his uniform read PC McCulloch.
"Come on," said Cullen once Irvine had reached them. Cullen didn't make eye contact with the DS.
Cullen led them out of the car park, the vein in his neck still throbbing from the encounter with Irvine. There was a Malt company across the road, large trucks looming over the side wall around the yard. Cullen turned right towards the houses. Kirsty's phone had revealed the address of one Steven Young - Stevie as he seemed to be known. The houses were late 80s, early 90s white-harled two storey buildings so common in Edinburgh and the surrounding towns. The harling had turned yellow and brown from the weather. Stone signs above the doors of the first few showed the year of build - 1991 - and the builder - Albannach Housing Association. Cullen wondered how many were now in private ownership.
The building was split into four flats, two on each floor. Cullen studied the intercom - S. Young was second floor on the right. The main front door was open to the street. Cullen took a few steps back and looked up - the curtains were drawn in Young's flat.
Cullen pointed at Watson and Irvine. "You two stay here," he said, then gestured for Murray and McCulloch to follow him up. The grey untreated concrete festered in the stairwell - there were no windows so the only light came from a small rectangle of glass on the front door and a flickering stair light. There was no back door from the stairwell to the garden or yard. The walls were painted the usual cream and red that Cullen had seen so many times, though the paint was badly cracked.