Devil in the Detail (Scott Cullen Mysteries)

by Ed James

"I think so."

  "Did you just go once a week?" asked Cullen.

  "We all did," she said. "Well..." She tailed off.

  Cullen recalled that Jamie Cook's twin siblings - both eleven - received the counselling once a month, whereas some of the other children were going once a week.

  "Susan," said Cullen, "did Father Mulgrew have extra sessions with some children?"

  "Jamie Cook," she said. "Father Mulgrew said Jamie was possessed by the devil, that's why he was so evil and he was trying to get rid of the devil."

  "Did people believe him?"

  She nodded her head vigorously. "Definitely. All of the parents didn't like Jamie. They tried to stop Malky and Thomas seeing him, so as they didn't get possessed too."

  "How often did Mulgrew have these extra sessions with him?"

  "It was at least a couple of extra ones a week," she said. "I only had one a week and that was too much."

  "Was there anyone else that got this special treatment that you knew of?" asked Cullen.

  "Yes."

  "Who?"

  "Mandy."

  thirty-three

  Cullen and Murray had just returned to the station. They had tracked Bain down - he had Lamb cornered in the Incident Room and was lecturing him.

  "Say that again," said Bain, eyes blazing. He was up close and personal with Lamb, ignoring Cullen and Murray.

  "I've decided to narrow down the search," said Lamb. "We're burning through manpower and Angela already found that he's got off at Tranent. I've left McCulloch in Haddington going through the tapes in case he's gone to Musselburgh or anywhere else. We've not got a great CCTV coverage in East Lothian, it's not like Edinburgh."

  Bain stared at Lamb. "How the fuck do you solve crimes out here?" he asked.

  "We don't generally have a lot of big crimes," said Lamb, "and those that we do get usually come with a DI who wants to run the show."

  "Don't get fuckin' smart with me," said Bain.

  "Brian, you wouldn't know smart if I showed you it," said Lamb, with a big smile on his face.

  Bain glared at him for a few moments longer then turned to face Cullen. "Christ, it's Superman and Batman we've got here now," he said. "What the fuck have you pair been up to?"

  "We've been speaking to Susan Russell," said Cullen.

  "Covering your fuckin' tracks, eh, Cullen?" said Bain. "Thought you'd seen her yesterday."

  "Aye, well," said Cullen. "She was pretty useful."

  "How?"

  "Jamie Cook and Mandy Gibson both had counselling from Mulgrew," said Cullen. "Cook has been away from the group for a few months but it turns out that Mandy and Jamie both received special counselling that the others didn't."

  "We knew this, Cullen," said Bain. "For cryin' out loud."

  "We knew that Mandy had been getting counselling related to this possession," said Cullen. "We didn't know exactly what it was."

  "You didn't ask?"

  "No," said Cullen.

  "Jesus fuckin' Christ, Cullen," said Bain. "This is basic stuff."

  "Listen to me," said Cullen. "I knew that the counselling was like a classic Catholic confession. It turns out that Mulgrew had selected Mandy and Jamie for special counselling."

  "So what are you saying?"

  "Mulgrew had been giving Mandy special counselling twice a week," said Cullen. "Trying to get the demon out."

  Bain scowled. "Sounds like he was trying to get his fuckin' todger in," he said. He pulled his arm back, ready to punch the whiteboard, but managed to find the self-control from somewhere to resist it. "Fuckin' fuck!" he shouted instead.

  Irvine appeared at that moment, noticeably not bringing Jamie Cook with him.

  "What do you want us to do?" asked Cullen.

  "I don't fuckin' know, do I?" shouted Bain.

  Cullen went over to the board. "Do you think that Mulgrew killed Mandy?" he asked.

  "Fuckin' looks like it," said Bain.

  "What evidence do we have?" asked Cullen. "She had been abused according to the postmortem." He gestured to the writing on the board. "We've got two suspects and both of them had opportunity. Jamie Cook had stayed with the Gibsons on a few occasions, that was his opportunity. His history of child abuse is according to Mulgrew, so that's not exactly a reliable witness."

  "Or even a witness any more," said Bain, "he's fuckin' deid."

  "What about this Kirsty girl he was supposed to have raped?" asked Lamb. "Wasn't she under-age?"

  "She wasn't when he was supposed to have raped her," said Cullen.

  "Okay, but he likes fresh meat," said Lamb. "He was seeing her when she was fifteen."

  Cullen threw his hands up in the air. "He's seventeen," he said. "Unless he's out getting snared by cougars in Edinburgh nightclubs, I would say that he's looking for girls roughly his own age."

  "But he's fitting the profile," said Bain.

  "Fine," said Cullen, shaking his head.

  "Right, go on then, Sherlock," said Bain, nervously stroking his moustache. "You're in the fuckin' drawin' room and you're away to point the finger at Professor Plum."

  Cullen bit his tongue. "Mulgrew had a history of paedophilia," he said. "We know that is why he was kicked out of the Catholic Church. He had a lot of access to Mandy at those one-on-one counselling sessions he had with her twice a week."

  Bain scratched the back of his neck. "So what does that tell us?"

  "The one possibility that I can think of is that Jamie Cook killed them both," said Cullen.

  "That fits," said Bain.

  "Okay," said Lamb. "How about Mulgrew killed Mandy, then Jamie Cook killed him?"

  Cullen struggled to see a motive. "Why would he do it?" he asked. "How did he know what's happened? From everything that we've heard, he doesn't sound like some sort of vigilante, bumping off paedophile Priests."

  "True," said Lamb. "Is there anyone we still need to speak to?"

  "Jamie Cook," said Cullen.

  "Don't fuckin' go there, Sundance," said Bain. "Cullen, Murray, Lamb, let's put our fuckin' heads together. We've got ten minutes to find something out, before I'm phonin' Jimmy Deeley and makin' a fuckin' nuisance of myself about Mulgrew's PM."

  "So is there anyone else that could have done this?" asked Cullen. "Charles Gibson?"

  Bain bit his bottom lip. "What's his motive?"

  "It's difficult having a handicapped child?" suggested Cullen. "He's a religious nut, could be shame at having a demonic possession in the family."

  "Murder is a sin, though," said Bain. "No way a training Minister is going to do something like that. Doesn't tally."

  They stood in silence for a few moments, trying to think things through.

  "What about if Gibson was abusing Mandy," said Lamb, "what if he told Mulgrew about it and Mulgrew was going to grass?"

  "Seems quite far-fetched," said Bain. "He's not a suspect at present."

  "Shouldn't he be, Brian?" asked Lamb. "It's easier for him to abuse his own daughter and then murder Mulgrew than it is for Jamie Cook to have done."

  "The gaffer's got a point," said Murray.

  Bain looked at Cullen. "Does Gibson have alibis for both murders?"

  "Not really," said Cullen. "Both were with Mulgrew. The second one we couldn't check, obviously."

  "Interesting," said Bain. He stroked his moustache. "This is pretty messy. If we had some evidence that pointed towards it then we might have a case. It'll be thrown out of court if we went with it."

  "I could get one of my guys checking Gibson's alibi," said Lamb.

  "Is it worth it?" asked Bain. "I'd like to have something more than a vague possibility."

  Cullen was going to suggest that he didn't have much as it stood.

  Lamb's Airwave radio crackled. "Lamb," he said, answering it, holding it to his ear. "You're kidding me."

  "What is it?" asked Bain.

  "They've found Jamie Cook's car."

  thirty-four

  Queen Charlotte Street uniformed officers had
traced Jamie Cook's car to a flat in the Seafield area of Leith in Edinburgh, a row of decrepit Victorian flats beside the dying docks.

  Bain's car powered along the A1, heading towards the city. Cullen sat in the passenger seat, gripping the handhold above the door tight as Bain continually swerved between the two lanes of traffic. Lamb was in the back seat, being thrown around. Had they been following protocol, the squad car carrying Murray, Law and Watson would have led the way, blue sirens blazing but Bain's Mondeo was a good half a mile ahead by the time they reached Musselburgh, ten or so miles closer to Edinburgh.

  "Brian, this isn't a registered pursuit vehicle," called Lamb.

  "Shove your health and safety up your arse," said Bain. "I'm not pursuing anybody, I'm just trying to drive into town and speak to a suspect."

  "Then slow down," said Lamb, almost shouting.

  "I'm not slowing down for anyone," said Bain. "We need to speak to this little bastard."

  Lamb let out a loud sigh. "We still don't know where he is," he said.

  "You not got hold of Buxton yet?" asked Bain, looking over at Cullen.

  "Tried my phone and the Airwave," said Cullen, "he's not answering either."

  Just then, Cullen's phone rang. He answered it, half expecting it to be another crank call.

  "Cullen, it's Buxton."

  Cullen had worked with PC Simon Buxton on a few cases during the previous six months and respected him. While he was young and English, Cullen thought he showed promise.

  "Finally," said Cullen.

  "Sorry, we've been busy running an obbo."

  "Have you got Cook?" asked Cullen.

  "I think we have," said Buxton, "based on that photo you sent."

  "That was quick," said Cullen. "You just had his car the last I heard."

  "We had two undercover officers check the local pubs," said Buxton. "They were doing the rounds anyway, so don't let Bain go off the bleedin' deep end about the cost. We found Cook in a pub called the Shore. We've just detained them."

  "Just across from The Pond?"

  "Yeah," said Buxton.

  Cullen knew it. The Shore had been an old Docker's pub called the Fisherman's Arms, famous for opening at 5am - Cullen had been in there once on an all-night session as a student after they'd been kicked out of a club at 3am. The Shore bar was at least half a mile from the actual Shore area of Leith. Cullen mused that it would have been far too much of a coincidence if Cook had turned up in The Pond.

  "What's he up to in there?" asked Cullen.

  "Drinking heavily," said Buxton. "With some boy called Steven Young and another two locals."

  "We'll be there in five minutes," said Cullen, and he ended the call.

  They were driving along the last stretch of dual carriageway, just past The Jewel Asda, before the road turned left and slowed down on its meander to the centre of the city.

  "Head to Leith," said Cullen. "They've got him in a pub on Seafield Road."

  Bain quickly cut across the lanes to the sound of blaring horns - the lane they were in would have taken them into the city centre.

  "Leith?" asked Lamb.

  "Aye, Leith," said Cullen. "He might be pissed."

  "That's all we need," said Bain.

  Bain stopped at a complex set of traffic lights, the winter darkness congested with rush hour traffic. They slowly trundled forward, taking ages to get through the lights, thought Cullen.

  "I'm still waiting on an apology," said Lamb.

  Bain turned around and stared at Lamb. "You what?" he called.

  "Well, I notice that you haven't mentioned that Jamie Cook turned up in your back yard, rather than mine," said Lamb. "That deserves an apology."

  Bain stabbed his finger out. "If you had actually found this little toe rag when you were supposed to, before the little bastard got his car, then this wouldn't have happened, would it?"

  "Keep telling yourself that," said Lamb, looking away.

  Bain started forward, driving across onto the Harry Lauder Road towards Leith.

  "This isn't the end of the matter, Sergeant," said Bain.

  "I don't imagine it is," replied Lamb. He took a deep breath. "I think we should both let this one drop."

  "If you think for one minute that I'm not having your bollocks on a plate," said Bain, "then you are very much mistaken."

  "You're not exactly covering yourself in glory here, Brian," said Lamb. "Just be mindful of that."

  They drove in silence for a few minutes as Bain ploughed down the long straight of Seafield Road, past the car showrooms and the City's cat and dog rescue home. Bain tore round a chicane in the road and passed the McDonald's. Horns blared as Bain overtook where he shouldn't. He pulled up for the red lights beside the block of flats where Cook's car had been found, then carried on, past more industrial units, carpet showrooms, greasy spoons and a couple of dodgy pubs.

  Eventually, they came to the Shore pub, surrounded by hordes of police cars with flashing lights. They parked up a side street and walked over. Cullen shivered from the icy North Sea blast, the puddles from the earlier rain looking like freezing soon.

  The Shore was on the ground floor of an old Victorian tenement on the boundary between the revamped docklands in Leith and the still-industrial Seafield, among the new-build yuppie flats. Across the street was a scrap yard, piles of rusting steel against the chain link fence, which highlighted the harsh demarcation of new and old Leith.

  Leith had undergone a major gentrification - style bars, nightclubs, delis, new build flats on a grand scale, shopping malls, the Scottish Executive - but Cullen thought it was now on its way back down. Style bars had become curry houses, a Sainsbury's Local had opened, the last club had shut and much of its previous magic had been lost. Fountainbridge and the developments on the old brewery site that lined the Edinburgh to Glasgow canal was the new 'in' area. In Portobello, where he lived, Cullen thought the transformation had been more gradual and would be more sustainable.

  Bain emerged first and walked quickly towards the pub. Buxton appeared from inside.

  "What's going on then?" asked Bain.

  "He's in there with a geezer from Haddington," said Buxton, "another from just up the road and a couple of boys from Granton."

  "I want statements off the Edinburgh three," said Bain. "The other two I want up at Leith Walk."

  Buxton nodded. "Sure thing," he said. "Just one thing, though, guv."

  "Spit it out."

  "Jamie Cook is absolutely shit-faced."

  *

  Bain sped into the car park underneath the Leith Walk station. He parked across two spaces. He was first out, jogging across the car park to the stairs. Cullen and Lamb followed.

  Buxton had taken Cook and Young to the station in a meat wagon, while Cullen, Bain and Lamb had stayed behind to speak to Cook's drinking buddies. They hadn't learned anything of use - the companions barely knew Cook and had just met him that day - they were mates of Steven Young.

  "I want you two in that room with me," said Bain.

  Cullen struggled to understand Bain's thinking at times - Lamb and he weren't exactly on Bain's Christmas card list. He suspected that Bain would make them guilty by association if it all went wrong. Conversely, Bain would no doubt find technicalities to ensure that they didn't share his glory.

  They left the stairwell at the ground floor and Bain headed to the reception desk.

  "Where is he?" they heard Bain shouting at Jim Mullen, the red-faced Desk Sergeant. He was several stone overweight, his dark hair way past the point of receding.

  "Eh?"

  Bain showed his warrant card. "Jamie Cook, where is he?"

  "I know who you bloody are, Brian," said Mullen. "What do you want?"

  "I need to see Jamie Cook," said Bain.

  "Brian, can you please calm down?" said Mullen, in a tone that betrayed many years of dealing with difficult members of the public.

  "I am calm," shouted Bain.

  Mullen shook his head. "PC Buxton b
rought him in ten minutes ago," he said. "He's in three."

  "That's all I fuckin' wanted," said Bain.

  Cullen thought that Bain was lucky to have avoided any members of the public.

  Bain marched off behind the desk and swiped his ID card. He yanked it over his neck as he went through the door.

  "Here," shouted Mullen at Lamb. "I need you to sign in."

  "I'll do it," said Cullen.

  "Catch me up," called Bain.

  Cullen pulled his own ID card out and filled out a visitor's form for Lamb. Mullen slowly printed a guest card and copied a few details out from Lamb's warrant card. They followed Bain through the security door.

  "He's a loose cannon," said Lamb in a low voice, as they walked down the long corridor that ran the length of the station.

  "Tell me about it," said Cullen.

  They turned the corner to see Bain arguing with Buxton outside an Interview Room, eyes almost bulging out of his head, hand running over the stubble on his head. He locked eyes on Lamb and Cullen and marched over to them.

  "You would not fuckin' believe it," he said to Cullen. "Fuckin' Campbell McLintock is his lawyer and he's in there with him now. Says that Cook is too pished to be interviewed."

  thirty-five

  Jamie Cook was clearly out of it. He was struggling to stay upright in the seat and focus on what was going on. From the smell, Cullen could tell that it was alcohol - and lots of it - rather than heroin or crack. At the very least, they could do him for underage drinking.

  Cullen knew that Cook was seventeen but he looked at least twenty-one. His hair hung off his face in a long curtain which he kept tugging back behind his left ear. He had several days' worth of stubble, though his beard was patchy. His bloodshot eyes looked vacantly at the wall, a spaced-out grin on his face. He wore a blue and green checked shirt over a black t-shirt, daubed with the logo of a metal band. He had baggy, dark blue jeans - Cullen half-suspected they would be low slung. There was a cup of machine coffee in front of him, steam rising in a swirl.

  Lamb and Bain were across the desk from Cook. A digital recorder sat silent, a red light flashing intermittently. Cullen sat off to the side, his notebook open, scribbling away - Bain didn't trust the recorder to capture everything. PC Buxton stood in his uniform by the door, guarding the exit.