by Ed James
"We've still got two suspects for that," said Bain. "Charles Gibson and Robert Cook. My money is on Robert Cook, helping his son out."
"Didn't cover his tracks very well," said Cullen.
"These are not cold-blooded killings," said Bain.
"You're certain of that?"
"As certain of anything," said Bain.
"Don't forget you've got your eyewitness saying that Cook left his house at the right time," said Lamb, with a wink.
Bain glowered. "That gamble could still pay off, Sergeant," he said.
"What about Charles Gibson's alibi?" asked Cullen, trying to keep them from each other's throats. "He was supposed to be waiting outside Mulgrew's cottage at the time of Mulgrew's death three miles away."
"McLaren's been round the houses in that street," said Lamb. "Nobody saw anything but I don't think that's particularly conclusive yet. He needs another two or three passes before he's got complete coverage."
Bain closed his eyes. "I want a full fuckin' team round every house on that street, three fuckin' times over. I want everyone who lives there or was there on Monday night found, even if they're in fuckin' Timbuktu. If one punter has spotted him, it clears Gibson, right?"
"Fair enough," said Lamb.
"Wait a minute," said Cullen. "There are thousands of silver Exec class saloons across East Lothian. That's where the Execs all live, especially North Berwick. That car sighting could be unrelated. It could be..." He shrugged. "I don't know, an exec taking his secretary down a country lane, or a couple from a golf club meeting up so their respective husbands and wives don't find out."
"Might be one that we lose from the file when we hand it to the PF," said Bain.
"What else do we need to focus on?" asked Lamb.
"Before we hit Cook again," said Bain, "I want this Stevie interviewed. Cullen, you're doing that."
"Fine," said Cullen. "Is he still here?"
"Think so, aye."
"What about me?" asked Lamb.
"This bus driver," said Bain. "I want him in here giving a statement by eight."
"I get all the great jobs, eh?" said Lamb, smiling.
"Don't push it," said Bain.
"What about these mates of Jamie's?" asked Cullen.
"Spider, Simmo, Dean and Nicky, right?" said Bain. He stroked his moustache. "I'll put Irvine on to that. I should be able to pinch Chantal Jain for a few hours."
"Is Caldwell still around?" asked Lamb.
"She is, aye."
"Can I have her?"
"You'll need to get one of your wee laddies out, I'm afraid," said Bain. "She's with Cullen. Isn't Law here, anyway?"
Cullen saw that the entente cordiale was starting to break. He wondered how long it would be until they were back at each other's throats.
"Fine," said Lamb, stroking the triangle of beard.
"You heard Turnbull up the stairs," said Bain. "I'm on hourly updates from him, so I need half-hourly from you boys, or as near as damn it. I will pull you out of interview rooms for an update as well, so be warned."
*
Steven Young had a face full of metal. He had hoops and studs in his nose, ears and eyebrows and a metal spike coming out of his jawbone. His earlobes rings had cut at least two centimetres out of the flesh. Cullen didn't want to think about what might be pierced beneath his clothes. A big guy, Cullen estimated that he was at least 18 stone. His head was shaved but he had a thick beard below the top of his ears. He was wearing all black, a fiery logo on his t-shirt of some metal band Cullen had never heard of.
One thing Cullen noticed was that Young could handle his drink better than Jamie Cook. They'd been drinking the same length of time but Young was practically sober. It was either that or Cook hadn't had the same adrenalin spike when he was picked up by the police.
Caldwell sat next to Cullen, scribbling down everything that was said. She was looking tired, obviously less able to handle school night drinking than Cullen or a few of their colleagues.
"Mr Young," said Cullen, "I believe that you are acquainted with one Jamie Cook."
"Do I not get a lawyer?" asked Young.
"You're not under arrest," said Cullen. "We are taking a witness statement and you therefore do not require access to a solicitor."
"So I can just leave, right?"
Cullen paused. "Not yet," he said. "If you leave, there are some nice charges that we could throw at you." He shuffled some papers on the table. "Can you confirm that you are acquainted with Jamie Cook?"
"Aye, I ken Jamie."
"And he came to your flat in Haddington on Sunday night," said Cullen. "Is that right?"
"He did, aye."
"When did he arrive?" asked Cullen.
"About quarter past eleven."
"And what were you doing at the time?"
"I was on my decks," said Young.
"Decks?"
"Record decks," said Young. "For music. DJing."
"Are you a DJ?" he asked.
"Aye," said Young.
Cullen left a gap, trying to force Young to fill them. Caldwell wasn't getting much to write down.
"In Prestonpans," continued Young, after a pause. "At the Goth Tavern. Every Saturday."
"What did you and Mr Cook do once he arrived?"
"I'd got in some bottles of the Jack Daniels stuff from Aldi and we just started firing into that."
"Did you go to sleep at any point?"
"We did, aye," said Young. "I stayed up later than Jamie. Got to my scratcher at about eight in the morning."
"When did you get up?"
"We got up at the back of two," said Young. "I was shattered but then we went to pick up Jamie's car. We went back to mine and met up with my pal, Spider."
"Does Spider have a name?" asked Cullen.
"Aye, it's Simon Spink."
"Does he live in Haddington?"
"He does, aye." Young gave an address on the west side of Haddington, the part closest to Edinburgh.
"And what time was it that you met up with him?"
"Just after half four," said Young.
"And you were there all night?"
Young rubbed his eyes. "Aye, we were," he said. "Right through till we got chucked out."
"Was there anyone else with you?"
"Just us three."
"Did Mr Cook leave at any point?" asked Cullen.
Young played with the spike through his chin. "He did, aye."
Cullen's heart started hammering. "When?"
"It was late on," said Young, "back of eight, maybe. I can't remember. I was pretty trashed. I was playing darts with some old boy."
"And he came back?"
"He did, aye," said Young.
"When did he come back?"
"No idea," said Young. "Could have been an hour, could have been ten minutes. Sorry."
Cullen flicked through his notebook. Mulgrew died between 7pm and midnight, according to the interim postmortem. Cook had a window of opportunity - he had to drive to Balgone Ponds, kill Mulgrew and then return to the pub. It was eminently possible. He was lucky he wasn't pulled over for drink driving but then these weren't heavily policed roads.
"Do you know where he went?" asked Cullen.
"Think he went for some food," said Young. "We'd just had crisps all day."
"When did you leave the pub?"
"Back of midnight, as I said," said Young. "They were chucking everyone out. We got fired into some more drink at my flat but we crashed out not long after, maybe the back of three."
"And was Spider with you back at your flat?"
"He was, aye," said Young. "He got up at six for his work this morning."
"Do you know where he works?"
"Just some call centre in Granton," said Young. "That's all I ken, eh?"
Cullen sighed. He could think of at least five. "And what did you and Mr Cook do when you got up this morning?" he asked.
"We drove into Edinburgh," said Young, "to meet up with my mate Simmo."
"It is." Young took a deep breath. "His mate Nicky was round. We went to the pub round the corner, The Shore, and bumped into Dean."
"And you drank in there all day?"
"We did, aye." He snorted.
"Can you give me the names and addresses of Dean, Nicky and Simmo, please," said Cullen.
"I only ken where Tommy lives, eh?" said Young. He gave the address on Seafield Road, where Cook's car had been found.
"What about Nicky or Dean?" asked Cullen.
Young shrugged his shoulders. "No idea."
"Do you know anything about them?"
Young shook his head. "Maybe Simmo can help, eh?"
"What time did you go to the pub today?"
"Back of twelve," said Young.
"And you were there all day after that point?"
"Aye, until that copper came and grabbed us."
"Okay." Cullen stroked his temple, trying to think through the fatigue. He focused on the chain of events - the previous night, when Mulgrew was killed, Jamie had left the pub. He had to have been pretty coherent to have carried it out. "How was Mr Cook both days?" he asked.
"How do you mean?" asked Young.
"How did he seem when he got to yours on Sunday night?" asked Cullen.
"Typical Jamie, eh?" said Young. "Always looks a bit haunted that boy."
"And when you were drinking yesterday," said Cullen, "was he keeping up?"
Young paused for a few seconds - Cullen started to worry that he'd clam up again. "Didn't really notice," he finally said. He toyed with the spike again. "Now you mention it, he wasn't putting them away as much as I was, ken?"
"What about this afternoon?"
Young laughed. "You saw the state he was in, didn't you?"
Cullen thought it through - Cook could have been holding back the previous afternoon with a view to getting away reasonably sober in the evening. He'd drunk like a banshee that afternoon - Cullen wondered if that was the sign of someone trying to escape from something that they'd just done, or maybe celebrating his achievement the previous day.
"Mr Young, thanks for your help," said Cullen. "I'll need you to sign a statement with ADC Caldwell here. And we may need further information."
forty
Cullen sat in the Incident Room that Bain had procured. It was currently empty which was a relief for Cullen - he needed some space to think. Someone had made a start on replicating the Garleton Incident Room but had given up halfway through. Cullen found a laptop and was typing up the notes of the Steven Young interview, a task he'd give up if Bain ever decided to listen to a single one of the six voicemails he had left.
He took his iPhone out and called DC Murray.
"All right, Cullen?" There was wind down the line.
"You got Lamb with you?" asked Cullen.
"Why, do you need him?"
"No, it's fine," said Cullen. "Where are you?"
"Doing door-to-door in Garleton," said Murray. "Why do you need the gaffer?"
"I just need someone in Haddington," said Cullen.
"Aye, right, what for?"
"Need someone to speak to a Simon Spink."
"Spider, right?"
"You know him?"
Murray laughed down the phone. "Who doesn't?" he said. "He's a bit like the Haddington version of Jamie Cook."
"Another one?"
"He's not quite as bad," said Murray.
"Can you get a hold of him?" asked Cullen. "We really need to speak to him."
"I'll see what I can do," said Murray. "I've been round his house a few times over the years and I think I know where he works."
"Cheers."
Cullen leaned back on the chair and tried to think what else he could do, other than search the station for Bain. It was supposed to be Bain getting updates from Cullen, not the other way round.
He looked around the room. It was one of the few large meeting rooms and it had a kitchen annexe - just a sink and a tap. Someone had found a kettle, some mugs, 'borrowed' teaspoons from the canteen, and bought tea bags, own brand instant coffee and a litre of milk from the Tesco Express across the road. Cullen would have put money on it being PC Watson. He went over and put the kettle on. Twelve dirty mugs sat in the sink, most of them with a drop of curdling milk and coffee inside. Cullen quickly washed the least disgusting.
PC Johnny Watson bumbled into the room, clutching three mugs in one hand.
"Have you seen Bain or Lamb?" asked Cullen.
"They're in with a bus driver, I think," said Watson.
That explained why Cullen was having trouble finding Bain. "Where have you been?" he asked. He poured the hot water over the tea bag and started mashing it against the side of his mug with one of the teaspoons.
"Stuck at that pub in Haddington that Jamie Cook was in," said Watson, rinsing the mugs in the sink.
"And you're back out here?"
"Bain's orders," said Watson. "We interviewed every person that was in there."
"Did any of them confirm whether Jamie Cook stayed there all day yesterday?" asked Cullen.
"Eh..." Watson opened his notebook. "He went out for a bit," he said. "Aye. Back of eight, according to the barman."
Cullen ran his hand through his hair. "Anybody else?"
"Most of the people we interviewed were totally out of it," said Watson, "or they hadn't noticed them sitting in there."
"And they didn't notice that Jamie Cook was underage?"
Watson gave a shrug. "Guess not."
"Did you speak to a Simon Spink?" asked Cullen.
Watson frowned. "Doesn't ring a bell."
"We need to confirm with him about Jamie Cook leaving the pub," said Cullen.
"Right."
"Do you know if anyone else has spoken to him?" asked Cullen.
"No idea," said Watson.
"Could you find out?"
Watson held up the mugs. "I've got to make the coffees," he said.
Cullen pointed his finger him. "You are going to find out about Simon Spink, not make coffee."
Watson looked away. "Okay..."
"Now."
Watson put the mugs down and scurried off. Cullen took the teabag out and poured the milk in. It was starting to smell but it hadn't gone lumpy yet.
"Learning from the master, obviously."
Cullen looked over. Bain was standing in the doorway, his eyes locked on Cullen.
"How much did you hear?"
"Enough," said Bain with a grin. "You know, you're technically the same grade, so you shouldn't be giving him orders."
"Promote me, then," said Cullen.
Bain laughed and rubbed his hands together. "Come on, Sundance. Jamie Cook, take two."
Cullen looked at his cup of tea. Lumps of milk had started floating to the top. He left it and followed Bain down the corridor.
"How did it go with that Stevie boy?" asked Bain.
"We could have something," said Cullen.
"Aye? Has he fucked Cook's alibi?"
"It's a possibility," said Cullen. "Jamie disappeared from the pub for a bit, around about eight o'clock."
Bain stopped in the corridor. "You're fuckin' kiddin'."
"No, I'm not," said Cullen. "Watson just told me that the barman noticed him leaving as well. Eight o'clock. That's confirmation."
"We've got him," said Bain. "We've fuckin' got him."
Cullen looked through his notebook. "Has Mulgrew's PM come back?"
"Aye," said Bain. "Time of death was 7pm to 9pm. Most definitely murder."
"Tallies with the time that Jamie left the pub," said Cullen, nodding.
"Right," said Bain. "We need to nail Cook with this."
"Thought you were convinced it was Mulgrew?" asked Cullen.
"Eh?"
"Back at Garleton, you said it was Mulgrew."
"Aye, well, that was before we spoke to the boy Cook."
Bain set off again, towards the interview room. "Deeley said it was the
same MO as Mandy, by the looks of things," he said. "Suffocation. We can get him with that."
"How did it go with the bus driver?" asked Cullen.
"Me and Lamb questioned him," said Bain. "He confirmed Cook's story. He saw a man and a girl going into a cottage, just by that bus stop. We gave him a proper going over. It looks like it checks out, but only at a 'fits the description of' kind of level."
"So Cook didn't kill Mandy?"
"I wouldn't be so sure," said Bain. He stopped outside the interview room. "The little fucker definitely did Mulgrew. Mandy is still open."
Cullen didn't want to press the point too much with Bain - he'd seen what happened when someone did - he needed to try a new tack. "Are you sure?" he asked.
"Aye, I am."
"We need to think this through," said Cullen. "Jamie Cook had been on an all day bender with very little sleep. Are you suggesting that he's capable of driving back to Garleton, killing Mulgrew and taking him to the Ponds?"
Bain rolled his shoulders. "He could have met Mulgrew there," he said. "Remember what Mulgrew said about this shack."
"That's not my point," said Cullen. "That's a lot of organisation for someone who'd been out on the lash all day."
"Has anyone asked about how pissed Cook was?" asked Bain.
Cullen nodded his head. "I have," he said. "Stevie Young reckons that it's possible that Cook wasn't drinking that much yesterday."
"You'll know as well as I do, Constable," said Bain, "that it's fairly easy to be on an all-dayer and not get totally blootered. A lager tops every couple of hours, pint of water at the bar. Easy. Remember, I've been undercover. When I was in Glasgow, I infiltrated a gang once. Took me eighteen months but I got my DS out of it. I learnt how to drink sensibly. Not like you last night with Tommy Smith's cheap whisky."
The more Cullen thought about it, the more plausible it felt. Cook was seventeen but he seemed old beyond his years. Perhaps he could have done it. They had Cook fingered for two murders. With the statement from the bus driver, it seemed to Cullen that Jamie Cook was innocent of Mandy's murder.
"Was there anyone else there?" asked Bain.
"Some boy called Spider," said Cullen. "Real name Simon Spink. We're trying to bring him in for questioning."
"Let me know how that goes," said Bain.
Cullen sighed. "I'll ask again," he said. "Do you think he's in the clear over Mandy Gibson?"