Bottleneck (27 page)

"To kill MacLeod." Cullen pointed a finger at her. "Not Strang." He took a drink of coffee. "Sadly, Matt MacLeod is still alive."

"Whatever." Michelle checked her watch. "I need to run, I'm afraid. This has been good. We should do it again soon."

"Agreed." Cullen drained his mug.

"Maybe next time you could just want to see me rather than need help with a case, though, right?" said Michelle.

"I'll try."

Cullen lurched back into Leith Walk station just after noon, heading straight to the canteen. He managed to avoid speaking to anyone while he devoured an unsatisfying chicken salad sandwich.

He returned to the Incident Room to catch up on progress. Only Chantal was there.

"How's it going?" said Cullen.

Chantal tugged at her sleeves. "Not great. Rarity has just had us tidying up paperwork."

"Exciting."

"Heard you had an eventful morning," said Chantal.

"The drugs raid?" said Cullen. "We got a good haul. Hope they get a conviction."

"I meant telling Bain to go fuck himself."

"Oh," said Cullen. "Never ceases to amaze me how fast bad news spreads. Combining the forces seems to have multiplied the bloody jungle drums."

Chantal laughed.

"How did you find out?" said Cullen.

"It won't surprise you to learn your former master has been on the phone to Cargill, Turnbull and anyone who'll listen to him. He wants you on a disciplinary."

Cullen rubbed his eyes. "Even if it was true, how could Bain have the balls to do someone over some pretty light swearing given the continual barrage of fucks coming from his mouth?"

"What about your lack of respect for authority?"

Cullen shrugged. "I'm not that bad, am I?"

"I'm surprised he's never hauled you over the coals before."

"There were no witnesses," said Cullen.

"So you did do it?"

"No."

Chantal raised an eyebrow. "Some DS through there is backing Bain up."

"McCrea." Cullen punched the back of the office chair he was leaning against. "He wasn't even
there
."

Chantal laughed. "You don't half make it difficult for yourself sometimes. Cargill has been trying to call you all morning."

"My phone ran out of battery."

"You'd better charge it, then," said Chantal.

Cullen followed through on his lie, finding a vacant desktop computer and plugging in his phone. "What did Ailsa McHardy have to say?"

"You're not running this case any longer, Cullen."

He clenched his fists. What was it with female DCs thinking he was either coming on to them or on some power trip? "Relax. I just want to know whether Strang was at it with Johnson's girlfriend."

"Do you need to know?"

"Yes!" He was close to losing it with her. "Look, what's your problem here?"

"Is there a problem?"

"You're giving me the same sort of attitude I got from Caldwell," said Cullen. "I've not done anything that bad, have I?"

Chantal evaded his look. "I suppose not."

"What did she say?"

"They slept together," said Chantal. "Just the once."

Cullen nodded slowly. "So, our single lead from the record shop has split in two. Strang tried it on with both Hughes' and Johnson's girlfriends?"

"Looks that way."

"When was this?" said Cullen.

"Two weeks before he disappeared," said Chantal. "She was totally torn up by it. Her guilt made her break up with Johnson."

"And well she might."

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Chantal.

"Never mind." Cullen thought of his own attitude to being cuckolded. He got up and headed for the stairs.

"Where are you going?" said Chantal.

"I'm going to see a man about a laptop," said Cullen. "While I still have a job."

The Forensic Investigation Unit seemed filled with hordes of the undead, their skin pallid from lack of natural sunlight. At one o'clock in the afternoon, every curtain was drawn.

Charlie Kidd's desk was about halfway down. He now faced towards the stairwell, better able to watch for the likes of Cullen marching over to chase him up. As he looked up, his breezy expression dipped.

"That's no way to greet an old friend," said Cullen.

Kidd nervously tossed his ponytail. "How can I help, officer?"

"I brought in a laptop from James Strang's parents' house," said Cullen. "Just wondering how the investigation is going?"

"Slowly." Kidd gritted his teeth. "Systems are being integrated across the force and it's going badly. I've been pulled into fixing it, despite the fact I'm supposed to be an investigative resource."

"That's not good," said Cullen. "Do you need me to escalate it?"

"Should be fine, Dad."

Cullen laughed. "Did you get a chance to look at the laptop?"

Kidd nodded. "Aye, I did. I found the email from Strang to Mark Andrews you were after. The boy sent a couple of others that day, all with similar wording." He handed Cullen a few sheets of print.

Cullen flicked through them, finding the same poem repeated. "Did you get anything else?"

"Not yet. Doubt I'll get much else out of it, to be honest."

Cullen got up and headed downstairs to look through the emails in more detail. The Incident Room was mercifully empty by the time he got there. He put his headphones on and listened to music as he read.

They were as Kidd said and broadly similar to the mail Strang sent to Andrews, though some paragraphs were rearranged and the wording slightly different. The second last contained a few typos and, curiously, many instances of the = symbol. The last one, sent an hour later, was much worse.

m=m=Mq=attt=e Bls=ack wq=alll=s

Black Mattt=t= = = == =str=eak=ls tu=to=ime

Cullen frowned - he'd seen that sort of thing before, but couldn't remember where.

He knew what it was
supposed
to be -
Matte Black walls, Black Matt steals time
.

Where had he seen writing like that? It dawned on him - in his dark days as a student, he went through a phase of going to the computer lab after he'd been out getting wrecked and sending emails only his drunk self could comprehend. They were filled with ='s.

The = key was next to the backspace on a computer keyboard. His alcoholically-impaired motor skills constantly hit the wrong keys.

Strang must have been drinking heavily when he'd sent the emails, starting out fairly coherent but ending up a trail of gibberish. Andrews was third on the list and received one of the more sober emails.

Black Matt steals time

Cullen hadn't received an update on Matt MacLeod, so he called Guthrie.

"How's it going?" said Guthrie.

"Good."

"Heard you've been a naughty boy in Glasgow."

"Fuck's sake," said Cullen. "How does everybody know about that?"

"It's amazing, isn't it?"

"Nothing happened," said Cullen. "I told my DCI to fix it, that's all."

"A likely tale, Skinky." Guthrie laughed. "Anyway, how can I help?"

"How's the MacLeod surveillance going?"

"Speak to your DS, Skinky."

"Come on, Goth."

"All right," said Guthrie. "We've had two skulls on him at all times. He stayed at his parents' house pretty much for the duration. Went to the Co-op a couple of times, once in his car, once on foot. His parents came back from work last night then he drove through to Edinburgh at the back of eight."

Cullen sat forward. "Last night?"

"I told your DS," said Guthrie. "Rarity, is it?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was knackered, mate," said Guthrie. "I was told to report to Rarity, she's the one who requisitioned it."

"I told you to call me."

"Yeah, sorry," said Guthrie. "You'll forgive me eventually."

"Cheers." Cullen stabbed his finger on the screen and ended the call.

He got up and hunted down Rarity, finding her drinking a cup of tea in the canteen, staring into her phone.

"What's going on with the surveillance?" said Cullen.

Rarity looked him up and down. "Nice to see you, too, Constable. I'm on my break, can't it wait?"

"No. I need to get an update on the Matt MacLeod surveillance."

Rarity dropped her phone on the table. "He returned to Edinburgh last night. We've got two men outside an address in Gorgie."

"Why wasn't I told?"

"Did you need to be told?"

"You should keep me in the loop at least," said Cullen, "especially when I've been in Glasgow."

"Fine," said Rarity. "DCI Cargill has been looking for you, by the way."

"I spoke to her earlier. I just got back from Glasgow."

"I gather you've been up to your usual high jinks."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind," she said. "Why the sudden interest in MacLeod?"

Cullen showed her the emails. "I think he might be our man."

"You've shown me these before," said Rarity. "This isn't evidence."

"He knew Strang a lot better than we thought," said Cullen. "At school, they both played in bands and Strang's supported MacLeod's once. They knew each other pretty well." He paused for breath. "I'd like to bring him in again."

"You've already spoken to him."

"I'd like another shot," said Cullen. "If he's done nothing, then he'll clear himself and we can let him go and stop the surveillance."

Rarity tapped her fingers for a few seconds. "Fine."

Cullen didn't know the two officers on surveillance duties, figuring they must have been St Leonard's or Torphichen Street boys. They sat in an unmarked Astra on a street just behind Tynecastle, the home of Hearts, who looked like they were going to follow Rangers down the toilet of liquidation.

He rapped on the window and got in the back seat.

"It's Cullen, isn't it?" said the first of the two. Ginger hair and stubble.

"It is."

"Heard you told Bain to go fuck himself," said the other, a dark-haired skinhead. "That true?"

"No comment," said Cullen.

"Good on you, mate," said the first one.

Ginger held out his hand. "DC Edwards, by the way."

"DC McKeown," said the skinhead.

Cullen reluctantly shook both hands, not liking how his reputation was preceding him. Previously, he wouldn't give a fuck about that sort of thing, but these days it was different. Aiming to be a DS, he needed to command a bit more respect.
Some
respect would be a start.

"Is MacLeod still inside?" said Cullen.

"He is," said McKeown. "We've been sat here since seven this morning. We relieved a couple of boys from Leith Walk who were here from ten last night." He checked his watch. "Should be knocking off in a few hours, but this is approved overtime so I'm not turning that down in a hurry."

"I want to bring him into the station," said Cullen.

McKeown looked disappointed. "So why is he under surveillance, then?"

"To make sure he didn't piss off," said Cullen. "I'm starting to get a better picture of how he fits into the case."

"Right."

"One of you stay outside," said Cullen, "one come up with me."

"Fine," said McKeown.

Cullen led them across the road, lined with tiny front gardens, at best a metre wide. The stair door was open, the intercom lying on the patch of weeds outside the ground floor flat.

Cullen nodded at Edwards. "You stay here."

They jogged up the stairs, heading to MacLeod's flat on the top floor. Cullen knocked on the door. "Mr MacLeod, it's the police."

MacLeod opened it. He stood in his dressing gown, looking tired. He blinked. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I need to ask you a few questions," said Cullen.

"You've had your go at me, Skinky. Try someone else from school."

McKeown frowned at Cullen.

Cullen struggled to keep it formal and professional. "We need to ask you some further questions, Mr MacLeod."

MacLeod stared at him for a few seconds. "In you come, then."

Cullen glared at him. "Down the station."

"Mind if I get dressed, then?"

"Be my guest."

MacLeod went inside.

"Charming," said McKeown.

"Tell me about it," said Cullen.

"You two got previous?"

"In a manner of speaking," said Cullen. "Can you and Edwards take him in your car? I'll meet you down at Leith Walk."

"Sure thing."

The door bundled open again. MacLeod wore jeans and a shirt, carrying a navy coat with him. He locked his flat door behind him.

"I'm ready for my interrogation, boys."

Cullen and Buxton sat in the interview room, the PCSO standing guard by the door. MacLeod had dragged things out, making them wait for his lawyer to turn up.

Cullen didn't particularly like MacLeod - quite the opposite in fact - but he was only under suspicion and not under arrest yet. The flicker of possibility of being a suspect meant everything had to be done by the book.

"Mr MacLeod," said Cullen, "can you confirm the reason you returned to Edinburgh last night?"

"My flat was ready for me to move back in. That's why."

"Nothing to do with the coast being clear?" said Cullen.

MacLeod sat back and folded his arms. "No comment."

"Can you confirm for the record you were acquainted with a James Strang?" said Buxton.

"No comment."

"Mr Strang went to school with you in Dalhousie," said Buxton.

"No comment."

"Mr Strang was three years below you."

"No comment."

That had become a common tactic in Scotland since a famous case made it mandatory for a lawyer to be in attendance. Gone were the days of getting the suspect alone to slip up on the record before legal counsel was involved.

Cullen lost his patience. "Mr MacLeod," he said, struggling to keep his voice level, "we have you on record in a previous interview discussing Mr Strang's whereabouts, so please cease the no comment."

MacLeod looked at his lawyer, who nodded. "Fine, I knew him."

"It would appear Mr Strang died in horrific circumstances," said Cullen. "We believe he was stabbed with a screwdriver and left to bleed out."