Bottleneck (7 page)

"Would you have a list of employees from the time?" said Cullen.

"I might have something somewhere," said Beth, exhaling. "The assets were liquidated and I took some of the paperwork. I'll have a look and see what I can dig out."

"That would be excellent," said Buxton.

"One thing you could also help us with," said Cullen, "is we're struggling to get hold of Alex Hughes."

Beth gave a slight grimace. "He can be evasive at the best of times. Nothing malicious, of course, just never the most reliable. He's a very good guitarist, but incredibly flaky. That was how Jimi described him."

"Do you have a number for him?" said Buxton.

"I do," said Beth, before fiddling with the giant Samsung in front of her. She read out a number.

Buxton grimaced. "That's the one we've got."

"Well, if I hear anything from him," said Beth, "I'll let you know."

Cullen pulled into Broughty Terrace, one of Dalhousie's better streets, and turned off the engine. His parents lived two blocks over and he could still remember running down the pavement as a small boy, then using it as a shortcut home from high school as a teenager.

The Strang house was an old cottage three quarters of the way along, set back from the road. Much of the front garden was tarmaced over and turned into a drive, with a silver Ford Focus on the left, the right reserved for another car.

"You know these people?" said Buxton.

Cullen shook his head. "No. It's a big place. Second biggest town in Angus after Arbroath."

Buxton laughed. "That's a fantastic accolade. Doesn't seem too bad, though."

Cullen nodded. "Most professionals in Dundee will live here, Perth, Broughty Ferry or Carnoustie. This is furthest away, but that tends to bring different people. You can get into Dundee in forty minutes."

"Not bad," said Buxton.

"This isn't London, though," said Cullen. "Most people can afford to live round the corner from their office. That's a long commute in these parts."

A car parked behind them.

Cullen turned around. "That'll be the Family Liaison Officer."

"We're going to look a right bunch of muppets getting an FLO in if it's not definitely him," said Buxton.

"It is him," said Cullen. "I know it."

"Feel it in your water, can you?" said Buxton.

Cullen laughed. "You okay to lead? Good experience and all that."

"Trust me," said Buxton, "I've had more than my fair share of going into people's houses and telling them their son's dead."

They waited outside the car for the FLO, before getting the introductions out of the way quickly. PC Iain Taggart spoke with a broad Dundonian accent, all eh's and ken's. Cullen avoided joking about his surname, but he suspected not many of his colleagues would.

Taggart led them up the drive before knocking on the front door, a uPVC replacement matching the windows. He took off his hat and clutched it to his chest.

A woman in her early fifties answered, frowning. Taggart held up his warrant card. "Norma Strang?"

She nodded, her brow furrowing further. "Yes. Can I help?"

"My name is PC Iain Taggart. This is DC Simon Buxton and DS Scott Cullen. We'd like to speak to you about your son."

"I see," said Norma, running a hand through her greying hair. "You'd better come in."

They went inside leaving Buxton and Cullen to fight over who entered first, with Buxton just managing to sneak ahead. They were led into a room at the back, the bulk of one wall given over to a monstrous conservatory half filling the back garden.

"I would take you into the orangery," said Norma, "but it's far too cold at this time of year."

Cullen and Buxton sat on the settee, while Norma settled on an armchair opposite. Taggart opted to stand, leaning against the fireplace.

"How can I help?" said Norma.

Taggart seized the initiative. "Is your husband around?"

"George is at work," said Norma. "He should be back in the next hour or so, depending on how many meetings he had today."

"We're afraid we believe we have found the body of your son, James," said Taggart.

"I see," said Norma, flinching slightly. "Can I ask where?"

Taggart gestured for Cullen or Buxton to continue.

Buxton cleared his throat. "We found him in Edinburgh. Near the rehearsal rooms his band used to practise in."

"And you're sure it's him?" said Norma.

Buxton nodded. "The body matches the description of your son on the night he was last seen. We are in the process of performing secondary checks, but we have a high degree of certainty."

Tears filled Norma's eyes as she bit her lip. "I knew this day would eventually come. I kept telling George he wasn't alive, but he wouldn't listen."

She took a paper tissue from the sleeve of her cardigan and dabbed her eyes, the emotion passing. "How did he die?"

Cullen nodded. "We believe he was murdered."

"Oh, sweet Jesus," said Norma. "How?"

"A screwdriver was found with the body," said Cullen. "Tests will prove whether or not it was used to kill James."

"Can I see him?"

"I'm afraid that's not to be advised," said Cullen. "The body is in an advanced state of decomposition."

"Oh dear God," said Norma, running her hand through her hair again, leaving strands sticking up. "I won't even be able to have an open casket funeral."

"This is a murder inquiry until proved otherwise," said Buxton. "We have to investigate all potential leads or suspects."

Norma nodded slowly. "I see. I want to help."

"Can you think of anyone at all who may have wished to harm James?" said Buxton.

Norma shook her head. "We went through this with the police before. James was a lovely laddie. Very warm, very popular, lots of friends. He just lived for his music."

"Please, tell us about it," said Buxton.

"He was always playing that guitar," said Norma. "He did it at the school and we got him his first proper guitar at thirteen. He would spend hours at it. It used to be a right bugger to get him to do his homework. In the end, he did well enough to get into Edinburgh. That was James all right, capable of focusing at just the right time."

"What did he study there?" said Buxton.

"Chemical Engineering," said Norma.

"What about friends?" said Buxton.

"He was always with his band," said Norma. "Not too many people left in the town that he was friends with. He cut himself off from them over time. They all just drifted apart."

"Why was that?" said Cullen.

"You should know," said Norma. "You're the same."

"I'm sorry?"

"You're a Dalhousie laddie, aren't you?" said Norma. "I very much doubt you've looked back since you moved away."

Cullen couldn't remember the woman. "I suppose not. Was there any specific reason he left?"

Norma seemed to think it through, then slowly shook her head. "Just liked his Edinburgh life more. He was much more at home there."

"Was there anyone your son fell out with in Dalhousie?" said Buxton.

"James was bullied at school a bit," said Norma. "He was a very sensitive flower, just liked his books and playing his guitar. He was never one for sport. He really came into his own when he moved through to Edinburgh."

"Can I ask what you thought happened to James?" said Buxton.

"As I said, he was very good at cutting himself off from people if he'd had enough of them," said Norma. "He hadn't been home in months when he was reported missing. We'd not had a row as such, but we hadn't spoken to him on the phone for a couple of weeks."

"He was reported missing by Alex Hughes, who we understand was in his band," said Cullen.

Norma smiled. "Ah, Alex. He's a lovely laddie. He was very pally with James. He was sure something had happened to him. He used to call me up and talk about my boy."

"We're struggling to get hold of Alex," said Cullen. "Do you have any contact details for him?"

Norma gave them a mobile number.

"Can I ask what happened to James's possessions?" said Cullen. "Guitars, CDs, computers, that sort of thing?"

"Most of his stuff was in Edinburgh," she said. "The police went through it all at the time. They gave it back after a couple of weeks."

"Do you still have it?" said Cullen.

Norma nodded. "I'm afraid I've turned his old bedroom into a bit of a shrine. It's exactly the same as when he left."

Cullen heard the front door open. A male voice called from the other side of the house. "I'm home!"

Norma looked concerned. "That's my George."

Taggart sprang into action. "Mrs Strang, if I may suggest you and I help your husband come to terms with the news, while my colleagues take a look at your son's bedroom?"

"That's a good idea." Norma looked Cullen up and down. "I know precisely everything that's in there. It's the first left at the top of the stairs."

Cullen and Buxton entered the hall and started climbing the steps, watching Norma and Taggart head off her husband.

"Has something happened?" said George Strang.

Cullen's heart sank when he watched the man's face lose all colour, his eyes darting to Taggart and both of them on the staircase.

James Strang's bedroom was like most teenagers of a certain era, even though he was twenty-six when he died. The walls were covered in music posters - Jeff Buckley, The Stooges, Muse and the classic, doe-eyed, black-and-white Kurt Cobain shot. He noticed a strange one by the window, some guy wearing a t-shirt that said
'Who the fuck is Mick Jagger?'
.

Beside the single bed was a large Marshall stack, mostly black with gold controls, a blue Fender guitar sitting on a stand in front of it.

"I always wanted a Telecaster," said Buxton. "That is a beautiful guitar."

"Thought you played bass?" said Cullen.

Buxton shrugged. "I can play guitar as well."

"Were you like this when you were a rock star?" said Cullen.

"All the posters and stuff?" said Buxton.

"Aye."

Buxton shook his head. "Lived with my bird, didn't I? We had a few pictures from IKEA and Habitat, that was it."

Opposite the amp stood a large CD rack, a stack of LPs resting on top. Cullen looked through, surprised someone younger than him wasn't purely into iPods and MP3s. The records were similar to the posters on the wall, plus a few others Cullen knew better - Massive Attack, Portishead, Underworld - as well as some he couldn't stand or didn't know - Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, The Beatles, Scott Walker, Neil Young.

"This boy must have been gay," said Buxton.

"How do you mean?" said Cullen.

"The posters are all blokes," said Buxton. "He was in his twenties, prime of his life and he didn't have a single picture of a bird up."

"He wasn't."

They looked over at the door - Norma Strang stood there, hands on hips.

Cullen shot a look at Buxton. "I'm sorry. DC Buxton shouldn't have said that."

"It's fine," said Norma.

"How is your husband?" said Cullen.

"Your colleague is helping him. I was just getting in the way." She sat on the bed and inspected her nails. "I often wondered the same thing about my son, of course, but he had a couple of girlfriends I knew about."

"Were any serious?" said Cullen.

"Nobody serious enough to bring home and introduce to us."

"What about not serious?" said Cullen.

Norma smiled. "There was someone he was interested in. I think her name was Jane or Jan or something."

Cullen noted it down before taking a good look at the room. "Are these all the possessions he had with him in Edinburgh?"

"Yes," said Norma. "There were a few things he'd left here, some of his more embarrassing CDs I think. They're up in the loft."

Cullen nodded, surprised how calm the woman was, but then again she was an Angus wifie. They built them differently up here - his own mother would be the same if anything happened to him or Michelle. "Did James keep a journal?"

"Not that I know of," said Norma, shaking her head. "The police weren't able to get much off his laptop."

Cullen noticed the machine on the desk, quite a dated model, blacks and reds compared with the silver sheen of the one Sharon had just bought.

"I'd like to take this in as evidence," said Cullen, knowing it would mean a trip to Charlie Kidd, their Forensic IT Analyst.

"That's fine," said Norma. "If it will help you."

As Cullen hefted the laptop - heavier than he first thought - he noticed a cache of unmarked CDs at the back of the desk. He put the laptop down and inspected them - they appeared to be The Invisibles CDs. He realised they knew next to nothing about the band, what they sounded like, other than what David Johnson and Beth Williamson had told them. "Can I take a copy of the CDs?"

"Take those," said Norma. "George put them on his computer a long time ago."

"I think that's probably all from us just now," said Cullen, handing her a card. "In case there's anything else, please give me a call in the first instance."

"I will do," said Norma.

"We'll leave you in the capable hands of PC Taggart," said Cullen.

They crept down the stairs, leaving Norma Strang in her son's bedroom staring into space.

Out on the street, Cullen dialled the new Alex Hughes number. It rang for a while, not even going to voicemail. He pocketed his phone.

"Sorry for getting caught talking about her son like that," said Buxton.

"She didn't seem to mind," said Cullen. "I wouldn't make a habit of it, though."

"I'm not a homophobe, mate. It was a genuine question."

"Okay." Cullen pointed back at the house. "What do you think of him?"

"Seen his type a lot in the music scene," said Buxton. "Introverted guy, plays his guitar, listens to loud music, then becomes a rock star when he's pissed on stage."

"Guess so," said Cullen, leaning back against his car. "We've got no suspects and we still can't get hold of Alex Hughes."

"Reckon he's one?" said Buxton.

"Why call it in if you'd killed someone?" said Cullen.

Buxton shrugged. "Good point. What are we doing now?"