Devil in the Detail (Scott Cullen Mysteries) (27 page)

"Right," said Bain. He looked at Irvine. "Any sign of a murder weapon yet?"

"Well, Deeley is pretty sure that it's suffocation," said Irvine. "Same MO as Mandy."

"So a pillow, right?" asked Bain.

"Aye, so he said."

"And I take it we've not found a pillow out here?"

"No," said Irvine.

"Fine," said Bain.

"One other thing," said Irvine, holding up the Airwave. "Just had a call through from DC Murray. He's doing another door-to-door at the cottages. That Morag Tattersall's seen a car leaving last night."

"Has she, indeed?" said Bain, distracted. "She was the one that found Mandy, right?"

"Aye."

Bain looked at Cullen. "Right, Sundance, you're coming with me to speak to her."

*

Cullen and Bain stood while DC Murray read back Tattersall's statement. Also present in her living room was a uniform Cullen didn't recognise - a male officer of the frazzled and experienced variety. Next to Tattersall sat a woman Cullen took to be Tattersall's sister, introduced to them as Elizabeth McStay. She didn't look much like her sister in the face but had similar build.

"Let me read that back to you," said Murray, eyes wide open in the way they'd been trained, to instil trust. "You were taking the dogs out to the front garden last thing at night to go to the toilet. This was just before the News at Ten and you said earlier that you thought the clock read 9.57."

Tattersall nodded. "That's right."

Cullen saw Bain cross-check his wristwatch with the antique clock on the wall.

"You saw a car drive down the lane at speed," continued Murray. "It then turned right at the end towards North Berwick."

Tattersall nodded again.

"The description you gave was that it was a large, silver saloon," said Murray, "and a top of the range brand, like a Mercedes or a BMW, but you couldn't tell which. The car then sped off towards town."

"Yes."

"You mentioned this to my colleague, PC Barnes here," said Murray, pointing to the uniform, "when he came to your door at 10.50 this morning."

"Well, I didn't think anything of it at the time," said Tattersall, "so I didn't think to call you in. We get cars down that lane every so often."

"What sort?" he asked.

"Small ones, you know, the sort that kids have done up and made noisy."

Murray nodded. He was looking up at Bain, who Cullen thought was about to explode.

"Sir," said Cullen, "can we have a word outside?"

"Fine," said Bain.

Bain, Cullen and Murray went outside the cottage and stood in the front garden, two patches of grass a metre or so wide surrounded by rose beds.

"Why the fuck didn't she call this in?" asked Bain.

"This is a fairly standard occurrence around here, I'd have thought," said Cullen. "Fast car emerging from country lane."

"Aye, it's fine if it's some fuckin' neds, not some punter in a Merc."

"What about dogging?" asked Murray.

"Eh?" said Bain.

"It's a pretty good spot for some dogging," said Murray.
 

"Is it fuck," said Bain. "They do it in fuckin' car parks so that they can be watched."

"An expert, are you?" asked Murray, with a smirk.

Bain pointed a finger at Murray. "Watch it, Constable," he said. "I'll let you have one point and that it could be someone having an illicit rendezvous down that lane."

"Do you want to add this to our assumptions then?" asked Cullen. "This car is connected to Mulgrew's murder."

"You reckon?" asked Bain.

"It could be," said Cullen. He took out his notebook. "Just looking at the people we've interviewed, Charles Gibson has an Audi A6, William Thornton has a Mercedes and Robert Cook has a silver Lexus."

"Oh, for fuck sake," said Bain. "This is getting worse."

"Mr Gibson," said Bain, perching on the side of the sofa, "you need to tell us where you were last night."

They were in the Gibson living room - Charles Gibson was spinning some line about not having to tell them where he was at any given moment of the day after Bain had ascertained that he hadn't been in the house all night. Bain had been cagey about why they needed to know and hadn't let slip that Mulgrew was killed at that time, rather than earlier or later.

Gibson took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Okay," he said, after a few minutes' pause. "I was going to meet Seamus Mulgrew. I went to his cottage and he wasn't there."

"How long did you wait?" asked Bain.

Gibson shrugged. "Half an hour or so," he said. "I had to give up eventually." Tears welled in his eyes. "I now know the reason why Seamus didn't turn up."

"What was the purpose of this excursion?" asked Bain.

"Inspector, my daughter has been killed," said Gibson. "I was, and still am, deep in grief and I needed to speak to someone about it. I can't unload this level of angst on my wife, not the way that she's feeling. Seamus is my normal counsellor and I needed to unload on him. I can tell you it didn't help being alone in that car with my thoughts."

"What time would this be, then?" asked Bain.

"I left here about 8.45," said Gibson, "got back about 9.30 or so."

Cullen jotted it down - it tied in perfectly with the sighting at Balgone Ponds.

"Was this pre-arranged?" asked Bain.

"I'm sorry?"

"Had you arranged to see Father Mulgrew, or did you just turn up there on spec?"

Gibson nodded slowly. "We arranged it in the afternoon," he said. "He offered to counsel me."

"Can I ask why you didn't mention this earlier this morning?" asked Bain.

"Do I need to account for every moment of every day?" asked Gibson. "Am I under any suspicion for any crime that I need to be aware of? You told me earlier when you hauled me into the station that I wasn't under any suspicion."

"Why didn't you tell us about this arrangement when we were looking for Father Mulgrew last night?" asked Bain. "Or again this morning?"

Gibson loosened his collar. "I thought that Father Mulgrew would make himself known to you when he saw the time was right," he said.
 

"Mr Gibson, your friend was a suspect in a murder inquiry," said Bain. "I could have you done for withholding information, you know?"

"I'm sorry," said Gibson, looking down at his shoes.

"Thank you, Mr Gibson," said Bain. "We will be in touch."

Bain led Cullen outside to his car. Bain was marching quickly, muttering to himself. Cullen followed slowly, thinking through the tale Gibson had given. It was largely unverifiable.

"What do you reckon?" asked Bain once they were inside.

"The timeline works," said Cullen. "His alibi is uncheckable."

"Not quite uncheckable," said Bain. He pulled out his mobile and dialled a number. "Alan? It's Brian. Can you get Murray or the other one to go door-to-door round Mulgrew's house, see if there was a silver Audi parked outside last night? McLaren is it? Couldn't remember. Right, cheers. Let me know how he gets on. Bye."

"Good idea," said Cullen.

"I'm fuckin' full of them," said Bain, turning the key in the ignition. "Follow me and you'll start picking them up, Sundance."

*

William Thornton worked at Thornton & McCulloch, the local Accountant's firm on Barnes Castle Road, which ran from the North Berwick end of the High Street to East Linton. As before, Thornton repeatedly brought up his Partner status during the interview.

"Now, Mr Thornton," said Cullen, "we are investigating a sighting of a silver executive class saloon late last night near to where Seamus Mulgrew's body was found. We would like to understand your movements last night."

"I'm sorry?" he asked. "Are you considering me as a suspect in this?"

"If we were, you'd be in the station sitting next to your lawyer," said Bain.

"We need to keep an open mind regarding this case," said Cullen, "I'm sure that you can appreciate that. You have a connection with Seamus Mulgrew and you have a silver exec-class saloon. So can you please outline your movements last night?"

Thornton took a long, deep breath. "I was at home all night with my wife and son, Malcolm," he said. "We watched a film."

"Can I ask which one?" asked Bain.

"'Up in the Air' with George Clooney, if you must know," said Thornton.
 

"And you've got a receipt for this?" asked Bain.

"It was on Sky," said Thornton.

"What time?"

"It started at about half past eight, I think," said Thornton, "but we missed the first ten minutes or so."

"So you started watching it at quarter to nine?" asked Cullen.

"That would be correct, yes."

"And what did you do prior to that?"

"Is this really necessary?"

"Yes."

"I think we had dinner as a family," said Thornton. "I was meeting a client till the back of seven, so we didn't get a chance to sit down until half past."

"What was the name of the client?"

"It's a farmer just by Drem," said Thornton. "Name of William Miller."

"Okay, thanks for that, Mr Thornton," said Bain, in a condescending tone. "We may have to be in touch again about this."

"By all means," said Thornton.

Cullen and Bain quickly left the office.
 

There was a Gregg's across the road, just where Bain had parked the car. Cullen could easily predict what was going to happen.

"Where to next then, Sundance?"

"Robert Cook," said Cullen.

"Right," he said. "Where's that?"

"Next to the Gibson's."

"You're fuckin' kiddin' me," said Bain. "You've made us travel across town for no reason?"

"You chose to come here," said Cullen.

"Did I?" said Bain. "Well, now that we're here, I could do with something to eat."

Bain started off across the road towards the Gregg's.

*

Bain wiped the sausage roll crumbs from his moustache then took a big gulp of the stewed coffee. "Feel a bit more human now," he said.

They were in Bain's car, outside the Cook's house. They sat facing towards the Gibsons' - Cullen had been watching intently for movements while he ate a large white floury roll. He had flashbacks to a surveillance operation he had been involved in just before Christmas, he and Irvine stuck in his Golf for twelve hour shifts, parked outside a block of flats in Wester Hailes.

"Tell me about this Robert Cook then," said Bain.

Cullen gave him a potted history - Managing Director of his own locally-based procurement business, member of God's Rainbow and father of Jamie Cook. "The reason we're looking into him is that he drives a silver Lexus."

"Lexus, eh?" asked Bain. "One of them hybrid ones?"

"I didn't notice," said Cullen.

"Cullen, it's the details you've got to focus on in a case like this, okay?" said Bain.

"I'll try to be more attentive in future," said Cullen, looking out of the window.
 

"Just been thinking there, Sundance," said Bain. "This Cook guy, right, what if he was covering up for his son?"

"How do you mean?" asked Cullen, turning to face Bain.

"Well, there's a silver saloon spotted by the murder scene last night, right?" said Bain. "Gibson and Thornton seem to have alibis, leaving us with Cook. Assuming that we don't have a mole inside then we know that someone was involved with both killings, right?"

"Okay," said Cullen, slowly.

"Well, this Jamie Cook - who we still can't fuckin' find - seems to be up to his conkers in this case." Bain finished his coffee. "What if it is Jamie Cook that's involved in both killings but his old man's helped him kill Mulgrew?"

Cullen thought that was quite possible yet ridiculously far-fetched at the same time. He began to worry they were extending matters a stretch too far and their assumptions would break any moment.

"You could have something there," said Cullen.
 

"I fuckin' do," said Bain.

Cullen finished his own coffee. His hangover was a distant memory, but he had bought a big bottle of water in case it made a sudden reappearance. "Shall we go inside then?" he asked.

"Aye, give us a minute." said Bain. He let out a burp. "Just waiting for that."

They got out of the Mondeo and walked up the drive to the front door. Bain rang the bell, holding it down for longer than might have been appropriate. A figure eventually appeared and opened the door. Wilma Cook. She scowled at Cullen. She pulled the door to behind her and stood on the top step, hand on her hip.

"Can you just leave us alone?" she said. "We've been helping your colleague trying to find our son. What else do you want?"

"This is a separate matter," said Cullen. "We're looking for your husband."

"My husband?" she asked, frowning. "Why?"

"It's related to the death of Seamus Mulgrew," said Cullen.

Wilma Cook nodded slowly. "Seamus?" she said.
 

"Can we speak to him?"

"We are struggling to come to terms with the loss."

"I'm sure you are," said Bain. "Can we speak to your husband?"

She glared at him. "I'm afraid my husband is in Edinburgh today on business."

"Okay, can you give me a mobile number?" asked Cullen, regretting not making a note before.

"Robert will be in meetings all day," she said.

"I'm sure that he can make time for the police," said Bain.

"I see," she said. "Very well." She gave them her husband's number. "Now, is there anything else?"

"Just let us know when your son turns up," said Bain.

She didn't say anything as she shut the door behind her.

"Pleasant woman," said Bain, as they walked back up the drive, past the Volvo SUV Cullen had noticed the other day.

Bain pulled his mobile out and started dialling. "Mr Cook, this is DI Brian Bain of Lothian & Borders Police Service," he said. "I appreciate you're busy, but this is an important matter. No, I understand. No, this isn't in relation to your son."

Cullen turned and looked back down the drive. He frowned - something wasn't right. He looked through his notebook, back to the notes he'd taken the previous afternoon. He'd noted down both the brown Volvo and the now absent silver Lexus but he'd also noted a modded Renault Clio, Jamie Cook's car.