Devil in the Detail (Scott Cullen Mysteries) (31 page)

"Has Mr Young been in today?"

Nicholson looked up. "Aye, he has," he said.
 

"Is he likely to come back?" asked Cullen.

Nicholson shrugged his shoulders. "You're asking the wrong man," he said.

"Did you say you'd put in a complaint?" asked Cullen.

Nicholson nodded. "They had a party on Sunday night," he said. "That was when I called the police. It can get awfy wild with Steven and his pals. The little buggers were back at it again last night. I didn't bother phoning you lot again."

"When did they leave?"

"They cleared off this afternoon, just after 'Neighbours'," said Nicholson. "I saw a car shoot off just after they left."

Cullen held up the photo of Jamie Cook. "Do you recognise him?"

Nicholson screwed his eyes up. "Seen him a few times," he said. "Couldn't tell you if he was here or not, though."

Cullen couldn't decide if that was good or bad. "Do you have any idea where he might have gone?" he asked.

Nicholson shook his head. "No, but I'm just glad that the little bastards aren't here."

"This is getting beyond the fuckin' joke," shouted Bain.
 

He punched the whiteboard. It rolled back and crumpled against the wall, the aluminium frame folding in on itself.

Cullen and Irvine had returned to the Incident room, Cullen travelling with Murray so as to avoid another confrontation with Irvine. Everyone was keeping their distance from Bain, who stood with his fists clenched.

"It shows us exactly how DS Lamb hasn't managed to find him so far," said Cullen.

"You fuckin' what?" shouted Bain.
 

"Jamie Cook doesn't want to be found," said Cullen, trying to remain calm despite his racing pulse. "We've checked out countless known acquaintances. DS Irvine and I have interviewed three of his closest friends, one of whom is his ex-girlfriend."

"So how the fuck is he avoiding us?" asked Bain.

"He could be dead," said Cullen.

"What?"

"Jamie Cook could be dead," repeated Cullen. "Mulgrew has been found dead. What's to say Jamie Cook hasn't been killed?"

Bain glared at him, clearly lost for words.

"Scott might have a point, gaffer," said Irvine. "We're tryin' hard to find him, and he's nowhere. Nobody knows where he's gone."

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

Cullen took a deep breath. "The only other thing that I can think of is chaos."

"Chaos?" shouted Bain. "Cullen, this isn't 'Jurassic fuckin' Park', all right? You don't fuckin' come in here going on about chaos."

"I'm serious," said Cullen. "He's not someone who seems to follow patterns. Therefore it's difficult to get a hold of him."

Bain glared at him for a few seconds. "That's an interesting way of lookin' at it, Cullen," he said, his voice almost a hiss. "The other possibility, something not quite as science fuckin' fiction, is that the little bastard is on the run, having killed two people."

Cullen shrugged. "I'll give you that," he said. "But if that was the case, he'd most likely be lying low somewhere that we'd be able to find him."

"Cullen," said Bain, "the boy is out there, believe you me. And we will fuckin' find him."

Cullen swallowed hard. He was developing a thick skin when it came to the constant verbal barrage from Bain so he held firm, knowing that he had a point. Jamie Cook was not following patterns. Everything in Cook's life indicated that he was a drifter. Cullen knew the type from school - guys who were reasonably bright buying into that whole slacker thing, preferring sitting around people's bedrooms and garages smoking joints and listening to music to making any effort to do well. Cullen wasn't the most academic of people but he had pushed himself towards University. Although he had dropped out, albeit with an Ordinary degree, he had pushed himself to achieve his goal - joining the police. He took on a shite job in an office and trained hard to pass the physical exams.

"Guess we'd better tell you about the rape, eh?" said Irvine.

Bain's eyes bulged. "What?"

"Turns out this Cook was charged with raping some wee lassie in Dunbar," said Irvine.

Bain turned to stare at Murray. "Why the fuck don't we have his on record?" he shouted.

"I don't know," said Murray. "First I've heard about it."

"It's because it wasn't ever on the record," said Cullen, trying to distract Bain. "We don't even know that she was technically raped. The girl herself was beating herself up about consent. Her Dad is a cop. He works out of Dunbar, PC Alex Platt. He got her to accuse Cook, they brought him in, beat the shit out of him and then let him go. She dropped the charges and it doesn't look like they've formally filed the paperwork - it might have been lost."

Bain stared at Irvine. "This right?"

"More or less," said Irvine.

"So I've got to get the fucking Complaints in here," said Bain, "and point them at Dunbar?"

"That's an option," said Irvine.

Cullen considered suggesting that it might give Bain some brownie points, but decided he didn't want to be a substitute for the whiteboard.

"Right," said Bain, "I'll get someone lookin' into this."

"How's Caldwell getting on?" asked Cullen.

Bain scowled at him, surprised at the curve ball from Cullen. "Eh?"

"Well, we've been looking for Jamie Cook locally," said Cullen. "Now that we know that he has his car, have we managed to track it down?"

Bain closed his eyes, trying to focus himself. He reopened them and stared directly at Cullen. "Yes, she has called in," he said. "It turns out that the car got on the A1 at Haddington and left at the exit for Tranent."

"When?"

"Eleven fifty-eight," said Bain.
 

"We missed him by four hours," said Cullen.

"Fuckin' good one, boys," said Bain, looking around the room, lingering on Murray in Lamb's absence.

"Has it reappeared anywhere else?" asked Cullen.

"No, it hasn't," said Bain. He looked at Irvine. "You were out at Tranent, weren't you?"

"We were, gaffer, aye," said Irvine.

"And there was no sign of him?"

"None," said Irvine. "We spoke to six people, none of them had seen him."

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," shouted Bain. "Did you check the houses yourselves?"

"Of course we did," said Cullen. "I went through every room in every house we went to." He was slightly worried that Bain pushed him into lying - he hadn't checked Alan McArthur's mother's house.

"For fuck's sake," said Bain. "You obviously weren't thorough enough." Bain pinched the bridge of his nose then exhaled deeply through his nostrils. "Right, Irvine, I want you back in Tranent. Go back through those leads you had, somebody must know where the little toe rag is."

"Sure thing," said Irvine.

"I want someone staking out that Steven Young's flat," said Bain, looking at Cullen. "Can you do it?"

"I could," said Cullen, "but there are a few other leads that I could be following up."

"Like what?"

"There are a few kids from school that I'd like to speak to, see if they know anything about Jamie," he said. "I get the impression that Jamie Cook is a bit of a bragger. It stands to reason that he's let slip a bit too much. I could do with DC Murray's local knowledge."

"Fine," said Bain, "if it keeps you out of my fuckin' hair." He looked at Murray. "Any idea where your buddy is?"

"Lamb?"

"No, you fuckin' tube!" shouted Bain. "McLean, McLaren, whatever his name is."

"DC Ewan McLaren is with Lamb, sir," said Murray.
 

Cullen suppressed a smile.

"Right," said Bain, "I'll get him to do the stakeout." He looked at PC Watson. "Watson, can you go and fetch?"

Watson nodded. "Will do, sir."

Bain rubbed at his moustache. "Right, let's get out there and find this little bastard."

*

Cullen and Murray were driving to the Russells' house to speak to Susan, Mandy's friend. Cullen noticed when he reassembled the whiteboard after Bain's assault that Susan hadn't yet been interviewed. In the back of his mind, he supposed he should have spoken to her, but he had been diverted by the day's chaos.

"You managed to handle Bain well," said Cullen.

Murray shrugged. "I've seen his sort before," he said. "Had a murder out here two years ago, some big shot from Edinburgh, DI Davenport, came out swinging his dick around. It was Bill Lamb that caught the guy in the end."

Cullen had worked for Ally Davenport at St Leonards. While he wasn't exactly high up the Bain scale, Cullen certainly recognised the behaviours.

"You're not exactly succeeding where Bill failed, are you?" said Murray.

"What?" asked Cullen.

"Well, Bain's got his big city dream team - you and Irvine - out looking for Jamie Cook," said Murray. "You've not found him and he's split you up already."

"Aye, well," said Cullen, not wanting to labour the point too much.
 

He regretted grabbing Irvine by the throat earlier - Alan Irvine wasn't the kind to roll with the punches. Cullen knew that when they had travelled back to Garleton separately, Irvine would have been on the phone to Bain or Turnbull, grassing. The only thing in Cullen's favour was the absence of any witnesses. His biggest frustration was that he most likely would not have frightened Irvine into shutting up. Cullen half-expected more nonsense to follow.
 

"Have you ever had any dealings with Jamie Cook?" asked Cullen.

"Just when he left school," said Murray. "The Head Teacher had a mid-range Mercedes. On the last day of term, someone bent the logo thing off the front. We thought it was a drunk sixth year, turned out it was Jamie Cook."

Cullen wondered how many other stories of petty vandalism involved Jamie Cook. "Seems like a proper tearaway."

"Tell me about it," said Murray.

They sat in silence as Murray drove. They passed the turning for the Cooks and Gibsons, heading towards the crossroads for Haddington Road. They turned into Aberlady Lane, lined with bare fruit trees, and pulled up in front of the Russells' house. They left the car and walked to the front of the house.
 

Murray knocked on the door. No answer. Cullen peered in the living room window - it looked empty.

"Doesn't look like there's anyone in," he said.

Cullen flipped the letterbox open. "Susan," he called, "it's the police."

No answer.

Murray kneeled down and looked through the letterbox, something Cullen wouldn't have tried, after some experiences in West Lothian. He'd seen no end of tricks relating to a letterbox - smearing it with dog shit, poking a pool cue into a peering eye.

"There's movement," said Murray, turning to Cullen. "Slow and steady but definitely someone moving about." He peered back through. "I can see you," he called.

"Who is it?" called back a voice, high-pitched. He could see someone now in the gloom.

"It's the police."

The body came closer - Cullen could see her through the glass in the door. It was a teenage girl, overweight, and with pigtails.

"How do I know it is the police?" she asked. Her face was right by the letterbox.

Murray held up his warrant card to the letterbox. "DC Stuart Murray of Lothian & Borders CID."

"What's CID stand for?" she asked.
 

"Criminal Investigation Department," he said.

"Okay."

"Can you let us in?" he asked.

"No."

"Is your name Susan?"

"Yes."

"Where are your parents, Susan?"

"They've gone out," she said. "There's a vigil for Father Mulgrew."

Cullen looked at his watch - it was quarter past four. "Why aren't you with them?" he asked.

"I've got homework to do," she said.

"Okay," said Murray, his eyes warning Cullen to back off. "Can you let us in?"

"My parents told me not to let anyone in."

"Susan, they would get very angry if they found out you hadn't let the police in."

"They'd get angry anyway."

"Susan, we've got a couple of questions to ask about your pal Mandy," said Murray. "I'd rather do it not through the letterbox."

Cullen could see her grin. "Okay."

The door opened.

Cullen gestured for Murray to lead the questioning.

Susan Russell led them to the kitchen, where they sat around the breakfast table. She offered them tea or coffee, quite the little lady – both refused. Cullen could see why Cath Russell, Susan's mother, had taken them through to the conservatory - the kitchen was a dreadful state, dirty dishes on the counter, piles of recycling by the back door.

"Susan," said Murray, "was Mandy Gibson your pal?"

Susan frowned at Cullen. "Who are you?" she asked.

Cullen smiled and produced his own Warrant Card. "DC Scott Cullen."

She smiled. "Are you CID too?"

"Yes," he said, "though I'm based in Edinburgh. DC Murray here is based in Haddington."

Susan nodded. "Do you like it?"

Cullen smiled. "It's good."

"I wanted to be a policewoman," she said, "but Daddy says I should be a Lawyer."

"I can see why," said Murray.

"How?"

"You're very good at asking questions."

Susan smiled.
 

"So is Mandy your pal?" asked Murray.

"Yes." The smile turned sour. "Was my pal."

"When were you told?"

"I had already guessed," she said. "Her parents were over this morning before school. They said Mandy had got out again."

"How many times had she 'got out' before?" asked Murray.

"Quite a lot," she said. "She used to run over here in the middle of the night. There were a few times where she didn't make it here but I got woken up and saw her parents take her home."

"Okay," said Murray. "Did Mandy ever speak to Jamie Cook?"

"Jamie Cook?" asked Susan.

"You know him?"

"Yes," she said, looking away. "Jamie is a bad boy."

"I see."

"He used to call Mandy a spacker." She stuck her tongue in her bottom lip. Cullen had once heard the gesture described as 'belming' by his flatmate, Tom. "It wasn't very nice."