Devil in the Detail (Scott Cullen Mysteries) (5 page)

"Fine," said Cullen with a nod.

Bain pointed at Murray and Law. "You two are with us." Murray nodded. Bain walked closer to Cullen. He took a deep breath then spoke in an undertone. "Sundance, we've got that fuckin' Burns Supper tonight," he said, "so I want this wrapped up sharp-ish. I need a shit, shower, shag, shave before we head to Fettes."

"Understood," said Cullen.
 

Cullen had worked for Bain for close to a year now and knew that he hated few things as much as being delayed going to the pub. The Burns Supper was an annual Lothian and Borders do that DCI Turnbull press-ganged his staff into attending. This year Turnbull himself was to address the haggis so he wanted as many of his officers pitching up as possible. They were having it two days before Burns' Night itself, because half of the service would be busy on Wednesday sorting out punters that had drunk too much whisky after the standard Scottish post-Hogmanay abstinence, the pisshead's Lent as Cullen saw it. The only thing about it that Cullen was looking forward to was that Sharon would be there - that said, he would much rather be spending the time with her alone.

"What about me?" asked Irvine.

"I want you supervising here," said Bain. "There are some cottages round the corner. At some point, somebody's brought Mandy here - dead or alive - and somebody must have fuckin' seen whoever did it. Batman and Robin here went to see this dog walker - I want her checked out further and I want visits to the other cottages. One of the neighbours goes round the ponds with a dog every day, I want them spoken to. Also, that pain in the arse gatehouse at the end of the path, I want to know where the owners are. Sundance got a story that they're on holiday - I want that confirmed by at least two others."

"Fine," said Irvine. "I'll need some resource."

"You can have McLaren," said Bain. Cullen noticed Lamb's eyes burn into the side of Bain's head.

"Won't be enough," said Irvine, chomping away.

"Right, come on, then," said Bain, letting out a sigh. "I'll get you some uniform." He led them off towards the largest concentration of idle officers looking for direction.

Lamb was smiling and shaking his head at the retreating figures. "He's quite something, isn't he?" said Lamb.

Cullen grinned. "The stories I could tell about him," he said. "I see you've already had your first encounter."

Lamb smiled. "He's a typical city cop," he said. "He's come out here, swinging his dick around. He'll come unstuck if he doesn't watch."

Cullen wanted to see that happen. "You been based out here long?" he asked.

"Eight years," said Lamb. "Five as DS. I was in Edinburgh before that."

"I was out in Livingston for six years so I kind of know where you're coming from."

Lamb stroked his moustache down. "Don't get me wrong, Cullen," he said, "this isn't the Wild West like you're used to. It's very different. A case like this, it's fine having an Edinburgh DI come in but Bain needs all the local co-operation he can get."

"Do you know the Gibson family then?" asked Cullen.

Lamb smiled again. "You know, you're the first to ask me that." He rubbed his moustache again, stroking the triangle of beard downwards. "Charles and Elaine Gibson are pillars of the community in Garleton. Well-connected, well-off. He runs the Alba Bank branch in town. Two kids, big house, nice cars." He caught himself. "Had two kids."

"Do you mind us going to see them?" asked Cullen. "What with us being big city cops."

"As long as you don't swing your dicks around," said Lamb, his face creasing into a wide smile.

"I don't have one," said Caldwell, "though it feels like I need one working for Bain."

They laughed for a few moments.

"One last thing, though, Cullen," said Lamb, smoothing down his moustache, his face suddenly stern. "There's something you should know about Mandy."

"What's that?"

"She was mentally handicapped."

Cullen drove them up the Berwick Road, the main road from North Berwick into Garleton. His car struggled up the steep incline. It was six and two threes to Cullen whether they came that way, through Athelstaneford, or through Drem and its train station, though Caldwell had insisted this was quicker.
 

They passed the glass and concrete High School, painted the orange that was so common in the older buildings of Musselburgh and Prestonpans - Cullen put it down to the Orange order, though he was only aware of it being a particular blight in West Lothian.
 

Cullen stopped at the lights at the start of Garleton High Street, almost at the town's highest point. The engine idled as they waited, some cars filtering through and heading from the town centre towards North Berwick, in the direction they'd come from. The day was starting to clear, glimpses of pale blue appearing through the dark grey clouds.
 

The high street was busy, mainly full of middle-aged women struggling with shopping baskets. Several bookies lined the high street, each one seemingly having its very own punter smoking a fag outside. Cullen spotted the local Big Issue seller shoving his magazine in the faces of some of the women as they walked past.

"I'm a bit surprised that Bain was given this case," said Caldwell.

"I'm staggered," replied Cullen. "He's lucky to still have a job. I'm just waiting for him to go off on one. He's like a volcano - you're just waiting for the inevitable eruption."

She laughed. "Do you think Turnbull trusts him?" she asked.

"No idea," said Cullen. "Seems like he's got no other option just now."

DCI Turnbull had recently bolstered his team, bringing in a new DI alongside his existing two. The rumours that Cullen had heard generally had it that Alison Cargill was both a longer term replacement for Turnbull himself as he moved further upstairs, and an insurance policy to keep Bain under control. Cullen figured that Turnbull hadn't taken into account DI Cargill being in Tenerife for two weeks while a murder came up, leaving him the choice of Bain or Wilkinson, neither of whom were exactly covered in glory.

"Aye, well, I suppose that we're stuck with him," she said. "Feels like we're in the Special Needs class."

"I know what you mean," he said, after he'd stopped laughing. "He's already on the wrong side of Lamb."

"Lamb was right about the big dicks swinging around," she said. "I've got a bad case of penis envy."

The lights finally changed and Cullen turned right down the High Street. Ancient vennels and closes led off, making the town look exactly like Edinburgh's Royal Mile. The town was perched on the Garleton Hills, cobbled streets stretching from Barnes Castle in the east to Garleton Castle in the west. They passed the modern triptych of a Subway, a McDonalds and a Starbucks alongside a couple of decent-looking old pubs and some upmarket cafés and delis. One of the oldest buildings in the town, right next to the Church, was a branch of Alba Bank. Cullen noticed that the building next door was painted bright yellow with a rainbow sign above the door - he had no idea how it could have made it past planning as most of the street was full of listed buildings.

"Straight on at the end," she said.
 

Cullen turned off the high street and drove down Dunpender Road, the main road heading south towards the A1, the trunk road to Edinburgh. The old buildings of the high street gave way to more recent developments, all new builds - large cream houses that Cullen thought were built by two different developers to the same common designs. Garleton had once been a small village but had rapidly expanded in the 80s and again in the recent housing boom. The sprawling estates they now drove past covered the valley to the north, almost merging with Athelstaneford in the east and surrounding the Hopetoun monument.
 

"You know this area at all?" asked Cullen.

"Aye, a bit," she replied. "We thought of moving out here a couple of years ago but never bothered."

"Bit of a change from Clermiston," he said.

Caldwell shrugged. "Aye, well, he could never be bothered."

Cullen had noticed that Caldwell had a strange affectation - she never referred to her husband by his name, only by 'he' or 'him'. Cullen had learnt that he was called Rod but she hadn't called him that for a good while. As far as he could tell, there was no malice or resentment behind it but it perplexed him nonetheless.

Caldwell directed them to a new estate just at the edge of the town and they quickly found Dunpender Drive, a curving street leading off Dunpender Road and joining back up with Haddington Road, the main road between Aberlady and Haddington. The street was full of new houses - Cullen thought they were at the luxury end of the market as they weren't all rammed together and had lawns that would need a mid-range petrol mower. All of the houses in the street were painted a warm cream with white-painted window surrounds.
 

The Gibson house was in the middle of the crescent and appeared to be the largest house on the street, with the biggest garden. The house was T-shaped, with the front door in the longer section of the building. The wide cross-section had a front-to-back living room filling the ground floor. The front garden was largely bare - infant trees struggling to grow and fill the space - and the only feature was a lawn bisected by a pebbled drive that led the twenty or so metres from the street to the garage. A BMW X5 – typical yummy mummy car for the school run – sat alongside a silver Audi A6 with sports trim, both outside the double garage.
 

A couple of police cars sat in a parking bay outside the house. Cullen spotted Bain's Mondeo a few doors down. He pulled in alongside it.

"Lamb sent some uniform round earlier, didn't he?" asked Cullen.

"No idea," said Caldwell.

Cullen shrugged. "Important things first," he said, pointing to the house. "How much?"

"I'm thinking half a million," said Caldwell.

"I'll say six hundred," he replied. "There's at least a hundred grand's worth of car in front as well."

"I bet that garage is stuffed full of utter shite," she said. "Can't even get their cars away."

Cullen gave a chuckle as he unbuckled his seatbelt. He got out and looked at the house. "Let's see what our Lord and Master has been saying to them," he said, hearing a dog barking somewhere nearby.
 

*

The Gibsons' living room was a colossal space that filled roughly a third of the ground floor. There were big feature windows overlooking the front lawn. From the inside, the garden looked minimalist rather than uncared for, as Cullen initially thought. At the back of the room, the dining table and leather chairs looked out across the back garden, which was much smaller than the front and was dominated by the biggest trampoline Cullen had ever seen. A shaggy-coated sheepdog stood barking at the patio doors, begging to be let in.

The living room was very expensively decorated, though Cullen couldn't see much personality on display. The room had flagstones rather than carpet or floorboards, and the cream walls were adorned with the occasional painting. There was lots of varnished wood - the skirting, the furniture and the picture frames all with their rounded edges, like they were part of some designer set. There were a few of the modern family photos that Cullen had seen creep in over the last few years - all four members of the family against a white background in action shots. Two large Stressless reclining sofas dominated the room, facing each other. There was no television that Cullen could see but it was probably hidden inside one of the many bespoke pieces of furniture. An expensive-looking micro hi-fi system sat on a table.
 

Bain and Murray sat on the leather sofas opposite Charles and Elaine Gibson. Cullen pulled over a dining chair and sat at the edge of the group, with Caldwell sitting just to his left.
 

A teenage boy sat at the other side on a leather armchair, rubbing his eyes with a hankie. He was wearing jeans and a hooded top with some logo emblazoned on that Cullen was no longer cool enough to recognise. Cullen thought he looked about seventeen.

Cullen was reminded of another scene of grief, five months previously, the parents and the brother of Keith Miller sitting listening to him.

He felt a nudge at his shoulder and snapped out of his reverie. It was PC Jennifer Wallace, the Family Liaison Officer that Lamb had sent around. She handed Cullen and Caldwell cups of tea. Cullen put his down on a set of nested tables beside Bain's end of the sofa, waiting for it to cool. Caldwell cradled hers in her hands.

Bain had been waiting for Cullen to arrive so that he had corroboration of anything, his leg jigging up and down.
 
"Mr Gibson," he said, "I'm very sorry for your loss." He gave a pause. "I've got a few questions I need to ask you."

Gibson nodded. He was short and looked maybe mid-50s to Cullen, though he wondered if he was physically younger but had pushed himself through a tough career. His hair was very thin but had been shaved short rather than off. His eyes were surrounded by dark rings, though Cullen couldn't tell if it was from crying or general fatigue. He clasped his wife's hand in his, gently stroking it.

"I know this will be hard for you," said Bain, "but can you retrace your steps this morning?"

"Okay," said Gibson, scratching his head. "We were getting the kids down for breakfast this morning. We make sure that they have a good breakfast before school and that we sit down as a family." He pointed towards his son. "Thomas was down first. Mandy hadn't come down so I went up to check. She wasn't in her room.
 

"We searched the house for her," said Elaine, "but there was no sign. We searched absolutely everywhere."

Elaine Gibson looked a lot younger than her husband. Cullen wondered if she was actually closer to Charles' age than it initially seemed - where she had stayed young, he had aged, as part of some sort of career/family pay-off. She wore expensive looking casual clothing, Abercrombie & Fitch tracksuit bottoms that no doubt cost the best part of a hundred quid. She was plain-looking, though Cullen imagined that she hadn't had the time or inclination to apply her make-up that morning.