"You lead," said Cullen, as they got out of the car.
"You're such a gentleman, Scott."
"I just can't figure out who would choose to stay here," said Cullen.
"Parents of students at the university halls round the corner?" said McNeill.
"Maybe," said Cullen. "It's nowhere near any big businesses, though, and it's not particularly cheap."
"It'll be rammed during the festival."
"Yeah, but that's only one month of the year."
McNeill shrugged and entered the hotel. She showed the receptionist her warrant card. "Do you have an Alistair Cruikshank staying here?"
The receptionist nodded. "We do indeed."
"Do you know if he's in?" said McNeill.
"I don't believe so. He's been out all day." The receptionist gestured behind her at the rack of keys. "He left his key this morning."
"Okay," said McNeill. "Would we be able to have a look around his room?"
The receptionist frowned. "I'm not sure that's allowed."
McNeill glared at her. "This is related to what happened just down the road." She didn't have to mention the name of the Jackson.
"I see." The receptionist bit her lip. "Okay, but please don't touch anything. This is just a look around."
McNeill held her hands up. "That's perfect."
The receptionist led them to a room at the back of the hotel on the ground floor. Cullen's heart was in his mouth - he had a sudden vision of Gail McBride naked and dead in the room, that he and Wilkinson were wrong, that Cruikshank was the killer and had struck again.
The receptionist opened the door.
The room was empty.
Cullen felt a flutter of relief. There was a suitcase on the stand at the end of the bed, a tweed jacket on the back of a chair and a copy of the Bible sitting on the desk. The room looked out onto what was left of the garden at the rear.
"Mind if I look in the bathroom?" said Cullen.
The receptionist's eyes kept flicking back to the door. "Just a check, okay?"
"Sure thing," said Cullen.
He wandered into the small enclave in the rear of the room, one of the smallest bathrooms he'd ever seen. A green leather wash bag was on the sink, a toothbrush placed behind the taps. He touched the bristles, bone dry. He went back through.
"Have you pair seen enough?" said the receptionist.
McNeill left her card, instructing her to call if Cruikshank returned.
"Can't you just stick to one fuckin' task, Cullen?" said Bain.
Cullen and McNeill were back in the Incident Room, standing by the whiteboard with Bain.
"If you actually gave me a task you'd let me finish," said Cullen.
"You fuckin' what?" said Bain.
Cullen tried and failed to bite his tongue. "On this case, you've given me task after task after task, each time throwing me on to something new before I'm even half way through."
Bain glared at him. "If you'd just fuckin' found Caroline Adamson when I assigned you that case."
"She was already dead a day and a half when you assigned me it," said Cullen.
Bain didn't have a response. He glared at McNeill instead. "So you're telling me we now have two valid suspects in this case."
"I'd say your other suspect is a bit flimsy," said Cullen.
Bain pointed at him. "Shut your fuckin' mouth, Sundance, all right? What's got into you?"
Cullen said nothing, just looked away. Most of the officers in the room were staring at them and listening in. He was fed up with Bain. He was busting a gut on this case and getting no thanks for it.
"I'd say Alistair Cruikshank's a valid suspect," said McNeill. "He definitely has a motive, I suppose, and Margaret Armstrong was seriously shaken up by his visit."
Bain rubbed his temple. "I want you and Chantal to get to the bottom of this, okay? Bring this guy in and we'll batter the fuckin' truth out of him."
"Do you want me to help?" said Cullen.
"No, Sundance, I don't," said Bain. "I want you to fuckin' finish something for once. Get back to those phone calls. As far as I'm aware, nobody's corroborated these death threats yet."
When Cullen returned to their desks, he found Caldwell in an even worse mood than Bain. She was taking a break from the calls, trying to catch up on the documentation.
"There must be something better than this," said Caldwell.
"Tell me about it," said Cullen.
"We've been at this solid since yesterday and we've got nothing."
"Well," said Cullen, "we've got the rumour about the death threats."
"But we still haven't managed to back that up."
"Don't I know it," said Cullen.
"Heard you got another doing off Bain."
Cullen shrugged. "I reckon I gave as good as I got this time."
"Not what I heard," said Caldwell.
"Who from?"
"Miller."
Cullen laughed. "He wasn't even there. Little bastard."
"What was it about?"
"He was having a go at me for not sticking to tasks." Cullen sighed. "I pointed out I wasn't the one who was preventing me from sticking to them."
"Brave boy," said Caldwell.
"No doubt I'll be cleaning the whiteboard next." Cullen checked his watch. He was due to meet Alison in twenty minutes. "Sod it. I can't see us getting any more joy today with these calls. See you tomorrow."
Cullen parked around the corner on Thistle Street, managing to sneak into a space just vacated and he fed the meter for an hour. Having the car might be a good move - it meant he could only have the one, though his complete lack of willpower probably meant a late bus home and a parking fine.
It wasn't until Alison waved at him that Cullen recognised her.
On Friday, her hair was pulled back with a hair-clip, but tonight it hung loose. She was wearing natural looking make-up today and a work suit. She looked a lot older than he remembered.
Cullen sat opposite her. There was a seat next to her, but he didn't want to send out the wrong message. "Sorry I'm late."
"Don't worry about it." She took a sip of wine. "Thanks for turning up."
Cullen decided maybe she had a nice smile. "I always had every intention of doing so."
Alison put both hands around her glass of wine. "Do you want to get yourself a drink?"
"Can I get you anything? Another glass of wine?"
"Yeah, the Pinot Grigio is nice."
"Large or small?"
She giggled. "Oh, large."
Cullen went up to the bar and stood in the queue. While the barman poured his pint Cullen had a deep conversation with himself - what the hell was he doing? He needed to grow up. On Saturday morning he'd worked the old Cullen magic yet again with her.
Idiot.
He only needed a slight opening and he was off, charming away. In his heart he knew he wanted another steady girlfriend, another Katie, but one who didn't mess him around, that didn't mind about his job and the hours he kept. He knew how thin on the ground they were.
He looked over at Alison as the barman went to the till. He seriously doubted anything could come of this - she shared a flat with his ex, for a start. They'd had a one-night stand, just a bit of fun - there was no commitment to anything else. Everybody knew the rules. He doubted if there was anything they had in common, apart from music, maybe. She was at a techno club on Friday as part of the wider group and they had some techno and house playing at the party afterwards.
He carried the drinks to the table. "So."
"So."
They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a moment.
Cullen took a drink of lager. "How's Katie?"
*
*
*
Cullen was starting to think about making his excuses when his mobile rang.
"Sorry," said Cullen. "It's probably work. Do you mind?"
Alison looked irritated. "No."
Cullen looked at the display - McNeill. He reddened slightly. He swiped his finger across the screen and answered, playing innocent. "Scott Cullen."
"Scott, it's DS McNeill."
He turned away from Alison. Why was McNeill being formal with him?
"Have you left for the evening?" said McNeill.
"Yeah," said Cullen. "I'm just having a drink with a friend."
"I see." McNeill paused for a moment. "Listen, Bain's told me to get your arse over to Edinburgh Park. His words."
"What's the hurry?" said Cullen. "I'm off duty."
"He said you'd say that," said McNeill. "He said you're to get back on duty."
"What's up?"
"Gail McBride's body has been found."
Edinburgh Park train station was across from Hermiston Gait, recently opened to service Edinburgh Park, a ramshackle grouping of corporate offices a few hundred metres away - banks, insurance firms and technology companies. All three Edinburgh banks had offices here - nearest to the train station sat Alba Bank's Edinburgh Park House, the most recently built and Gail McBride's workplace.
Cullen followed the road round, passing underneath the flyover for the tram system, his warrant card getting him through security barriers designed to prevent access to the bypass. He passed a tunnel on his left that led under the dual carriageway, a suspended platform above a heavy-flowing river. The SOCO lights were in another cordoned-off tunnel filled with construction equipment, a JCB and stacks of concrete blocks. On the other side of the road was a set of Portacabins, site offices for the tram works.
Cullen parked and hurried over, looking for McNeill or Bain. He quickly found Bain flapping around, barking orders to whoever would listen.
Bain shouted at some uniformed officers. "I want someone round all of those offices in Edinburgh Park, now. I want CCTV from all the shops in Hermiston Gate and I want some fucker making a nuisance of themselves in the tram office. Somebody must've seen something and I want them here now." His eyes were struggling to focus as they settled on Cullen. He looked deranged. "Thank Christ you're here, Sundance."
"DS McNeill told me you were looking for me," said Cullen. "What happened?"
"That idiot Wilko's fucked off somewhere and turned his fuckin' mobile off," said Bain. "I've been landed with this case on top of nailing Rob Thomson for the other fuckin' murders."
"What can I do?" said Cullen.
"McNeill's taking a statement from the cyclist who found the body," said Bain. "You'd best listen in. Turns out this bloody tunnel is a cycle shortcut to that RBS monstrosity over there." He gestured behind him with his thumb - RBS Gogarburn lit up the surrounding trees, a mile or so distant. "Goes through a field. They're supposed to use the proper path through another tunnel just up the way, mind. Anyway, this poor fucker found the body just before six on his way to the train."
Bain marched away, shouting for Jimmy Deeley.
Cullen headed into the tunnel, surrounded by stacks of concrete blocks on pavements on either side of a giant puddle in the middle. Bodies in protection suits milled around. He stepped in the puddle and got mud right up his ankle. His leather brogues could barely cope with a splash let alone full immersion.
"Keep your stomach contents to yourself today," said a passing SOCO, voice suspiciously similar to Anderson.
"Check for laptops," said Cullen.
Anderson pulled his mask down and rubbed his goatee. "Aye, well."
"Seen McNeill?" said Cullen.
Anderson pointed down the tunnel. "Through there."
Cullen walked on. At the end was a field of wheat, a SOCO tent poking up above the crop. He could see a track through the field, grooves worn into the soil by bike tyres, running off towards a copse of trees in the distance. There was a turkey farm at the far end and he could certainly smell it.
McNeill was near the tunnel entrance speaking to a heavyset man dressed in black cycling gear underneath a fluorescent yellow and orange bib. An expensive-looking mountain bike lay on its side, a green rucksack beside it on the ground. Caldwell was helping with the note taking.
McNeill nodded at Cullen as he approached, before looking back at her notebook. "I'll just read your statement back to you. You were cycling away from work heading to the station, aiming for the quarter to six train. You were running late, so you cut across the fields rather than going round the cycle path."
She paused, waited for him to nod. "You were unable to stick to the usual path due to someone overtaking you and forcing you to diverge across the field. You corrected your course back towards the tunnel and you came across the body."
The cyclist was visibly shaking. "Yes."
"Okay, you can get away on home," said McNeill, "but we'll need to get in touch again. Do you need a lift?"
"I should be fine." He picked his bike up and slowly cycled off through the tunnel.
"Is he going to be okay?" said Cullen.
McNeill looked sideways at him. "He's just discovered a dead body."
"Shouldn't he be getting taken home?" said Cullen.
"That was the fifth time I asked," said McNeill, "but he refused each time."
"Is he under any suspicion?" said Cullen.
"Doubt it," said McNeill. "He's got an alibi. He was away for the weekend with his girlfriend, would still have been driving back when Gail McBride was getting the train to Musselburgh." She nodded at Caldwell, who smiled at Cullen. "Caldwell will check out his alibi but I don't think he's in the frame."
"What else do we have?" said Cullen. "Bain wasn't making much sense."
"Tell me about it." McNeill put her notebook away. "He's been nipping my head since we got the call out here."
"It's definitely Gail?" said Cullen.
McNeill grimaced. "We've got her husband in a panda car over there. Uniform brought him over. He confirmed it's definitely her."
"Rough," said Cullen. "That's not exactly standard procedure, is it?"
McNeill raised her eyebrows. "Bain's not exactly going by the rulebook on this, is he?"
"What's Deeley saying about it?" said Cullen. "Bain was screaming for him."