He looked through the remainder of the list. The first two he'd traced to addresses in Ayr. Gail's maiden name - McGuire - matched the surnames of the two account holders, most likely parents and brother.
The next two numbers were addresses in Glasgow, again members of the McGuire clan.
The last number was a mystery. It was a mobile number. He dialled it but it was dead.
He picked up the desk phone and called Tommy Smith in the Phone Squad.
"Smith, Forensic Investigation."
"Tommy, it's Scott Cullen."
Smith sighed down the line. "I got back to you as promised didn't I?"
"You did."
"Thank Christ for that," said Smith. "Got a to-do list longer than a gorilla's arm."
"I need you to trace a phone number for me," said Cullen.
"Another one?"
"Different case," said Cullen.
"You sure get about, buddy."
Cullen read out the number.
"Just want me to do a cell search?" said Smith.
"What else can you do?" said Cullen.
"Unblock drains," said Smith.
"Very funny."
"Seriously, though, we can do a lot of things," said Smith. "We can get a list of calls, trace to cell sites, logistic analysis."
"What's that?" said Cullen.
"We can look at the supply chain for getting the phone from the manufacturer to the network to the shop to the user," said Smith.
"Are you serious?"
"Aye," said Smith. "Don't you believe me?"
"So I didn't have to do all that for the other number?"
"If you'd come to me in the first place," said Smith, "you could have saved the force a lot of petrol."
"How long will that take?" said Cullen.
"Overnight," said Smith, "if I put it to the top of my to-do list."
"Where is it, then?"
"It's second from top, buddy."
An hour later, Cullen sat with Miller having paired him with McAllister to search through the databases for Jeremy Turner, just as he'd done for Martin Webb.
"At the end of the day, though, I just can't find him," said Miller, "and neither can Willie."
Cullen rubbed his hand over his face. He didn't trust their conclusion. He could get Caldwell to verify it. "So it looks like Jeremy Turner doesn't exist then?"
"I'm not saying anything," said Miller. "Drawing conclusions is your responsibility." He pulled out a pair of dark green tickets. "Here we go, though, Scotty. See, I can find some things."
"What's this?"
"Hibs tickets for tonight, man," said Miller. "We're going to watch the Leith boys murder Barca." He laughed. "Sky were saying Messi's made the trip. Makes it well worth it. Him, Villa, Xavi and Iniesta all travelled."
Cullen had forgotten all about it. "We need to see how the case is going before we decide if we can go."
"
We
?" Miller screwed his face up. "I'm going."
"Have you cleared it with Bain?" said Cullen.
Miller pocketed the tickets. "Just let me know. One of my pals might want to go instead."
"Go and help Caldwell making phone calls now," said Cullen.
"Wish I could, Scotty, wish I could." Miller sniffed. "Got to chum Wilko through to Ayr to see this lassie's parents."
Cullen felt a slight relief - at least there was no imminent threat of Miller messing up their investigation. That and the fact he'd escaped the parent visit this time. "Thought you'd already been?"
"Nobody's been able to get hold of them till now," said Miller. "Been away on their holibags."
Cullen hated the way people called it 'holibags' - it didn't mean anything. "You'd better be back in time for the game, then."
"Eh?"
Cullen grinned. "It'll be a good five or six hour round trip to Ayr once you factor in speaking to her folks." He made a show of checking his watch. "It's almost two now."
"Shite." Miller ran for the door.
Back at his desk, Cullen found the printed sheets of Gail's friends and contacts still sitting there, goading him.
Caldwell finished a call just as he sat.
"This is so slow." Caldwell picked up her sheets, pointing to the last name on the last page. "Tom Rowlands."
"That rings a bell." Cullen logged onto Schoolbook and clicked through to the profile. It was one of the Chemical Brothers, the one with the blonde hair. He'd seen them at T in the Park as a teenager and had a few of their albums. "So there are celebrities in the list."
"Well, I don't think she's been setting up dates with one of the Chemical Brothers." Caldwell ran her finger down the page. "I've got John Terry. And Fatboy Slim. And Robbie Williams. Takes the number down, I suppose."
"We can't eliminate a Robbie Williams from Armadale." Cullen looked at the next name on the list. The profile mercifully had a mobile number. He'd just dialled the first four digits, when he felt a tap on the shoulder.
It was Chantal Jain, out of breath. "Scott, have you seen Sharon?"
"Think she's out at Edinburgh Park at the Alba Bank office," said Cullen.
"Shite."
"Why do you need her?"
"Alistair Cruikshank has turned up at his hotel."
Cullen and Chantal stood outside Cruikshank's hotel room at the Minto.
"Ladies first," said Cullen.
"You big jessie." Chantal rapped on the door. "Mr Cruikshank, it's the police. Open up."
Nothing.
"Mr Cruikshank," said Chantal, louder this time. "Please open the door. We need to speak to you."
"Do you have a warrant?"
Chantal rolled her eyes at Cullen. "Mr Cruikshank, we just want to talk to you."
There was a dull thud from inside the room, like a sash window being raised.
They shared a look.
"He's made a run for it," said Chantal.
Cullen ran back down the corridor, looking through the window to the car park. A heavyset man ran towards the wall at the back, almost at the garden area. "I'll follow him. You get round to Blacket Place. And get some back-up."
He wrestled with the window and eventually toppled out through it. He got up and sprinted across the lawn as Cruikshank's leg disappeared over the top. Cullen had a flashback to Saturday night in Fountainbridge, the killer escaping from him.
There was a wooden picnic table leaning against the wall. He used his momentum to climb up it. He almost winded himself as he landed, stomach across the top of the wall.
Cullen was above a large garden overgrown with weeds, a Victorian villa at the far end. Cruikshank was limping up the path at the side of the house, looking like he'd similarly injured himself.
Cullen carefully lowered himself down but slipped at the bottom, almost falling over. He got to his feet and ran as fast as he could up the side of the house towards the street.
He emerged onto Blacket Place, a rabbit warren. He couldn't see Cruikshank anywhere. If he didn't find him quickly, he'd lose him, limp or not.
He heard footsteps from the left, round the bend. He ran towards the sound and quickly spotted Cruikshank making a vain attempt to continue running. He followed, heading straight for the main road. He was gaining speed - if Cullen didn't catch him soon then he might lose him in the foot traffic on Minto Street.
Cullen pushed himself on. He was closing, but maybe not quickly enough.
Cruikshank made it through the archway at the end of the street, heading through to freedom.
Chantal came from nowhere and rugby tackled Cruikshank to the ground, just yards from the road.
"You. Are. Under. Arrest."
Cullen opened the double doors set in the jutting diagonal entrance to St Leonards station, allowing Chantal to push a handcuffed Cruikshank through the door. They'd agreed to keep Cruikshank clear of Bain for now, until they knew his story.
The desk sergeant nodded at Cullen as he approached. Barry Smith - Fat Barry. His eyes were darting between Cruikshank and Chantal. "DC Cullen, how you doing?"
Cullen smiled in response. "I'm doing all right, Barry." He pointed at Cruikshank. "Got a spare interview room available?"
"Aye." Smith grinned inanely at them. "What's wrong with Leith Walk?"
Cullen cleared his throat. "We're full up down there. That big case that's on, you know how it is."
"Yeah, okay." Smith chuckled. "I can give you room three."
Cullen signed them in and they set off down the lightless corridor through the building. They stopped outside the room and Cullen pushed against the scarred wood of the door.
Chantal took Cruikshank into the interview room, while Cullen stopped outside to recover. He'd jarred something in his foot when he jumped down from the wall and his legs were still aching from the chase.
Cruikshank had certainly used his right to silence - there hadn't been a word from the man. Cullen's mind struggled to match him to the figure he chased on Saturday. He could sort of see it, but he wouldn't stand up in court and say it.
Chantal came out of the room and shut the door behind her. "He's still not said anything."
"Well, this is our one chance to get to him before Bain does." Cullen rubbed the muscles in the backs of his legs. "That was a good tackle you made back there."
"My dad made me play rugby when I was wee," said Chantal. "I thought I'd lost the pair of you. I'd been up and down the street a couple of times. I'm glad I hung around."
"Not half as much as I am," said Cullen. "Losing three suspects in the same week wouldn't be good."
"One of them was the same one twice," said Chantal.
Cullen grinned. "Maybe."
"So what's the plan here?" said Chantal. "Why are we hiding this guy from Bain?"
"I'm not hiding him. I just want to get a statement out of him quickly."
"This is supposed to be my collar."
"I know," said Cullen. "I'll take the blame for it, okay? Me or DS McNeill anyway."
Chantal nodded. "Do you think he's our man?"
"Don't know," said Cullen. "He's just as likely a suspect as Rob Thomson."
Chantal raised an eyebrow. "Let's see what he has to say, then."
She pushed through the door and Cullen followed.
Alistair Cruikshank was mid-thirties and well turned out. He fitted the profile of the man in the CCTV footage as much as Rob Thomson did. He was a big guy, probably with some farming stock in him, with huge hands and the traces of a ginger beard in his stubble.
Chantal opened her notebook, looked at Cruikshank and spoke into the tape recorder, going through the formalities. They hadn't upgraded the facilities to digital recorders at St Leonard's yet. "Why were you running away from us?"
Cruikshank's eyes darted between them. "No comment."
"If you have nothing to hide, then why did you run away from us?" said Chantal.
Cruikshank swallowed hard. "As I said, no comment."
"Okay, if that's how you want to play it," said Chantal, "can you tell us about your movements over the last couple of days?"
"Certainly." Cruikshank smiled. "When would you like me to start?"
"When did you arrive in Edinburgh?" said Chantal.
"I came down on Sunday afternoon."
"And that's down from?" said Chantal.
"Elgin. Had to change at Inverness. I got into Edinburgh early evening."
"At roughly what time?"
"Back of nine," said Cruikshank. "Five past I think."
"And you went directly to the hotel?" said Chantal.
"By taxi." Cruikshank's eyes shot over to Cullen then back to Chantal. "And I spent the rest of the evening studying in my room."
"What were you studying?" said Chantal.
"The Bible," said Cruikshank. "I'm training to be a minister. I would have come down on Saturday, but I was giving the early morning service. I also had a Bible class on Saturday evening."
Cullen noted it all down - Cruikshank had a few potential alibis for the murder of Debi Curtis and CCTV would surely place him getting off the train at the time Gail McBride was murdered, not to mention the taxi receipt.
"What brings you to Edinburgh?" said Cullen.
"There's a conference at New College I'm attending as part of my studies," said Cruikshank.
"That's the old university buildings on the Mound overlooking Princes Street?" said Cullen.
Cruikshank nodded.
"Okay, Mr Cruikshank, can I now ask you to outline your movements last Thursday night?" said Chantal.
"Well, I was in Inverness all day, at college," said Cruikshank. "Thursday night was the church choir."
Chantal gestured to the door. She paused the interview and they left the room. "Well?"
"How many alibis can one man have?" said Cullen. "According to him, he was with a choir when Caroline was killed, at a Bible class when Debi was attacked and on a train when Gail was killed."
Chantal nodded. "He's not our killer."
"Not likely." Part of Cullen felt disappointed as Cruikshank had plausible motives against Debi and Caroline.
"I think it's safe to hand him over to Bain now," said Chantal.
"We could probably charge him with resisting arrest," said Cullen. "Maybe for wasting police time or something. Just wonder why he legged it like he did."
"No idea," said Chantal. "I'll maybe ask him after I get all those alibis checked out."
"Not even Bain would touch him with that many," said Cullen.
Chantal laughed.
Cullen's mobile rang - McNeill. "I've been looking for you."
"I'm helping Chantal up at St Leonards," said Cullen.
"I'll pick you up from there. I assume Chantal can get back here?"
"Yeah, we've got a pool car," said Cullen. "What do you want me to help with?"
"We've got a potential witness for the person stealing Caroline's laptop."
McNeill pulled up in front of a rundown house on a grim street deep into Gracemount, a notoriously feral estate on the city's south side.
"Who are we going to see?" said Cullen.
"A guy called Jonny Soutar," said McNeill.