Kidd frowned. "Looks a bit funny. Let's have a wee look at it." He tapped at the keyboard, his fingers a blur.
"Don't you use a mouse?"
"Just slows me down. Keyboard shortcuts are where it's at." Kidd brought up another screen. "Here we are. The account name is under Jenny Scott."
Cullen looked up. "What did you say?"
"Lassie called Jenny Scott."
The name rang a bell with Cullen. "Bring up her profile for me."
Jenny Scott's profile filled the screen. Cullen looked at the photograph - he recognised her. Where from? He looked at the message board on her page.
There was a message from Kim Milne.
"Who is she?" said Kidd.
"A friend of Kim Milne's."
"That lassie who got killed yesterday?"
"Aye, her." Cullen flicked through his notebook, stopping at Friday afternoon. He'd gone to Rob Thomson's flat to check his alibi with Kim Milne. Jenny Scott was there. She was flying to Thailand on Friday evening. He looked back at Kidd. "Any idea what he was up to with this account?"
Kidd scrolled through a few screens. "Sending messages by the looks of things."
"Can I have a look?"
"Aye." Kidd pulled up a series of five messages, all sent from Jenny Scott's account to Kim Milne.
Cullen read through them quickly. The first and the last were the most important.
The first message on Sunday read -
"Hey Kimmy. Had a fight with Tom. Heading home. Going to need somewhere to stay while I sort this shit out. Jenny x"
The last read -
"Thanks! I'll get the bus in and walk down, think I'll be there by half six. Don't meet me at the airport - I'll be fine on the bus, it's quicker. Could do with seeing Edinburgh. Jenny x"
"You've gone all quiet for once," said Kidd. "What does this mean?"
Cullen tapped his pen against the edge of the desk and thought it through. "One of two things. Either Jenny really did arrange to meet Kim at her flat last night or whoever's behind this is trying to frame Rob Thomson."
"Or Rob Thomson's trying to throw you off the trail."
Cullen glared at him. "This is messed up enough without that sort of crap." He scribbled it all in his notebook regardless. "Don't even begin to think about mentioning that little chestnut to Bain, by the way."
Cullen noticed he'd taken Jenny Scott's number, at the time thinking they might need to check the alibis or get further character references for Kim Milne. That, or his latent prowling nature Miller had accused him of earlier. He hadn't known it would lead to this. He called the number but it just rang and rang, eventually going to voicemail. He left a message and ended the call.
"No joy?"
"Nope." Cullen put his phone on the desk. "Typical of this bloody case."
"Tell me about it."
"How did it go with Gail's netbook?"
Kidd nostrils flared. "Even worse than you trying to befriend murderers on Schoolbook. I got an IP address."
"Isn't that good?"
"Hold your horses, cowboy. The IP address traces to a server in Iraq."
"Iraq?" said Cullen. "Do they have computers there?"
"I expected more of you," said Kidd. "Of course they do. Loads of dodgy ones. I've got no chance of getting any further. It's all blocked. It's virtually lawless. They can do whatever they like to block searches and checks."
Cullen slumped back in his chair. "So what do we know about what's happened to Jenny Scott's account? Bain wants me to tie the Schoolbook stuff together and this just seems to be making it messier."
Kidd shrugged then tapped at the computer.
"Whoever's doing this hacked into Jenny Scott's account and arranged to meet Kim Milne at her flat." Cullen had a sudden insight. "At a specific time."
Kidd turned around. "Eh?"
"It wasn't just 'I'll see you at any time', it was, 'I'll be there at half six'."
"And that means?"
"Well, whoever's doing this is planning the whole thing out in detail, in advance. He knew when Rob Thomson would usually be leaving work."
Kidd grinned. "Or it was Rob Thomson?"
Cullen almost laughed. "Indeed."
Kidd pointed to the screen. "I've found another while you were on the phone there."
"You're joking."
"I'm serious." Kidd scrolled through the messages on the screen. "Some couple arranged to meet at the Travelodge at Haymarket last night."
Cullen felt sick. Another killing?
McNeill got her warrant card out. "We need into room two one seven. Now."
The Polish receptionist stood wide-eyed. "I can't."
Cullen and McNeill had gone inside, leaving Miller out in the car park just in case the killer made a run for it again. Caldwell was similarly stationed outside the front entrance. Buxton and another uniform were in a car outside, the engine running.
"We have reason to believe a murder may have been committed in that room."
"Okay," said the receptionist.
"Can you get me a key?" said McNeill.
"Yes." The receptionist fiddled with the key card machine, eventually producing a card coded to the room. She handed it to McNeill with a trembling hand.
McNeill looked at Cullen. "Come on."
They ran to the lifts. Cullen hammered the call button. The door on the right opened immediately.
McNeill got in and pressed the button for the second floor. "This better be right."
"Part of me really hopes it's not," said Cullen.
They burst out onto the corridor, Cullen leading. The brass plaque on the wall indicated rooms 210 to 220 were to the left. "This way."
They ran along the corridor. 217 was on the left, just before the turn. A
Do Not Disturb
sign hung from the door handle.
McNeill pulled the key card from her pocket. "Better knock first." She rapped on the door. No answer. She knocked again. They both extended their batons. "On three. One. Two. Three."
She slid the card down. The light turned green and the door clicked. She pushed it open.
There was a door immediately to the left, presumably the bathroom. The bed was round the corner.
There were sounds of a struggle.
Cullen rushed forward.
A man shouted. "What the fuck is going on?"
He was on top of a woman.
Cullen grabbed him, jamming the baton over his throat and pulling him to his feet. He was naked, hairy and overweight. His penis was erect and encased in a condom.
The woman sat up in the bed, pulling the covers up over her. "What are you doing?"
"Police," said Cullen. "We're investigating a murder."
The man was trying to resist him, so he tightened his hold.
"There's no murder going on in here," she said.
Cullen loosened his grip.
"What's going on?" said McNeill.
The woman looked at her, enraged. "What's it look like, you cow? We were having consensual sex when you pair barged in."
*
*
*
"Nice try, Scott," said McNeill.
They were outside in the car park with Miller and Caldwell, who couldn't stop giggling.
Cullen shook his head at her. "Can you stop that, please?"
"Aye, aye, all right." Caldwell was struggling to keep her mouth and face straight. "So what was their story then?"
"Having an affair," said McNeill. "The bloke works at Schoolbook. He had been changing the logs to cover their tracks. They were worried about the woman's husband guessing the two of them were at it, so he created a fake account."
Caldwell's laughter had finally subsided. "There's easier ways of having a fling, surely? Pay As You Go mobiles, sneaky email accounts. Christ."
"You seem knowledgeable on the subject," said McNeill.
"I've got a suspicious mind," said Caldwell.
Miller scowled. "So they weren't the killers?"
Cullen was about to abuse him when his mobile went. He didn't recognise the number but answered it anyway - it could be any number of snouts, both new and old, maybe with a nice juicy bit of information. He moved away from the group and answered it.
"Scott?"
Cullen struggled to place the voice. "Who is this?"
"Jesus, Scott, we lived together for three years. It's Katie."
"What do you want?"
"Can I speak to Alison?"
Cullen frowned. "Why would I know where she is?"
Katie paused. "Aren't you two an item?"
"No," said Cullen. "What makes you think we are?"
"Just what Ally's been saying. The pair of you have been getting close."
"Well, we haven't."
"So you haven't seen her then?" said Katie.
"I saw her last night. We had a bit of an argument."
"Are you sure?" said Katie.
"Of course I'm sure," said Cullen. "She came round to my flat and I brushed her off."
"You brushed her off. Some things never change."
"When you see her," said Cullen, "can you make sure she's got the message that we're not an item?"
"I'll try, but I'll need to speak to her first," said Katie. "Her boss just called me. She's not turned up for work."
"She's probably just upset with me telling her the truth."
"Scott, you really are a callous bastard." Katie hung up.
Cullen wandered back over, hoping nobody had noticed. Caldwell and Miller were getting into the back of the squad car.
"Who was that?" said McNeill.
"Nobody," said Cullen.
Bain hit his desk. "Have you tried calling Jenny Scott again?"
"Of course I have," said Cullen. "She's not answered. Yet."
"Have you tried going round to her flat?" said Bain.
"I don't know if she's even in the country," said Cullen. "I very much doubt she is."
"Fuck's sake, Cullen," said Bain, "this is a massive part of this bloody case. This could definitively prove to Rob Thomson we've got him."
"We don't know it's him that's in Schoolbook," said Cullen. "I mean, we don't know it's not, but we've got no direct evidence."
Bain smacked the table again. "Cullen, you're supposed to be linking Rob Thomson to these murders, not blowing the whole case wide open. I've got Wilkinson interviewing Thomson again and I've enough spanners being shoved in by that wanker McLintock without more from one of my own bloody officers. I heard about you and your bloody girlfriend bursting in on some couple rutting away in a hotel. I want you to focus exclusively on linking Rob Thomson to Schoolbook."
Cullen sat back. "I don't know how many times I've told you this, but I don't think we'll find anything to link him. Whoever it is - and I'll even assume it's Rob Thomson if it'll make you happy - they're not leaving a breadcrumb trail in there. Everything's covered over. It would be virtually impossible to catch them at it."
Bain sat and glowered for a minute. "In that case, I need you to bury this."
Cullen scowled. "What do you mean, 'bury it'?"
"I mean get rid of any evidence pointing to Schoolbook," said Bain. "We don't use it in the case."
Cullen folded his arms. "I can't do that."
"Yes, you can." Bain leaned forward. "I've got enough without it."
"Are you sure?" Cullen sat up straight. "You've already committed yourself on tape asking Rob why he was using the name Martin Webb. McLintock will tear you to shreds."
"The Fiscal will just have to deal with it," said Bain. "I want to get this all covered up and passed on to her."
"Fine," said Cullen.
"Last warning, Sundance," said Bain. "If you're not going to help collar this fucker, then keep yourself out of my hair."
"Don't you think you're being just a little bit mental?" said McNeill.
"Mental?" Cullen took a drink of coffee. "You think I'm the one that's being mental?"
They'd both realised they now had very little work to do, so headed for a sit-down lunch in the canteen, Cullen opting for a chicken pie and chips, McNeill a baked potato with coronation chicken.
"You're going against what Bain and all the superior officers are saying," said McNeill. "To them, Bain's pretty close to an air-tight conviction and you're running around picking holes in it."
"Yeah, you said it, air-tight to them." Cullen dropped his fork on the plate. "He needs to see the holes and deal with them. If it's not me doing it, it'll be McLintock in front of a jury. Does he want a failed conviction?" He drank the last of the coffee. "Besides, you started this the other night."
"Yeah, well, I've given up. I can't fight him any longer. That hotel room this morning was the last straw for me."
"Are you blaming me for that?"
McNeill put down her cutlery. "I'm not, but I just don't have the energy for this."
"Oh, come on," said Cullen, "that could've been useful. It still can."
"How?"
Cullen was aware he was clutching at straws. "Well, for starters, it shows using that method to link the murders together isn't one hundred per cent reliable. It's not unique to the killer. The killer used it, but so did the guy we burst in on this morning. Assuming he's not the killer."
McNeill smiled. "You're something else."
There was an uncomfortable silence between them. McNeill scraped away at her lunch, while Cullen played with his empty coffee cup. He'd found it difficult to think of the previous night, the way she'd been with Turnbull. Bearing in mind Bain's comments, he wondered if she had shagged Turnbull. His stomach lurched every time he thought of it, feeling sick. "Did you have a good night last night?"
McNeill looked up. "Wasn't bad, as these things go. I bailed out not long after you."
"Did you?"
"Of course," said McNeill. "I was knackered and there's only so much brown-nosing I can do with Turnbull before he starts getting creepy. Besides, you're supposed to be buying me a drink tonight."
She looked into his eyes. His heart pounded.
She broke off and finished eating the last piece of charred potato skin. "Okay, Scott, I'll tell you what, you go through your deduction about how this guy used Schoolbook, and I'll tell you if you're mad or not."