Devil in the Detail (Scott Cullen Mysteries) (13 page)

Cullen wondered what effect the pressures of a legacy would have on the boy. "When was the last time that Jamie stayed here?" he asked.

Thornton exhaled. "Last weekend, I think."

"Did you know that Charles Gibson had stopped him from staying at their house?"

Thornton nodded. "As I say, it's best they're supervised."

"How long have you known Jamie?" asked Cullen.

"A good few years," said Thornton. "Since he was a wee laddie."

"And has he always been like this?"

Thornton took a while to think it through. "Not really, no," he said with a sad expression. "It was as he went into his Standard Grades, I think. Maybe the pressure was too much, maybe he didn't get enough parental or school support."

Cullen scribbled it down in his notebook. "Is there any chance that we could speak to Malcolm?" asked Cullen.

"The boy's at school just now," he said. "We'd prefer that there were no distractions."

"Mr Thornton, I'm investigating the murder of a handicapped teenager," said Cullen, his voice stern. "I would like to reinforce how serious this is."

"Yes, yes," said Thornton, backing down.

"Perhaps you could visit him at school?" suggested Thornton's wife, Rebecca, the first time she'd opened her mouth since her husband had returned.

"We just might," said Cullen.

*

"Jamie Cook is like a bloody ghost," said Caldwell.

Cullen murmured agreement.
 

They were sitting in Cullen's car outside the Thorntons' house, Cullen busily trying to work out what to do next. Finding Jamie Cook felt to him like their highest priority but that was with Lamb and his boys now. He'd have to go back to Bain with his tail between his legs.

Cullen also thought that there must be bits of information that had escaped the knowledge of the parents - Christ alone knew how many secrets Cullen had hidden from his parents as a teenager. The more Cullen thought about it, the more he was going to have to speak to the children - Thomas Gibson, Malcolm Thornton and Susan Russell - to find some more background on Mandy and Jamie Cook. He considered Cook's twin siblings but they were too young and too disconnected to be of much use.
 

The sleepovers were worrying him - Jamie Cook had a clear access to Mandy on the occasions that he slept at the Gibsons' house. The fact that Mandy could escape with such frequency showed how careless the parents could be - they'd let Jamie Cook into their house, who knew what he was up to?

"It all seems very Stepford Wives," said Caldwell, "not enough Desperate Housewives. There are all these fragile yummy mummies and professional husbands. There's just not enough juice. There are no rough surfaces or hard edges."

"Just like in their houses," said Cullen.

She grinned.
 

Cullen cleared his throat and then tried to put a serious expression on. "One thing I wanted to say to you was about how quickly you handed the questioning over to me," he said. "You were doing well up to that point but as soon as Thornton appeared you passed it to me. You need to stick to tasks like that. Bain won't be so forgiving."

She looked out of the window. "Right."

"Come on," said Cullen. "It's just feedback. You were doing well."

She looked at him. "Fine," she said, "I'll do better next time." Her voice was a cold, even tone.

"Don't be like that," said Cullen. "I'm sure that's not the worst feedback anyone's ever given you."

She laughed, and shook her head. "Is that because you think I'm shite?"

"No, Angela, it's not," said Cullen. "You're doing fine, but you are in a training role. It's very different to being on the beat."

She sighed. "So am I going to make the grade?"

"I'd certainly hope so," he said.
 

"You're hardly Mr Experienced, are you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked. "I've been a DC for nine months, and was Acting DC for six months before that. I had two previous detachments for six months each in Livingston. I know what I'm doing."

She raised her eyebrows. "Well, as long as you're not annoyed that I'll be the same grade as you in five months."

"You deserve it," he said. "Just keep the hard work up."

His phone rang - Irvine.

"Cullen."

"Scott, it's Alan," said Irvine. "Just got a call through from Control. No idea how it's come to me but I'll take that forward with them. It's about that Jamie Cook boy."

"Go on."

"He's been spotted on Garleton High Street."

Cullen kicked down to second and flew through the red light at the start of Dunpender Road. A horn blared as a car narrowly missed them. He steered hard around the sharp left turn onto the High Street, pulling almost forty in a pedestrian area. The advanced driving training he'd received while in uniform - after he wrote off a police Volvo one frozen January morning - was finally paying off. He started to wonder if the old Golf would tear apart on the cobbles as they hurtled towards the police station.

Caldwell rolled her eyes at him, mobile clasped tight to her face, her left hand gripping the handle above the door, knuckles almost white. She was on the phone to Lamb - he was on foot, tracking Cook. One of the local uniform had called in the sighting of Jamie Cook on the high street and Lamb had been at the station, ready to jump into action.

"Got a hold of him yet?" he shouted to Caldwell.

"Aye, far end of the High Street," she called. "Jesus, Scott, slow down," she shouted after a bump that almost saw them take off.

"He's not getting away," snapped Cullen.

They passed the Alba Bank and the God's Rainbow building, then the Starbucks and the Subway. In the distance, he could see flashing blue lights where the High Street turned into Barnes Castle Road.
 

"There," said Caldwell, pointing.

He slammed the brakes on and pulled in. A spotty uniformed officer stood by the police car, trying to look vigilant but failing.

Cullen jumped out of the car and sprinted off towards him. "Where's Lamb?" he called.

The uniform blinked and took what felt to Cullen like an age to work out his request. Eventually, he pointed down a side street. "He went off towards Crombie Place, about twenty seconds ago."

"Thanks."

Cullen set off on foot, Caldwell following. The high street forked just past the police station and they headed back the way they came. To the left, the High Street continued to Dunpender Road while Crombie Place curved round to the right, eventually joining with John Knox Street.

"You still on the line with Lamb?" he shouted, looking back at her.

"No, he hung up," she called. Her face was almost purple already.

Halfway down the street was Crombie Lane which headed left towards the High Street while Crombie Place continued ahead. Cullen stopped and looked down the lane - a claustrophobic place full of bins with a flight of stone steps at the end leading up to the high street. If Cook was on foot then Cullen surmised that heading down the lane would be the logical way to shake off a pursuer.

"Which way?" asked Caldwell.

"Quiet," he said

He could make out heavy footfalls from the lane.

"This way," he ordered, and sprinted down the lane.

A teenager in combat trousers and a hooded top – Jamie Cook – came running towards them, pursued by Lamb, who almost bounced along the street, gazelle-like.

Cullen headed straight for Cook, who was looking over his shoulder.

Cook didn't notice Cullen until he slammed into him.

Cullen stayed on top of Cook, holding him down, despite the boy's wriggling. He had at least three days' worth of stubble on his face and he emitted a stench like he hadn't washed for days.

"Fuckin' bastard," said Cook. He tried to shake Cullen off.
 

"Hold still!" shouted Cullen, as he manoeuvred him around onto his front and dug his knee into his back.

Lamb was stood away from them, bent double, gasping for breath. "Little bastard switched back on me," he said. "Thank God you were coming the other way."

Caldwell was leaning against the wall, breathing hard. "Fuck me, Scott, you could have warned me we'd be running," she said, between gasps. "I would have worn my sports bra."

"Nice day for a Wonderbra," said Lamb, grinning at Caldwell. Cullen wondered if her face could go any more red.

Cullen glared at Lamb. "Can either of you two help here?" he shouted. "He's a wriggly little bastard."

Lamb came over and cuffed Cook's right hand. They both got to their feet. Lamb looked down at the boy. "Ah, fuck," he said.
 

"What's the matter?" asked Cullen.

"This isn't Jamie Cook."

"What sort of fuckin' name is Whammy?" shouted Bain, his voice distorting in Cullen's iPhone speaker.
 

Cullen was in the Incident Room, walking around near the back of the room, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. He had drawn the short straw and had called Bain to give him an update. Bain was back at Leith Walk station - Cullen had no doubt that Bain would be winding up Deeley as he prepared for the postmortem on Mandy.

Lamb was mooching around by the whiteboard, chatting to Caldwell, though she had her mobile clamped to the side of her face.

"We think his name is William Hamilton," said Cullen. "He's one of the Big Issue sellers in the town."

"So how the fuck did we think he was Jamie Cook?"

"He was wearing a big hoodie," said Cullen. "Same height and build. Lamb's guy only got a glimpse of him walking down the street and thought it was him."

"For fuck sake," said Bain. "I thought we had him. Useless bastards can't find a suspect in their own back yard." Cullen heard Bain muttering under his breath. "Is there anything else, Sundance, or do you want me to keep out of the PM any fuckin' longer?"

"We found out that Jamie Cook has been dabbling in drugs," said Cullen. "Hash, mainly."

"Fuckin' string him up then," said Bain. "This shite can all wait."

"Fine," said Cullen. "That's all for now."

The line went dead.

Lamb wandered over, grinning. He raised his eyebrows. "Well?"

"What do you expect?" asked Cullen.

Lamb laughed. "I expect he was going on about me and the backwoods operation that I run here."

"And you'd be right."

"Could have sworn it was him," said Lamb, almost under his breath, for what felt to Cullen like the hundredth time since they'd caught the youth.

"Those clothes are designed to make them all look the same," said Cullen. "Urban camouflage. Even Bain knows that."

"Aye, well," said Lamb, two fingers rubbing the patch of beard. "I'm pissed off generally. If we'd kept that little fucker in custody this weekend then that wee lassie would still be alive."

"Do you think he killed Mandy?" asked Cullen.

Lamb nodded slowly. "I'd put money on it."

"That so?"

Lamb looked Cullen in the eye. "Jamie Cook is a nasty little bastard," he said, his voice rough. "There are very few things I would put past him."

Just then Cullen's mobile rang. He stroked across the screen to answer it - the same number as before.

The same song started playing again, this time distorted. Cullen thought that the mobile had been held against a speaker. Just after the singing kicked in, someone started laughing and the line went dead. Cullen went into his Received Calls menu and looked at the number - it wasn't Jamie Cook's but that wasn't to say he wasn't using a different phone. He copied the new number into his notebook and then dialled it. No answer. He tried another couple of times but still had no answer.

All the while, Lamb had been observing Cullen.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Crank call," said Cullen, pocketing his phone and notebook.

"You get them as well then?" asked Lamb.

Cullen tried to play it cool but in truth he was getting worried about the calls. He had no idea who it was, other than potentially Jamie Cook, and there was obviously a message behind the song. The 'Where have you gone?' refrain was puzzling him. Jamie Cook had disappeared and they didn't know where he had gone. Was the bad boy of Garleton toying with him? But why Cullen? He'd left a message on Cook's voicemail earlier, saying he was from Lothian and Borders and that he needed to speak to him urgently. If Cook was behind the murder, as Charles Gibson, Mulgrew and now Lamb were insinuating, then he was arrogant with it and toying with the police.

"I get a crank call every two weeks or so," said Lamb. "I think I've got about three different callers, most likely people I've put away down the years."

"Aren't you doing anything about it?" asked Cullen.

"Like what?" said Lamb, with a grin. "Go to the police?"

"Seriously," said Cullen, "we can get checks done. I've done it myself a few times."

Cullen had used the police's Forensic Investigation Unit - the phone squad to most officers - to trace a mobile a few times in the past year or so.

"Listen, a bit of advice," said Lamb, leaning in close. "You're a DC, right? If you want to progress, you need to develop a poker face for all this shite. If you're off getting Forensics to look into crank calls, that sort of chat spreads throughout the force. You've got to let it all wash over you."

"Aye, I suppose so," he said, trying to sound like he was listening. He didn't know what to do - he wasn't necessarily a fan of the stern 'get on with it' mentality that he'd seen so much in his youth but then again he wasn't that into the modern American-style care and share.

What he needed to do was to talk to Sharon about it. She always knew what to do, or could at least listen to him and help him work out what to do.

"What do we do next then?" asked Cullen.

"Well, I've got my boys out hunting for Jamie Cook," said Lamb, stroking the beard triangle again, "and your Caldwell is looking into Seamus Mulgrew."

"She's not my Caldwell," said Cullen.

"Is she anyone's?" asked Lamb, raising an eyebrow.

Cullen had noticed Lamb eyeing her up earlier. "Aye, she's married to a guy called Rod Caldwell."