Devil in the Detail (Scott Cullen Mysteries) (33 page)

"I'm still waiting on an apology," said Lamb.

Bain turned around and stared at Lamb. "You what?" he called.

"Well, I notice that you haven't mentioned that Jamie Cook turned up in your back yard, rather than mine," said Lamb. "That deserves an apology."

Bain stabbed his finger out. "If you had actually found this little toe rag when you were supposed to, before the little bastard got his car, then this wouldn't have happened, would it?"

"Keep telling yourself that," said Lamb, looking away.

Bain started forward, driving across onto the Harry Lauder Road towards Leith.
 

"This isn't the end of the matter, Sergeant," said Bain.

"I don't imagine it is," replied Lamb. He took a deep breath. "I think we should both let this one drop."

"If you think for one minute that I'm not having your bollocks on a plate," said Bain, "then you are very much mistaken."

"You're not exactly covering yourself in glory here, Brian," said Lamb. "Just be mindful of that."

They drove in silence for a few minutes as Bain ploughed down the long straight of Seafield Road, past the car showrooms and the City's cat and dog rescue home. Bain tore round a chicane in the road and passed the McDonald's. Horns blared as Bain overtook where he shouldn't. He pulled up for the red lights beside the block of flats where Cook's car had been found, then carried on, past more industrial units, carpet showrooms, greasy spoons and a couple of dodgy pubs.
 

Eventually, they came to the Shore pub, surrounded by hordes of police cars with flashing lights. They parked up a side street and walked over. Cullen shivered from the icy North Sea blast, the puddles from the earlier rain looking like freezing soon.
 

The Shore was on the ground floor of an old Victorian tenement on the boundary between the revamped docklands in Leith and the still-industrial Seafield, among the new-build yuppie flats. Across the street was a scrap yard, piles of rusting steel against the chain link fence, which highlighted the harsh demarcation of new and old Leith.
 

Leith had undergone a major gentrification - style bars, nightclubs, delis, new build flats on a grand scale, shopping malls, the Scottish Executive - but Cullen thought it was now on its way back down. Style bars had become curry houses, a Sainsbury's Local had opened, the last club had shut and much of its previous magic had been lost. Fountainbridge and the developments on the old brewery site that lined the Edinburgh to Glasgow canal was the new 'in' area. In Portobello, where he lived, Cullen thought the transformation had been more gradual and would be more sustainable.

Bain emerged first and walked quickly towards the pub. Buxton appeared from inside.
 

"What's going on then?" asked Bain.

"He's in there with a geezer from Haddington," said Buxton, "another from just up the road and a couple of boys from Granton."

"I want statements off the Edinburgh three," said Bain. "The other two I want up at Leith Walk."

Buxton nodded. "Sure thing," he said. "Just one thing, though, guv."

"Spit it out."

"Jamie Cook is absolutely shit-faced."

*

Bain sped into the car park underneath the Leith Walk station. He parked across two spaces. He was first out, jogging across the car park to the stairs. Cullen and Lamb followed.
 

Buxton had taken Cook and Young to the station in a meat wagon, while Cullen, Bain and Lamb had stayed behind to speak to Cook's drinking buddies. They hadn't learned anything of use - the companions barely knew Cook and had just met him that day - they were mates of Steven Young.
 

"I want you two in that room with me," said Bain.

Cullen struggled to understand Bain's thinking at times - Lamb and he weren't exactly on Bain's Christmas card list. He suspected that Bain would make them guilty by association if it all went wrong. Conversely, Bain would no doubt find technicalities to ensure that they didn't share his glory.

They left the stairwell at the ground floor and Bain headed to the reception desk.

"Where is he?" they heard Bain shouting at Jim Mullen, the red-faced Desk Sergeant. He was several stone overweight, his dark hair way past the point of receding.
 

"Eh?"

Bain showed his warrant card. "Jamie Cook, where is he?"

"I know who you bloody are, Brian," said Mullen. "What do you want?"

"I need to see Jamie Cook," said Bain.

"Brian, can you please calm down?" said Mullen, in a tone that betrayed many years of dealing with difficult members of the public.
 

"I am calm," shouted Bain.

Mullen shook his head. "PC Buxton brought him in ten minutes ago," he said. "He's in three."

"That's all I fuckin' wanted," said Bain.

Cullen thought that Bain was lucky to have avoided any members of the public.

Bain marched off behind the desk and swiped his ID card. He yanked it over his neck as he went through the door.
 

"Here," shouted Mullen at Lamb. "I need you to sign in."

"I'll do it," said Cullen.
 

"Catch me up," called Bain.

Cullen pulled his own ID card out and filled out a visitor's form for Lamb. Mullen slowly printed a guest card and copied a few details out from Lamb's warrant card. They followed Bain through the security door.
 

"He's a loose cannon," said Lamb in a low voice, as they walked down the long corridor that ran the length of the station.

"Tell me about it," said Cullen.

They turned the corner to see Bain arguing with Buxton outside an Interview Room, eyes almost bulging out of his head, hand running over the stubble on his head. He locked eyes on Lamb and Cullen and marched over to them.
 

"You would not fuckin' believe it," he said to Cullen. "Fuckin' Campbell McLintock is his lawyer and he's in there with him now. Says that Cook is too pished to be interviewed."

Jamie Cook was clearly out of it. He was struggling to stay upright in the seat and focus on what was going on. From the smell, Cullen could tell that it was alcohol - and lots of it - rather than heroin or crack. At the very least, they could do him for underage drinking.

Cullen knew that Cook was seventeen but he looked at least twenty-one. His hair hung off his face in a long curtain which he kept tugging back behind his left ear. He had several days' worth of stubble, though his beard was patchy. His bloodshot eyes looked vacantly at the wall, a spaced-out grin on his face. He wore a blue and green checked shirt over a black t-shirt, daubed with the logo of a metal band. He had baggy, dark blue jeans - Cullen half-suspected they would be low slung. There was a cup of machine coffee in front of him, steam rising in a swirl.
 

Lamb and Bain were across the desk from Cook. A digital recorder sat silent, a red light flashing intermittently. Cullen sat off to the side, his notebook open, scribbling away - Bain didn't trust the recorder to capture everything. PC Buxton stood in his uniform by the door, guarding the exit.

Campbell McLintock sat next to Jamie Cook, wearing a turquoise shirt and yellow tie under a dark green suit. It was easily the worst combination that Cullen had ever seen McLintock wear - he usually had some vague trace of sartorial elegance. Cullen and Bain had dealt with him before - he was notorious throughout Lothian & Borders for being disruptive and manipulative. Recent changes to the Scottish legal system as a result of the Cadder case played into McLintock's hands – the appeal case fundamentally changed the Scottish legal system, requiring lawyers present at all interviews.

"Jamie," said Bain.

There was no response from Cook.

McLintock addressed Bain. "Inspector, it is clear to all present that my client is not in a fit state to answer questions. I would suggest that you defer this until such a time as my client is sufficiently recovered."

"I'll be the judge of that," said Bain.

"Jamie," said Bain, louder.

He looked round at them. "Mm?"

"Jamie," said Bain, "do you know why you are here?"

"Police brutality?"

"Inspector," said McLintock, "this is unacceptable. You are breaching several points of the law. This is harming your case more than my client's defence."

Bain ignored McLintock. "Listen, sonny," he snarled at Cook. "I've sat for ten minutes watching you dribble, you need to speak to us now."

Cook had an impudent look on his face. "Aren't you listening to my lawyer?" he slurred.

"We need to ask you some serious questions," said Bain, "and you are going to answer them. Now, are you going to co-operate?"

"Aye, whatever," said Cook, looking bored.

Lamb locked Bain in a steely glare. He turned to Cook. "Jamie, we need you to go through your movements since Sunday morning," he said, "from when you left the police station in Garleton."

"What day is it?" asked Cook.

"It's Tuesday," answered Bain.

"Inspector," said McLintock, "I really must insist that you close this interview down now and we reconvene once my client is more temporaneously aware."

The boy sat there silent, staring into space, still smirking. Bain stared at McLintock, silently fuming.

"Sir," said Cullen.
 

Bain shot a look at Cullen. Cullen gestured to the door. Bain paused the interview and left the room. Cullen and Lamb followed, leaving Buxton alone with Cook and McLintock.

Outside in the hall, Bain started pacing back and forwards.
 

"You need to listen to McLintock for once," said Cullen. "Jamie Cook is not in a fit state to be answering these questions. He is clearly off his face."

"Aye, well," said Bain, "we can get a formal statement later."

"Not with his lawyer present," said Cullen. "He'll tear you apart in court. He's right - this is harming us more than it is him. If he confesses now, it'll be on record how out of it the boy is. We need to wait until he is sufficiently sober to actually know what day it is."

Bain punched his fist into the wall, leaving a slight dent in the plasterboard. "We've not got the time, Cullen," he shouted. "I need to get a fuckin' collar and quick."

Cullen felt rage boil up. Bain was on borrowed time - the longer he took to make a formal charge, the more likely it was that Cargill would be put on the case. Turnbull would be under immense pressure from DCS Whitehead and ACC Duffin to make serious progress. The risk they'd taken in assigning the case to Bain was clearly not paying off. Bain was being pressurised into framing someone - regardless of guilt. It amazed Cullen how quickly he'd switched from Mulgrew to Cook as the prime suspect.

"Cullen's right," said Lamb. "This is not the way to do this."

"Right, well, what the fuck do you suggest then, Sergeant?" said Bain.

"We've got him here," said Lamb. "He is being detained. He's not going anywhere."

"You know what McLintock is playing at here, don't you?" said Bain.

"Enlighten me."

"He's playing for a release without charge," said Bain. "The way that boy is out of his face, he's not likely to be sober any time this week, let alone in the next eleven hours."

"You'll know yourself that there are a few ways we can play that game," said Lamb. "If we get him full of Red Bull or coffee, we'll stand a fighting chance."

Bain nodded his head slowly. "I've got a few cans up in my desk drawer," he said.

"Are you going to be allowed to extend the detention period?" asked Lamb.

"What do you fuckin' mean?"

"I mean, do you have to go to Turnbull if you want it extended or are you empowered?" asked Lamb.

Bain snorted. "Suppose I'll have to ask Jim."

"And do you think he'll extend it?"

"Doubt it," said Bain.

"You need to get on top of this," said Lamb. "Brian, you need to take charge of this case."

"Are you suggesting I'm not?" asked Bain.

"Shall we go back in and let McLintock know?" asked Cullen, trying to separate them.

Bain stroked his moustache. "Aye," he said. "This boy is involved with what's happened. There is something fishy going on and he is fuckin' stinkin'. He's goin' down for this."

Bain threw the door open and walked back into the interview room.

"Inspector," said Robert Cook, "you are holding our son without charge. You are aware of that?"

"Don't worry, Mr Cook," said Bain, "once your son has sobered up from his underage drinking session, we will continue the questioning and look to charge him forthwith."

Cullen, Bain and Lamb were in an interview room with Robert and Wilma Cook. The digital recorder blinked away.

"I see," said Robert Cook.

"Don't worry," said Bain. "Your lawyer will be present."

"Of course."

"It's somewhat unusual for Mr McLintock to have clients out your way," said Bain. "He's usually Edinburgh only."

"He comes highly recommended," said Cook. "It might not seem it to you but we only want the best for our son."

Bain grinned. "If that's the case, can I ask again why you were unaware of your son's movements over the last two days?" he asked.

Cook looked at Lamb. "Bill, can't you do something to stop this?" he asked, almost pleading.

"I'm afraid I can't," said Lamb. "Your son is the main suspect in a double murder."

"You can't think that Jamie killed Mandy and Seamus, can you?" asked Wilma Cook.

"Mrs Cook," said Bain, "we have sufficient evidence to suggest that your son is the main suspect in this case."

"But why?" asked Wilma.

"We are not at liberty to divulge that at present," said Bain.

"Come on, Bill," said Robert Cook. "Can't you do anything here? This is totally preposterous. You know Jamie. He's not a bad boy."

"His criminal record would suggest that he is," said Bain.

Cook closed his eyes. "Jamie has got himself involved in some mischief, that's all."

"He's got a record longer than my arm," said Bain.