Devil in the Detail (Scott Cullen Mysteries) (4 page)

"I'm wondering if they saw anything," he said, pointing to the house.

"Bain told us to go and speak to the dog walker, though."

"And we will."

Cullen stopped at the front door and hammered on the door. No answer. He squinted into the front room through drawn curtains but couldn't see anyone.

"Someone has either killed Mandy here or moved her here to dispose of the body," he said. "These people would be the first I'd expect to have heard anything during the night."

Caldwell took a deep breath. "This is your decision, not mine."

He smiled. "It's my arse that Bain will kick," he said.

He tried it again. After another ten seconds, he decided to head round the back of the house. The bin was by the back door, a green wheelie bin. He lifted the lid and peered inside.

Caldwell grabbed his arm. "Scott, what are you playing at?" she asked.

"I'm checking their bins," he said.

"What for?"

"To see if there's anything inside them," he said. "They're empty."

"So?"

"I'm just trying to check if they're here or not," he said. "Like I said, somebody was here with Mandy, either dead or alive, and I would have expected the residents of this house to have seen or heard something."

"If they were here," she said.

"Aye, if they were here." He checked the brown recycling bin; empty as well.
 

"Or the bin men have been," she said.

He smiled. "We call them scaffies where I'm from." He looked into the room at the back, a kitchen fitted out to a high standard, dark oak free-standing furniture surrounding a wide Aga. It was spotless. "Looks like they're away."

She rubbed her neck. "Good," she said. "Can we do what Bain's asked us to do?"

He looked in the window again and decided to give up. "Fine."

*

Morag Tattersall lived in a small cottage, just along the lane from where Cullen had finally managed to park. It was the house furthest from the road and looked like it had the biggest garden with a reasonable-sized landscaped area lying off to the side of the house. The interior was done in a rustic style with exposed beams, pine furniture and checked curtains but also some very modern furniture. Tattersall sat on a reclining chair, black leather with matching footstool. Cullen knew them from IKEA - he'd been tempted to buy one himself but he wouldn't quite be able to fit it into his bedroom in the shared flat he currently lived in.
 

Tattersall's two dogs lay curled up on a leather sofa across from her, a cream rug lying underneath them. They were greyhounds, one black and one grey-brown, or 'blue' as they were known to the greyhound scene. Cullen's Dad had kept a pair of rescue greyhounds for as long as Cullen could remember, every so often replacing a sadly-departed old dog with a just-retired young thing.

Tattersall had said very little to them. Her hands were still shaking, her fingernails encrusted with dark mud. According to the statement Lamb had given Cullen, she had found the body at roughly eight thirty. It was only an hour later and the discovery must still have been very fresh in her mind.

"I bet they need a lot of exercise," said Caldwell, pointing to the dogs.

"Not really," said Tattersall.

"My dad has two greyhounds as well," said Cullen. "They're the laziest dogs I've ever met. They go for a run on the beach and then do absolutely nothing for the rest of the day."

Tattersall looked at him and smiled, the first sign of any emotion from her in the ten minutes they'd been with her. The exchange seemed to open Tattersall up. Caldwell eventually managed to coax her into recounting her experience that morning and soon it came out in a stream - walking the dogs, Meg not returning when called, discovering the body, digging it out, calling the police, waiting for Lamb to turn up.

"Had you ever seen the girl before?" asked Cullen.

Tattersall shook her head strongly. "No, never," she said. "The police officer said that she's from Garleton. I rarely go there."

"Do you know anyone from the town?"

"There's a woman from my yoga class lives there," said Tattersall, "but she's barely an acquaintance."

Cullen decided that it wasn't worth any further investigation. "Did you see or hear anything suspicious as you approached the body?" he asked.

"No, nothing out of the ordinary," replied Tattersall. "I mean, it was very quiet - it always is - but the rain must have put most people off."

"Do you regularly walk at this time?" asked Cullen.

"Most days, yes," she replied. "Especially on a Monday - there is a yoga class in North Berwick that I go to, so I need to get the girls walked before I head off."

"Do you often see people on the walk?" asked Cullen.

"Sometimes I do," she said. "There's a retired couple a few doors down that take their pair of Jack Russells for a walk around the ponds at about the same time."

Cullen noted it down.

"And what about during the night?" he asked. "Anything strange? Any cars coming up in the middle of the night, anything like that."

She thought it over for a few seconds. "Not that I can think of, no," she said, her voice barely audible. "I'm not the lightest of sleepers, however."

"Do you live alone?" he asked.

"No, I live with my husband."

"Could he have seen anything, do you think?" asked Cullen.

"He's in London, I'm afraid," she said. "He's a management consultant, always away. He caught the train down last night from Dunbar at the back of six."

"That must be hard for you," said Caldwell, "especially at a time like this. Do you need anyone to look in?"

"Well, Andrew is trying to get away today," replied Tattersall. "And my sister is coming over from Falkirk."
 

He looked out the living room window - the view stretched across the hedge and fence to the gatehouse over the main road.

"Do you know who owns the gatehouse?" he asked.

"Yes I do," she said with a scowl. "Mr and Mrs Williamson. They just moved in a few months ago." Her face became even sourer. "They blocked the path off and turned it into a garden. It's a frightful nuisance."

"I see," said Cullen, wary of getting involved in a neighbourly dispute. "And do you know where they are?"

"I think they're away on holiday," she replied. "The car has been gone for a few days."

Cullen frowned. "It's a bit strange to be away late January, isn't it?"

"It's skiing season," she replied. The knowing look on her face made Cullen feel out of his depth. "We usually go at this time of year but Andrew's been too busy to take leave."

Cullen racked his brain for anything else they hadn't asked and came up blank. He thanked her for her time and handed her his card.
 

"If you hear of anything or recall anything that might help then please do not hesitate to give me a call."

*

Cullen and Caldwell returned to the crime scene at Balgone Ponds, looking for Bain and Lamb. Cullen wondered if they were any closer to discovering if it was the scene of the murder or just where the body was dumped.

The young PC still stood guard at the police cordon, shivering in the cold and the rain. Cullen knew from bitter experience that he would likely be posted there for the rest of his shift, the promise of overtime being the only consolation. Cullen chatted to him - his name was PC Johnny Watson. He found out that the SOCO van had left, the body had been removed and at least half of the officers had left. Cullen thanked him and they headed off.

They found Bain and Lamb stuck in a heated discussion. Murray was listening in but keeping a distance from the two stags. Cullen shared a look of raised eyebrows with Murray as they approached. Law was looking bewildered - Cullen had thought that she had a certain look of cool detachment earlier, but having two senior officers at the point of battering each other had obviously fazed her. McLaren was nowhere to be seen.
 

"Let me be clear, DS Lamb, and remind you that I have rank here," said Bain, his voice almost a hiss. "I'm the Senior Investigating Officer on this case and you are a Detective Sergeant."

Lamb didn't reply immediately, just held Bain's look.
 

Cullen imagined that his thoughts were along the lines of City cops coming into his patch and stealing his case and any attached glory. The structure of Lothian & Borders CID was such that each division had its contingent of Detectives. Edinburgh City - A Division - had by far the largest concentration but crucially had the higher ranks as well. Pretty much every regional station that Cullen had ever been in had one DS with two or three DCs, like Lamb had, which was sufficient to cope with their usual caseload - burglary, drugs and the occasional attack. The ranks of DI and above were central administrative roles in the regional stations, rather than active investigating officers like Bain. Cullen knew that cases like this were always a sore point with the local police when the likes of Bain would be called in to spearhead a high profile investigation. This case had clearly looked like murder when they found the body, hence Edinburgh CID being called out so early on.
 

To Cullen, though, Lamb could be a useful foil for Bain. He knew the area, all the nooks and crannies of East Lothian. He also knew the people - he had the contacts that years of working in a community would give, that a week or so on a murder case like this could never. He'd also got Bain's back up so early on which, to Cullen, meant one more potential ally if Bain got into yet another vendetta.

"Fair enough," said Lamb, stepping back. He did so with a flounce, smiling as he did it to show there wasn't an issue to the junior officers present.

Bain looked like he wasn't finished with Lamb but his gaze settled on Cullen. "That was quick," said Bain. "Hope you two weren't arsin' about."

"Hardly," drawled Cullen.

He updated Bain and Lamb on the visit to Morag Tattersall and the news that the couple who owned the gatehouse were probably away skiing. He passed on the names and address of Tattersall's neighbours who walked the Jack Russell every day – there had been no answer on the way over.

Bain digested the information for a few seconds.

"I think we should interview all of the residents," said Cullen. He'd hesitated in suggesting it, fearing that he'd be asked to do it. "Something has clearly happened here between Mandy going to bed last night and Morag Tattersall finding her. Someone in those cottages might have seen something.

Bain nodded slowly.
 

At that moment, DS Alan Irvine appeared, his jaws pounding on the best part of a packet of chewing gum, DC McLaren trailing in his wake. Irvine was tall, overweight and prematurely bald. He was Cullen's DS now, Cullen and Sharon having been separated by DCI Turnbull, Bain's boss, the previous September when they had finally announced they were an item and not just another in Cullen's long line of flings. Sharon initially appeared to have lucked out by getting away from Bain but then she now reported into DI Paul Wilkinson - she once referred to it as being 'out of the frying pan into the knackered gas cooker that doesn't give a shite'. Irvine had once been a hot shot in Lothian & Borders but, to Cullen, he was now content to just put the hours in and brown nose the senior officers.

"You better be keepin' my crime scene clean," said Bain. "Don't want any fuckin' nonsense, all right?"

"Aye, no bother, gaffer," said Irvine. "Got six people managing this place. Nobody's getting in or out without signing a form."
 

Cullen would be very surprised if the forms were legible by the time they needed to be used. Both forms that he'd signed were already damp, despite the plastic covering.

Irvine looked at Cullen. "Pish result for your boys on Saturday."

Cullen had avoided the usual Monday morning football banter with Irvine in the canteen that morning – after the comment about Miller's birthday, Cullen had left Irvine in the queue.

"One all at Ibrox isn't that bad," said Cullen.

"Depends on who you fuckin' support," said Bain. "Rangers are goin' to the fuckin' wall. I thought all this shite with the Inland Revenue was enough, but drawing at home to Cullen's lot is the last fuckin' straw."

While Bain supported Rangers, Cullen was an Aberdeen fan – the nearest clubs to his hometown of Dalhousie would be the Dundee clubs, several lower league clubs or Aberdeen. Cullen's old man was a season ticket holder at Pittodrie, seemingly one of the very few remaining, and he still made the long drive up the A90 every second Saturday.

"Aye, well," said Irvine, "I was at Tynecastle to watch us get turned over by Caley Thistle."

Bain shook his head. "I'm surprised you bring football up these days with the way Hearts are playing," he said. "How's the investigation going with those SOCOs?"

"Anderson said he'll fast track the forensic report," said Irvine, "but he's not confident he'll have anything decent to show 'cos of the rain."

"Right," said Bain, shaking his head. "Never gets any fuckin' easier this, does it?"

Irvine took a tub of Wrigley's Extra out of his pocket, shook it and threw another couple of pieces in his mouth. He pocketed it again without offering it around. Cullen reckoned Irvine went through three or four of the tubs a week - one day he might start counting if he became particularly bored.

"So what do you want us to do then?" asked Cullen.

"I want Lamb setting up an Incident Room," said Bain. "We've talked this through already - Haddington is too far, so we'll set up in the Garleton nick instead."

"And I'm sure they'll love us coming in and trying to grab a room," said Lamb.

Bain glared at him. "Aye, well, they've no choice in the matter," he said. He looked at Cullen and Caldwell. "Sundance, I want you and Batgirl here with me. We're going to interview the deceased's family and friends. I want to know what happened from before she went to bed last night till they noticed she was gone. I want to know everything about that wee girl. Somebody's seen something and I want them in a room giving a statement."