Dyed in the Wool (6 page)

"How would you describe him professionally?"

O'Brien stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds. "Xander wasn't the most career focused. His performance was okay. I mean, in his last annual appraisal he scored a three, which is average. I never had to think about putting him on an action contract. He was solid, always did what I asked him to but never anything more."

"What do you do here?"

O'Brien scowled. "This is a bank?"

Cullen smiled. "I meant your team?"

"Oh, right. We handle customer complaints. Back-office resolution team."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"He didn't turn up for work on Wednesday."

Cullen scribbled it down. Something might have happened to the boy on Tuesday night. "Did you hear from him?"

"I tried phoning his home, as per company policy, but there was no reply. The next step would be visiting his house on Monday."

Caldwell made a note. "What else can you tell us about him?"

"He was a big Rangers fan. Most of his money went on going to see them. Every weekend he'd be through in Glasgow or travelling the country to away matches. He's been to see a few different teams this season given what's happened. He was up at Elgin last weekend and still hung-over when he came in on Monday."

"Do you have any idea who would want to harm Mr Aitken?"

O'Brien slowly shook her head. "Not that I'm aware of."

Caldwell smiled. "Would it be possible to speak to his colleagues?"

"That shouldn't be a problem."

*
*
*

O'Brien showed in the last of Aitken's colleagues, a middle-aged man. "This is Will Brown. I'll leave you to it. I've got an audio conference I'm late for." She shut the door behind her.

Cullen gestured across the table. "Please, have a seat."

Brown sat, eyes darting around, arms folded across his chest. "How can I help?"

Caldwell cleared her throat. "What can you tell us about Alexander Aitken?"

"Sat next to him. Didn't know the boy very well."

"Why would that be?"

"He was a bit of a loner." Brown rubbed his thinning hair, spectral wisps held back in a facsimile of the haircut he would have had as a younger man, the white of his scalp clearly visible. "None of us knew him well. We're a pretty tight team and Sheena's a good manager. We all go for lunch in the canteen, except for Alexander. He wasn't what you'd call a team player, but he got through the work reasonably well."

"Is there anything at all you can tell us about Mr Aitken?"

Brown sneezed into his white handkerchief. He pocketed it then leaned forward on the table. "The only time Alexander would engage with us, was on the few nights out that he came to. He used to get really pi- drunk. We'd see a different side to him."

"In what way?"

Brown shrugged. "He'd get all animated. I mean, most of the time Alexander was a typical Scottish hard man. Lots of grunts and glares. He was too cool for school that boy."

"So he'd get aggressive on these nights out?"

"The opposite. He'd get really hyper. Sort of dancing, like." Brown made a show of dancing, hands in the air, like at a rave or a club. "There's a few times we went to those clubs in town that start at four on a Friday, fifty pee a shot, that sort of thing. I only went along for the drink, you understand, but the lassies in the team would start dancing early. Alexander joined them."

"Did he ever make advances on any of them?"

Brown stuck his bottom lip out, looking thoughtful. "Not that I can remember. He used to bug- leave pretty early."

Caldwell frowned. "Could he have been getting the train home?"

"I live out that way myself. Bathgate. There are trains till midnight and buses well into the wee small hours. I've taken them many a time."

"But you've no idea where he'd go on these nights out?"

"Afraid not. He wasn't the sort to have a banter about it on the Monday morning, you know?"

"I see." Cullen smiled at him. "Could you send Ms O'Brien back in?"

Brown got up, looking relieved. "Will do, son."

Cullen was about to take him to task for the 'son' but a look from Caldwell made him hold back.

Brown left the room and pulled the glass door to. In another conference room directly across the corridor, a particularly heated meeting was under way, a large man with a bald head and glasses waving his arms around and stretching his suit jacket to its limits, the other attendees looking bored by the rant. Cullen could only think of Bain.

Caldwell shut her notebook. "You could have bothered a bit there."

"Eh?"

"I asked most of the questions in all the interviews. You've just sat looking pretty."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"I'm serious. You're supposed to be leading, yet I'm the one asking all the questions."

"I'm taking the information in and giving you an opportunity to show how good you are."

"To show who? You're not in charge of me, you know."

"What's up with you?"

"You. I've carried you this morning."

Cullen creased his forehead, unsure where this had come from. She was in danger of becoming as resentful of him as he was of Irvine or Bain. "Angela, you've not carried me. I've let you show that you can lead an interview. I could tell Cargill how well you're developing now you're formally in the role. Not sure I can be arsed if you think I'm riding on your coattails."

"Whatever, Scott."

O'Brien waddled down the corridor, playing with her expensive haircut.

"Come on, our ticket out of here has arrived." Cullen got to his feet. "I'll get you back to Holdsworth."

Cullen sat at a free desk and got out his laptop, ready to write up his interview notes, with a view to getting Caldwell to overlay hers later.

"Mr Cullen."

Cullen recognised it. DS Colin Methven, Cargill's new deputy. He slowly turned. "Colin."

Methven narrowed his eyes, almost lost under his thick brows like billowing smoke. "I've not seen you around this morning. DI Cargill was looking for you."

"Been interviewing Xander Aitken's work colleagues. Bain's orders."

Methven leaned against the desk and put his hands in his pockets. "Tell me."

"Seems like he was a bit of a loner. Didn't mingle with the rest of the team much. Only oddity was that he got hammered pretty quickly on nights out then disappeared."

"Is that it?"

"I can only find what's there to find. Thought you were off today?"

"Yes, well, DI Cargill finally got notified by DI Bain and brought me in. I'm missing a day's training - I was going to run up Arthur's Seat this morning." Methven folded his arms across his chest. "I need to know everything you're up to from now on."

"I report to DS Irvine."

Methven sat on the edge of the desk beside Cullen. "For this case, you're working for me. This is too big a case to let the likes of Irvine and Bain mess it up. You're a good officer, Cullen, but you've got a reputation for being a bit of a sodding cowboy. I'm here to make sure you don't screw this case up."

Bain approached, eyes locked on the pair of them.

Slowly, Methven stood, putting his hands in his pockets and starting the incessant jangle - he must be top ten in pocket billiards.

"Sergeant." Bain shifted his gaze to Cullen. "Sundance, I need an update on Aitken."

Methven stood between them. "He's given the update to me, Inspector."

"Oh he has, has he?" Bain grinned. "Last time I checked, I was Senior Investigating Officer on this case and you were at home scratching your nuts, Crystal."

Methven closed his eyes as a smug grin filled his face. "You obviously haven't checked in a while, then." He reopened his eyes. "DI Cargill has been appointed SIO, you and I are Deputy SIOs."

Bain's eyes darted left to right. "Nobody's told me this."

"Do you honestly expect to be running a case like this with your reputation?"

"My reputation? While you've been up rogering sheep in Aberdeen and investigating who stole a can of Coke from wee Eck's corner shop, I've been solving big cases down here. Heard about the Schoolbook Killer, Crystal?"

"I love the nickname." Methven laughed. "Yet another example of your abuse of staff."

Bain squared up to him. "Have you heard of the Schoolbook Killer? And how I caught him?"

"I heard DC Cullen put it all together and you didn't back him up. Lost an officer, didn't you?"

Bain pointed a finger at him. "Listen, I'm not taking any of this shite from a DS."

"What's going on here?" DI Cargill was standing by the entrance to the Incident Room, hands on her sizeable hips, her forehead creased below her short fringe.

Bain thumbed at Methven. "This joker is telling me I'm no longer SIO on my own case."

"You're not." Cargill got in Bain's face. "Jim Turnbull has been trying to call you, but your phone is conveniently off."

"Conveniently? What are you trying to say?"

"He's summoned us to his office. Now."

Bain rubbed his face. "Fine. Let's go see him."

"Good." Cargill nodded at Methven. "You too." She looked at Cullen. "You shouldn't have to see that, Constable. It's not the sort of professional environment I wish to foster on one of my investigations."

Cullen raised his shoulders. "Not a problem with me."

"No, that is a problem. You shouldn't be used to it." Cargill marched out of the Incident Room, making sure Bain and Methven followed.

Cullen leaned back in his chair, trying to process what had just happened.

Sharon sat down next to him. "What was that all about?"

"Bain got his arse handed to him by Cargill. He's not SIO any more. Crystal is co-deputy with him."

"That's all we need."

Cullen gripped the edge of the desk. "Touch wood, this is the beginning of the end for Bain."

"We've said that before, Scott. Better just wait and see what happens."

"I suppose so." Cullen pointed at the door. "I feel like it's an 'out of the frying pan into the fire' thing with Methven."

"How?"

"Well, it's all this 'sodding' and 'bastarding'. At least Bain's machine gun f-bombs express something. 'Bastarding'? Really?"

Sharon chuckled as she sat next to him. "How's it going with Aitken?"

"Not another update I've got to give. First Methven, then Bain, now you. I'll just write my report up then everyone can read it."

"We're working on related parts of the investigation, so we need to work together."

"Fine." Cullen gave her his notebook.

She read it for a few seconds. "Interesting. Souness was a Rangers fan as well."

"Really? Suppose they all are in Ravencraig. There's only really Fauldhouse that's Celtic. I was going to use it as an opportunity to wind Bain up about Rangers being in the Third Division."

Sharon tutted. "You boys and your banter about football."

"Hey, I'm not that bad."

"Scott, that's just because your team's shite. Forgot to say, I got a text from my dad asking if yours was a Celtic fan."

"Why?"

"They were both moaning about Rangers last night so he thought your dad supported Celtic."

"He could've asked." Cullen laughed. "My dad's in danger of becoming an anti-Rangers fan, rather than a pro-Aberdeen fan. He's a sheep shagger through and through, just like me."

"Chip off the old block, aren't you?"

"You can talk, joining the force like your old man."

"And you wonder why Bain calls me Butch." She smoothed down her trouser leg. "I've got to head out to Ravencraig to speak to Souness's employer. He was a mechanic at Nichol's Garage. Can you help?"

"I really should get these notes typed up."

"Come on, Scott. You're my last hope. I couldn't prise Caldwell away from Holdsworth. No idea why, but he's in a shite mood."

Cullen winced. "That's probably my fault."

"Come on, chum me out to Ravencraig."

"I'm not hearing the magic word."

"Okay, please."

Cullen got to his feet. "Fine. It'll keep me away from whatever games are going on here."

*
*
*

Sharon drove them into Ravencraig, the small town perched on top of the hills overlooking much of West Lothian. In the daylight, Cullen could clearly make out Bathgate in the foreground and Livingston in the distance.

Cullen's phone beeped - a new text message from his mother. Aer wee e meeetngi up! He glanced over at Sharon, focused on the driving. "Reckon there's any danger I'll get away to see my parents?"

"None."

Cullen tapped at his phone. "Sorry. Can't get away today."

The road opened out into the wide, long High Street as they passed Ranger Rover. Sharon took the turning to Souness and Aitken's flat, before entering the usual sights - a Co-op, a Greggs, a fish and chip shop, two off-licenses and several pubs. Pretty much the last building on the street before it became an A-road was Nichol's garage.

Sharon pulled into the single parking space. "Must be like coming home. Back to the wild west."

Cullen got out and leaned across the roof of the car. "Believe me, I'd much rather be out in Garleton or Wester Hailes."

She led them over the road. The sign above the door to the garage read 'Proprietor: Hugh Nichol'. It was busy and loud, at least seven cars on the go, with a gang of mechanics shouting at each other and throwing tools. No sign of any customers. Maybe it was the sort of place you left your car in the morning and collected after work.

A middle-aged man approached, rubbing his hands on an oily rag. "Can I help?"

Sharon got out her warrant card. "Can we speak to Hugh Nichol?"

"You're speaking to him. And I prefer Shug."

"Fine." Sharon put her card away. "We believe a Kenneth Souness works here?"

"You'd better come through to my office."

They followed him into the garage, even louder than when they'd been standing on the periphery. He led them through a battered wooden door, a crude hand-drawn cartoon of Wonder Woman sitting on the toilet with her spangly pants round her knees pinned to the inside.

Sharon scowled at it.

Nichol sat down at a cramped desk, his chair wedged in a small gap. He gestured at two mismatched chairs opposite. "Kenny's not been in since Monday."