Ghost in the Machine (31 page)

"I'm confident." Bain slowly nodded his head. "The Fiscal is as well. And this was before we caught him red-handed. We've got plenty of time to consolidate the other evidence we need before it gets anywhere near a jury."

"Fine, whatever." Cullen sighed. "I'm just sceptical, that's all. I think we're putting all of our eggs in one basket."

"No," said Bain. "We've
found
four eggs in one basket. There's a world of difference."

Cullen just shrugged his shoulders.

"Are you going to come for a pint?" said Bain.

"Aye, I'll see you over there. I just want to write up my door-to-door."

Bain raised an eyebrow. "If you're not desperate to get fired into the lager, could you do me a favour?"
 

"Depends what it is."

"I've had to put Wilkinson and Irvine in with Rob Thomson at Turnbull's insistence to ensure independence or some such shite," said Bain. "I want you to sit in, as I could do with Wilkinson over at the boozer."

"Why?"

Bain looked away from Cullen. "Need the superior officers to show a proper thank you to the junior officers."

Cullen clocked it immediately - Bain didn't want Wilkinson gaining any ground on him in the promotion stakes, so he was using some sort of solidarity with the junior officers as a ruse to prevent him uncovering anything before Bain. "Fine."

Bain patted him on the shoulder. "That's my boy."

Anyway, Cullen wanted the opportunity to ask Rob Thomson some questions about Gail McBride.

Thomson slouched in his chair across the table from Cullen and Irvine. He looked terrible, his white shirt soaked through with sweat and dark rings under his eyes. A brown leather jacket was draped over the back of his chair. Campbell McLintock once again sat in and had done all of the talking since Cullen entered.

"I'll ask you again." Irvine's mouth was pounding on the contents of a pack of chewing gum when he wasn't speaking. "Where did the knife come from?"

Thomson continued to stare at the table. He and McLintock had obviously practiced their hand-offs since the earlier interview. Thomson was mute throughout, deferring to the lawyer.

"I will refer you to my client's previous comment," said McLintock.

Irvine glowered - he'd made no progress with the case since Cullen had arrived, only eliciting a stream of 'no comment' responses. The only thing he was in danger of doing was getting a punch in the face from McLintock. Bain's fears were obviously unfounded - Cullen couldn't imagine Wilkinson had somehow raised the bar before being relieved.

"Mr Thomson," said Cullen, "can you please explain how you know Gail McBride."

Thomson frowned - it was obviously the first time they had used her name. "Gail?"

"Please refrain from any further comment," said McLintock.

"Wait a minute," said Thomson. "Why are you asking me about
Gail
?"

"Can you confirm you know a Gail McBride?" said Cullen.

"No further comment," said McLintock.

Cullen sighed. "I'll take it from your response you know Gail. She was murdered on Sunday night."

Thomson snapped forward in his chair. "Gail's dead?"

"Yes," said Cullen.

Thomson closed his eyes. "Fine, yes, I know Gail.
Knew
her. Christ."

McLintock slapped his fountain pen on the desk.

"Thank you, Mr Thomson," said Cullen. "Can you elaborate on your relationship with Mrs McBride?"

"I worked with her for a while," said Thomson. "She works at Alba Bank too. I'm running the project to integrate Eire Finance with our systems. Gail worked in operations and used the system all the time. She was on the project as a subject matter expert on the first phase. I was in Dublin for about nine months. Gail was there for two or three."

"I imagine being away must have been pretty hard on your marriage," said Cullen.

"Of course it was," said Thomson. "I was over there, flying back every weekend. Sometimes we had stuff going in at the weekends as well, so I had to stay there."

"And during this period your marriage fell apart, am I right?" said Cullen.

"Yes," said Thomson. "Caroline was nipping my head all the time - Jack this, Jack that."

"And this was when you started seeing Kim Milne?"

"Aye. I didn't mean for anything to happen. The three of us were out - me, Gail and Kim - along with a big group of us. We had an expensive meal, few bottles of nice wine, all on expenses. Then we went on to a club."

"I thought you were supposed to be
working
out there?" said Irvine.

Thomson shrugged his shoulders. "Not all the time."

"This night out," said Cullen, "this was when you got together with Kim Milne?"

"Aye," said Thomson. "I can't remember the name of the club. Kim was dancing on the tables and we almost got chucked out. Gail was embarrassed, kept telling her to stop it, but..." He broke down in tears, muttering "Kim".

"I must insist we terminate this interview until my client is in a more receptive frame of mind," said McLintock.

"Okay," said Cullen. "Interview terminated at twenty-two twenty-six hours.

Cullen didn't know how Bain would interpret this new connection.

As Cullen pushed open the Elm's front door, his phone rang - Alison. He let it ring out. He couldn't be bothered with that just now.

The Elm was absolutely rammed. Cullen recognised a few faces at various tables, but his attention was drawn to the bar. Bain was holding court - Irvine, Wilkinson and Holdsworth all hanging on his every word, along with an irritated-looking McNeill. Miller was at a table with McAllister.

Cullen's phone buzzed with a new text - Alison left a voicemail.

"Sundance." Bain was already three sheets to the wind - he held up his glass in toast. "Well done, Scott Cullen, you cracked the case."

Wilkinson looked bemused as he raised his glass.

Bain turned round to the barman and ordered a pint of Stella.

"How have I cracked the case?" said Cullen.

"You just linked him to Gail McBride," said Bain. "That's fuckin' good work."

"How did you find out?" said Cullen.

"Irvine just told me," said Bain. "Really good effort there, Sundance. Think I can charge Thomson with killing Gail McBride as well."

"You know my thoughts on that," said Cullen.

"None of that, Sundance," said Bain. "We're celebrating. It's not often we catch the fucker in the act and this time we have."

Bain handed him his pint.

"Where's DCI Turnbull?" said McNeill.

"Updating the Chief Constable just now," said Bain. "Should be over here soon. It's his card behind the bar and Miller's already been taking liberties."

McNeill took a sip of wine. "I take it you're pleased, then?"
 

Bain grinned. "Oh, fuck aye." He turned round and started chatting to Irvine about the Rangers match.

Cullen backed away from the bar and started on his pint, sinking half of it in two quick gulps.

McNeill moved over to join him. "You've done well."

Cullen shrugged. "I don't think I have."

"If Jim's on a conference call with the Chief Constable, you'll be getting credit at that level. There's not many of us get that sort of attention."

She was close to him, her eyes locked on his. Cullen wasn't sure what to do.

"Come on, Sharon, I've just made sure the wrong man is tried for this. Well, maybe not even the wrong man. Someone's going to be tried for the murders without real evidence. And I'm the one that's given Bain most of the stuff he's using. That he's misusing, even abusing."

"He was caught red handed," said McNeill.

"Have we got any witnesses to him stabbing her?" said Cullen. "No. He left work at the back of seven, right?"

"Aye. Got it on CCTV backed up with his security pass."

"We arrived at the flat at eight o'clock," said Cullen. "That's a hell of a lot of activity for one hour. He walked home from work, killed his girlfriend, then we get a 999, our boys pop round, catch him."

McNeill closed her eyes. "I don't have the energy for this, Scott. If you're right, the best we can hope for is it gets thrown out of court."

Cullen took a sip of beer. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was pushing this too hard. Maybe he needed a break. He sighed. "I'm not happy about it."

"Me neither. Just try and enjoy the limelight for now. We'll sort something out tomorrow."

"I finally got hold of Duncan Wilson," said Cullen. "He told me he heard about the death threats from Kim Milne."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, he used to work with her at Alba Bank."

McNeill stared into space. "The plot thickens."

Cullen held up his glass and clinked it with hers. "Well, here's cheers."

McNeill raised an eyebrow. "This doesn't get you off that drink, by the way."

"I'd hoped it hadn't," said Cullen. "Let's set a date and time."

"Tomorrow after work?" said McNeill. "Whenever that is."

"Fine by me," said Cullen.

"Good." McNeill drank, all the while keeping her eyes locked on his.

Cullen spotted Turnbull enter the pub. The DCI clocked Bain's group and headed over. McNeill hustled Cullen into the centre.

Turnbull beamed at him. "DC Cullen, I gather you're responsible for a lot of the progress in the case?"

"I noticed a few links along the way," said Cullen. "I can't take all of the credit."

"Nonsense," said Turnbull. "Brian, get this man another drink. I'll have a pint of IPA."
 

Bain went to the bar and ordered.

Turnbull patted McNeill on the back. "You're doing a great job of coaching young Cullen here, Sharon."

McNeill grinned. "Thanks."

"I was just saying to Bill Duffin we need more young officers like the pair of you, especially detective sergeants who are looking to better the police service, rather than merely their own careers - those who take a long view of things."

Bain and company slipped back to the bar, leaving Cullen with McNeill and Turnbull.

Cullen thought McNeill was flirting with Turnbull even more blatantly than she had with him.

"You should think about going for a DI job, Sharon," said Turnbull, "you've clearly got the skills."

"I'll bear it in mind," said McNeill. "I've only been a DS for a year."

"We've got ways and means of promoting people who demonstrate key behaviours, Sharon. Officers who deliver on our targets, you know that."

Cullen went to the bar to fetch their pints.

Bain leaned over and spoke to him. "Keep an eye on that one, Sundance. She'll shag anything to get ahead. Just you watch." He turned away before Cullen could reply.

Cullen slowly shook his head before he went back. He handed Turnbull his pint, who took it without looking, totally engrossed in the world of Sharon McNeill.

Cullen noticed McAllister had left Miller on his own. He moved over, neither McNeill nor Turnbull noticing his departure. Sitting next to Miller, Cullen sipped his pint and tried to figure out what was going on. He was getting tied in to Bain's vendetta in a way he didn't like. In the upper echelons of Lothian & Borders, his name was being bandied about as the officer who'd pulled everything together. The real clincher was Thomson being caught with Kim's blood on his hands, but not from anything Cullen had done. Was Bain trying to spread the blame should the collar go pear-shaped?

"All right, Scotty," said Miller, his voice slurred, "didn't notice you there, my man."

"Aye, I've only been sitting here for about five minutes, Keith."

Miller didn't just look fucked, he was fucked. If Bain was three sheets to the wind, Miller was the whole ream. He'd taken the free bar as an opportunity to consume as much as possible, as quickly and as stupidly as possible. The table was covered in empty beer and whisky glasses.

"You're a good copper, you know that?" said Miller. "That's what everyone is saying."

"Thanks."

Miller rummaged around on the table looking for something else to drink. There was a glass of white wine on the far edge, the last remnants of some ice cubes floating on the top.

"Seen Caldwell?" said Cullen.

"She just left." Miller held up the glass. He burped. "Spoke to Jim Turnbull earlier, by the way, did I tell you?"

"No?"

"Aye, he's making me a proper DC."

"When?"

"Early September," said Miller.

Cullen couldn't believe it - he'd worked with Miller for a while now and had come to realise he was completely useless. There were a significant number of competent officers who were miles better than him, but who were in the wrong roles. Caldwell was a shining example. He held his glass up. "Congratulations," he said, not exactly meaning it.

Miller tried to clink glasses but missed. "We got tonked tonight, by the way. Five nil. Fuck's sake, man." He threw back some wine. "Messi was superb. Best player I've ever seen in the flesh." He leaned in close to Cullen, laughing conspiratorially. "Don't tell the gaffer, right, but I went to the match."

Cullen rolled his eyes. "Keith, for Christ's sake, you were supposed to be watching that house for us."

"Aye, I was, but there wasn't anybody there."

Cullen wondered if he should tell Bain. "You shouldn't do stuff like that, Keith. Turnbull could rescind his offer."

"What does that mean?"

"Take it back."

"Nothing bad happened," said Miller.

Cullen knew there was no telling him. He might have to tell Turnbull himself.

"Look who it is." McAllister was clutching two pints of lager. "It's Robocop." He sat and handed one to Miller. "You're the hero of the hour, pal, everyone loves you. No idea why you're sitting here with us plebs. That DCI of yours is over there. Why don't you go lick his arse, get yourself a nice promotion out of it?"

Cullen gripped the pint glass tightly, barely controlling his anger. He put his half-empty glass on the table and got to his feet. "Catch you later, Keith."

He left the pub, his mind thinking of two things - a curry and a bottle of wine.