Devil in the Detail (Scott Cullen Mysteries) Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Other Books

  Dedication

  Note

  Prologue

  Mon 23-Jan

  First thing

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  fifteen

  sixteen

  seventeen

  eighteen

  nineteen

  twenty

  twenty-one

  Tue 24-Jan

  twenty-two

  twenty-three

  twenty-four

  twenty-five

  twenty-six

  twenty-seven

  twenty-eight

  twenty-nine

  thirty

  thirty-one

  thirty-two

  thirty-three

  thirty-four

  thirty-five

  thirty-six

  thirty-seven

  thirty-eight

  thirty-nine

  forty

  forty-one

  forty-two

  forty-three

  forty-four

  forty-five

  last thing

  Epilogue

  NEXT BOOK

  Other Books

  Copyright © 2013 Ed James

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Ed James

  Version 1.0

  OTHER BOOKS BY ED JAMES

  THE SCOTT CULLEN SERIES

  1GHOST IN THE MACHINE

  2DEVIL IN THE DETAIL

  3FIRE IN THE BLOOD

  4DYED IN THE WOOL

  5BOTTLENECK (coming 2014)

  SUPERNATURE SERIES -

  1SHOT THROUGH THE HEART

  2CRASH INTO MY ARMS (coming 2014)

  eBOOKS AVAILABLE NOW FROM AMAZON, BARNES & NOBLE, KOBO, iBOOKS, SONY eREADER AND OTHERS.

  PAPERBACKS AVAILABLE NOW FROM AMAZON.

  For my parents

  Note from the author

  Please note that this book contains many spoilers for GHOST IN THE MACHINE, the first SCOTT CULLEN book, so beware if you plan to read that as well. It's free.

  Amazon UShttp://amzn.to/IzknfQ

  Amazon UKhttp://amzn.to/Ih2ros

  For other countries or channels, please check http://www.edjamesauthor.com

  Prologue

  Wednesday, 18th August, 2011

  Detective Constable Scott Cullen sat in the back seat of his Detective Inspector's car and watched the mid-morning August rain pass overhead. It felt like they'd been inside forever and yet they still hadn't come out to fetch him. Maybe they didn't want him or wouldn't actually call for him.

  He was parked outside the house of Alan and Ailsa Miller, the parents of Keith Miller, a young Acting DC that had worked for Cullen. Keith had been murdered almost exactly two weeks ago, when he and Cullen rescued a young woman from the clutches of a serial killer now known in the press as the Schoolbook killer. Cullen thought that his DI's purple sports Mondeo was perhaps not the sort of car best suited to the occasion.

  Cullen had tortured himself for the last two weeks, blaming himself for the death of his colleague. He had taken some time off for counselling and to try to clear his head, returning to work that morning, only to be forced into the confrontation he feared - meeting the Miller family.

  The Miller house was a Victorian villa in Trinity, an upmarket area of Edinburgh wedged between Leith, Newhaven and Granton, areas noted for their teen gangs and other social problems. When they had worked together, Cullen had taken Keith Miller to be a typical Leith ned who had somehow ended up in the police. In truth, Miller's family had money - his Dad was high up in an insurance company, most likely the one Miller had worked before he joined the police, and his mother was a lawyer in some firm on George Street. Cullen had decided that it was neglect and spoilt kid syndrome that gave Miller his outlook on life - being at school with the kids who were in the gangs wouldn't have helped.

  Keith Miller had been notorious for being useless, lazy and conniving. Cullen regularly had to pick up work that Miller had somehow evaded and yet Miller never got his comeuppance, at least not until he had a knife stuck in his guts.

  There was a rap on the window of the driver side. Cullen looked over - it was DS Sharon McNeill.

  "They're ready for you, Scott," she said.

  He nodded and got out of the car.

  "How was it?" he asked, as they headed down the path to the large Victorian house.

  "Not great," she said. "The funeral was supposed to close things off but it doesn't seem to have."

  "Not likely with a death like this," he said. He stopped outside the front door. "This is your neck of the woods, isn't it?"

  "It is," she said with a warm smile. She had grown up in the area. "Do you think we're ready to meet my parents yet?"

  "Happy to," said Cullen, with a wink. "It's you that's stalling."

  Sharon was Cullen's direct boss but more recently had become his... what? Girlfriend? Partner? Other half? Lover? Cullen liked none of the terms particularly but had sort of settled on girlfriend. They had been an item for a fortnight but had yet to come clean to the powers that be. Cullen knew that they would be separated into different teams in CID - one of them would draw the short straw and continue to report to DI Brian Bain.

  "Speaking of stalling," she said, "you'd better get in there. Bain's waiting."

  "Fine," he said.

  She led him through to the living room. It was a big room, crammed full of ornate, dark oak furniture. Little light made it past the heavy curtains. Several old pictures - rural landscapes mainly - adorned the wall, giving the place the feel of a country house.

  DI Bain sat in an armchair, his small blue eyes glaring at Cullen. He was mid-40s with a head of grey stubble. His left hand stroked his thin moustache.

  Bain faced Alan and Ailsa Miller, who sat on a large, red leather settee. The coffee table sat between them had a half-empty cafetiere and some cups huddled in the middle of the polished wood surface.

  Alan Miller looked only slightly older than Bain. He had a full head of dark hair, with hints of grey around the temples. He was wearing a business suit, although Cullen couldn't tell if he'd come from the office, or was still on leave.

  His wife sat next to him. She looked older, as though she'd carried the pressure of her sons and her career. She wore a long black skirt and a white blouse, her grey hair cut short. She clutched a paper tissue in her left hand.

  Slouching on a dining chair beside the reproduction TV unit was Derek Miller, Keith's younger brother, fiddling with his Samsung phone. All Cullen knew about him was that he didn't work and had been able to acquire Hibs match tickets for Keith at short notice. He looked a few years younger than his brother and wore a t-shirt and hooded top - both with Super Dry logos - and had G-Star jeans pulled low, revealing the Calvin Klein logo on his pants. Cullen hated this trend and in other circumstances would be tempted to pull the trousers up.

  Bain gestured at a pair of armchairs next to the sofa and Cullen and Sharon sat down.

  Cullen tried to maintain eye contact with Miller's parents. He'd given death messages before in his career, for murders and accidents, in similar circumstances but this was different - the parents already knew, had already grieved and the case was on the fast track through the courts. It was Cullen's responsibility - his fault - that their son had been killed at the age of 22.

  "Detective
Constable Cullen was Keith's mentor during the time he worked with us," said Bain. "He was with him when he was attacked and would like to say a few words."

  Cullen looked up at Miller's parents - their eyes were all over him. Derek Miller ignored him.

  Cullen pulled out a sheet of paper with some scribbled notes on it. He had prepared a statement with Bain's help, neither of them agreeing with the sentiments, but deeming it sufficiently sanitised.

  "At his time of death, Keith was an Acting DC but he was about to be made a DC," said Cullen. "It's a demanding role and Keith was learning to cope with the pressures. He brought a lot of different skills and experiences with him to the job. Keith had a lot of exposure to senior officers in the police service and was well thought of right to the top of our organisation."

  Cullen closed his eyes, struggling with tears, genuine and heart-felt, though they didn't match the words, twisted and tamed beyond his intention.

  "Keith was also a friend," he continued. "We shared a love of football, though we supported different teams. Keith was trying to get me to go and see the Hibs game against Barcelona the night before he died and sadly neither of us could make it."

  That was a lie - Miller had, in truth, snuck off from a stake-out to go to the football. Cullen had never told Bain. Cullen spotted Derek Miller looking up at that point - he had provided the ticket for Keith.

  "Keith died in the line of duty," continued Cullen, his voice slightly wavering. "He died saving the life of another potential victim of the Schoolbook killer and his sacrifice helped secure evidence sufficient to convict him of the crime. I know it is scant consolation at this time but there are two parents in Glasgow who are not grieving and four sets of parents who have a sense of justice being done over the capture of their daughter's killer."

  The Millers had hardly moved. They just sat staring at Cullen.

  Cullen took a deep breath. "I hold myself responsible for Keith's death," he said, moving into the final part of his speech. "I was the senior officer at the time. We were in the house of a man who we were beginning to suspect of being the Schoolbook killer. We didn't have back-up and I left Keith alone for a moment while I investigated a sound from the rear of the house. It turned out to be a hostage - who would undoubtedly have been killed - and I managed to rescue her. It was then that I heard Keith scream. I returned to the living room of the flat. I tried to help Keith, but he had been stabbed in the stomach and was bleeding heavily."

  "What was the last thing Keith said to you?" asked Ailsa Miller, her voice a croak.

  Cullen closed his eyes. "He told me to go after his attacker, who had fled the flat."

  "What exactly did he say?"

  "I think it was 'I'll be fine, go get him, Scotty'," said Cullen. In truth, there had been swearwords uttered by Miller.

  "I called DI Bain," Cullen gestured at his superior officer," and told him to get an ambulance over to the property while I gave chase." He looked up at them again. "That was the last time I spoke to Keith."

  Ailsa Miller closed her eyes, tears sliding down her face. "Thank you," she said, softly. Alan Miller held her hand tight, whispered some words at her.

  "You're a lyin' bastard," said Derek Miller.

  Everyone in the room looked around at the youth, now standing.

  His eyes were aflame. "I sat next to my bra'ar at the game you said he wasnae at. Lyin' bastard!"

  Alan Miller was on his feet. "Derek! That is enough!"

  "This prick got my bra'ar killed," shouted Derek. "He's trying to convince himself it wasnae his fault but we all know it was. Got him killed!"

  Alan Miller grabbed his arm and marched him out of the room, through a set of sliding doors at the far end. The others sat in stunned silence. A moment later, Alan Miller returned wearing a false smile.

  "I'm sorry about that," he said. "This whole business has hit my son very hard. I'm sure you can understand."

  "Of course," said Bain. "It has affected every one of us."

  Alan Miller rubbed his forehead once he had sat down again. "Indeed."

  Cullen cleared his throat - he wanted to say something that wasn't on Bain's script. "I've been seeing a counsellor," he said, "to help me come to terms with this. He said that it might be useful for me to keep in contact with you. It might be mutually beneficial."

  The Millers exchanged a look. Alan Miller smiled at Cullen. "Why, yes, I think that would be a good thing."

  Cullen already had one of his cards in his hand and put it on the coffee table in front of them. "Here you are," said Cullen, ignoring Bain's glare. "My mobile number is on it. Call me any time if you want to talk."

  Alan Miller examined the card in detail then looked up at Cullen. "Thank you."

  They stood in uncomfortable silence. Bain broke it with a final apology. Alan Miller showed them out into the light rain.

  Bain led them down the path to his car, his head down. Cullen could tell from experience that the DI was fuming. The driver door slammed.

  Cullen and Sharon stopped by the car. "You did well," she said.

  "Try telling him that," said Cullen, pointing at the car. He got into the passenger side back seat, steeling himself for the inevitable onslaught.

  Bain twisted round to look at Cullen. "That wasn't in the fuckin' script," he said.

  "If it had been," said Cullen, "you wouldn't have let me say it."

  Bain shook his head. "Enough with these games, Cullen, okay?" he said. "You might think you're the big boy just now, what with catching that killer, but you've got to learn to toe the line."

  Cullen didn't shrink back. "You need to learn to listen to me and McNeill," he said.

  "Leave me out of it," she said, hands in the air.

  Bain turned round to face forward and shook his head. "This isn't the end of it, Cullen."

  Monday

  23rd January 2012

  five months later

  First thing

  The four slices of toast smoothly emerged from the polished steel Dualit toaster and Elaine Gibson tossed them into the clean white, ceramic toast rack. She put another four slices on then put the rack on the large dining table in the kitchen. She sat down with her mug of coffee and set about spreading crunchy peanut butter on the wholemeal toast. Before the first bite, she yelled up the stairs at her two children, Thomas and Mandy, telling them to hurry up. She took a bite of toast and sat looking out of the kitchen window, across the lawn at the Hopetoun Monument, perched on one of the hills that overlooked Garleton.

  Her husband, Charles, came into the room, as ever in the middle of tying his necktie. "Morning," he said.

  "There's coffee in the pot," she said.

  "Good, good," he said. "Ah, toast today. Good. I'm starving."

  He poured a cup of coffee and started whistling. Elaine sat and thought about how he had not always been a morning person - these days it was hard to get him to stay awake in the evening. He sat down and buttered the toast, reaching for the jar of marmite that Elaine had placed on the table earlier. The second batch of toast slowly emerged from the guts of the machine.

  "Kids not up yet?" he asked.

  "It's your turn today," she said.

  He nodded his head. "I'll have my breakfast then I'll get on to them."

  "Fine."

  She finished her toast then added the slices to the toast rack on the table. She refilled her mug of coffee and looked up at the ominous rainclouds looming in from the west.

  Thomas wandered in. He sat down and mumbled something that might have been "Morning." He immediately set about the toast, munching through two thickly buttered slices with barely any chewing. Elaine was almost castigating him again for not chewing but decided that it would just be falling on deaf ears.

  "Have you seen your sister?" she asked.

  "No," said Thomas, through a mouthful of slice three.

  "Charles..."

  Gibson raised his hands as he stood up. "Fine, I'll get her." He left the room, heading upstairs.

/>   "Won't be back till seven tonight," said Thomas. "Got ATC."

  "Fine," she said. She turned to look out of the window again. That was Charles's idea - Air Training Corps, get some discipline into the boy. They, like many of their friends, had decided to send their children to the local comprehensive, the best in the area and at least the same standard as the private schools in Edinburgh, but they were determined that he would get the same standard of extra-curricular activity as if they'd gone private.

  "Any more toast?" asked Thomas.

  She reached over and put another two slices into the toaster.

  Just then, Gibson burst into the room. She turned to face him.

  "She's gone," he said, locking eyes with her.

  "You're sure?" she asked.

  Thomas looked up at them.

  "Yes," he replied. "I checked all of the rooms upstairs. Nothing. And the front door is locked." He went over to the back door and checked it.

  "I'll check the conservatory," she said.

  She rushed into the hall then into the conservatory, the bitterly cold air hitting her arms. She pulled her dressing gown tighter as she crossed the room. She tried the French doors. Locked.

  She went through to the hall again and checked the large cupboards, both not exactly empty but not hiding her daughter. She went back into the kitchen.

  "It was locked," she said.

  "Same with the back door," said Gibson. "The utility room is empty, too."

  She let out a deep sigh. "Not again," she murmured.

  Gibson held her shoulder. "Don't worry," he said, "I'm sure she'll be fine."

  "Do you think she's gone to Susan's again?" she asked.

  "I'll check."

  *

  Morag Tattersall opened the gate beside the gatehouse at Balgone Ponds and walked through like she owned the place. She led her two greyhounds, Meg and Mindy, along what she still considered to be the public footpath.

  The owners of the place - the new owners - had unilaterally taken the decision to block off the path and turn it into the garden for their gatehouse. This had irritated Morag and her neighbours in the cottages around the corner. She'd lived there for thirteen years, alone for most of the time, with her husband away on business most of the week. Every day during that time she had used the path to walk a series of dogs around the ponds. Until they had moved in. The only other way to the ponds was through the hedge behind the gatehouse but she didn't want to cut her jacket or the dogs' paws on the hawthorn.