Ghost in the Machine (Scott Cullen) Page 3

  "Not really. They were both pretty fit, like." He laughed. "Glad you weren't in there, both of them would be pregnant by now."

  Cullen laughed. "I don't know where you get that from."

  "You're a proper swordsman, aren't you?"

  Cullen gestured at the sandwich shop. "Don't be too long."

  Miller went inside. Cullen glanced up at the sky, the dark grey clouds belying the fact it was the middle of summer - if Miller was inside too long, they might get caught in the rain. He leaned against the wall, took his phone out and called Steve Allen. He got his notebook out, pushing the phone between his shoulder and neck and listened to the ringing tone.

  "Steve Allen."

  Allen sounded flustered; his accent was not unlike Cullen's own, the same soft slowness of the Angus accent, though more polished and with a slight lisp.

  Cullen introduced himself. "Mr Allen, I believe you are acquainted with a Caroline Adamson."

  "That's right." It was hard to make his voice out over the noise of the wind at the other end of the line.

  "I'm trying to ascertain her whereabouts," said Cullen. "When was the last time you heard from her?"

  "Can I ask why?"

  "She's gone missing, Mr Allen. One of her friends has reported it to us."

  "Oh sweet Jesus," he said.

  "Mr Allen, I need to track down Ms Adamson's movements. It may be that you were the last person to speak to her before she disappeared."

  "Okay, okay," he said. "I texted her on my way to the Celtic match. So it would have been about seven, I suppose."

  "And she replied?"

  "Yes. I'd wished her luck on her date and she said I needed more luck than she did what with going to see Celtic."

  Cullen noted it down. So she was jovial enough on Wednesday night, he thought.

  "Was this the last time you heard from her?"

  "Yes, it was. I texted her back but she didn't reply."

  "And was this unusual?" asked Cullen.

  "Now you mention it," replied Allen. "She usually responded pretty quickly."

  Cullen noted it down - Allen had said back of seven. That was the second unanswered text message.

  "And before that," said Cullen, "when was the last time you'd spoken to her?"

  "The previous evening," said Allen. "We sometimes have a chat on a Tuesday night, see how things are going. I think we spoke for about half an hour."

  "And how did she seem when you spoke to her?"

  "Nervous, I suppose. Excited, maybe. She was going out on a date the next night, after all. I mean, she barely spoke about Jack at all on the call, only about five minutes which is a record with Caroline, believe me."

  "We're keen to get in touch with the man she was out with," said Cullen. "Do you know anything about him, any way we could get in touch with him?"

  "Not really, no. I just knew that he was from Edinburgh. She met him on the internet, I think."

  Miller appeared from the shop, putting his mouth round a massive baguette.

  Cullen looked away. "Mr Allen, can you think of anyone I should get in touch with about Caroline? Someone who might know her whereabouts?"

  "Excuse me, how serious is this?"

  "We're concerned for Caroline's safety," said Cullen. "She left her son with a friend and hasn't been to pick him up, or been heard from since Wednesday night."

  "Jesus." Allen didn't speak for a few seconds. "This is off the record, but if anything happened to Caroline, the first person I'd be talking to would be Rob."

  "Her ex-husband?"

  "Yes, him," said Allen. "Look, I'm afraid that I've got to go."

  Cullen took down a couple of other contact numbers for him and ended the call. He pocketed his phone and notebook.

  "Who was that?" asked Miller through a mouthful.

  "Steve Allen."

  "Her pal, eh? Good work getting through to him."

  "What did you get?" he asked.

  "BLT, eh? Pretty decent, likes."

  "Come on, let's get going," said Cullen. "When you've finished chewing, could you call Control and see if Rob Thomson's got a record?"

  "Aye, boss," said Miller.

  Walking a few steps ahead of Miller, Cullen dialled Rob Thomson's number. The phone rang and rang. He didn't want to get into a conversation with Thomson on the phone. He would rather speak to him face to face; get the measure of the man. It went through to voicemail and he left a message. He hung up then turned to Miller. "Did you get anything?" he asked.

  "Nothing at all," said Miller. "Squeaky clean, eh?"

  They headed towards the History Department.

  Debi Curtis' office was old and in need of repair. The white paint that covered the furniture was chipped and the cabinets had seen better days - the late 70s, thought Cullen. Cullen and Miller sat across the desk from her. She shared the office with someone else but their desk was vacant.

  "I'm sorry," said Debi. Cullen placed her accent as being somewhere near London, "I haven't seen Caroline for about a month. I'm studying for an MBA just now, and work was really busy towards the end of the academic year."

  She was one of the smallest women Cullen had ever met; easily a couple of inches under five foot – she was just tiny in every way. Her dark hair curled around her ears, giving her an elfin look. She wore thick, chunky glasses, embossed in gold with a three-letter acronym that Cullen didn't know.

  "Okay. Were you good friends?" asked Cullen.

  "We were, yes," she replied. "We worked together at Linguistics just after I graduated, but we socialised and used to chat about stuff. We used to go out on a Friday night, you know. Her, me and Amy."

  "When was this?" asked Cullen.

  "That'll be 2005 to June 2008. I got this job then, it's much more senior. I'm on a fast track to Management."

  "And do you still email her, text her at all?" he asked.

  "A few messages on Schoolbook, that's pretty much it."

  "Did she mention anything about a new man in her life?" asked Cullen.

  "Just that she had one," she said. "Nothing more. It was funny; I've got one as well."

  "Okay. Can you tell me anything about her marriage and divorce?"

  "I tried to stay out of it," she said, slowly. "We weren't working together any more and I was friends with both Rob and Caroline, so I wanted to remain impartial." She laughed. "Haven't seen Rob in a long time. He can hold a grudge believe me. Caroline had a hell of a time with him. I mean she's no wallflower herself, but he was a right Jack the lad."

  "And you haven't heard from her since Wednesday?" asked Miller.

  "No. It would be at least a week before that, maybe ten days. I mean, I could check."

  "Thanks, if you could." He handed her a card. "Is there anyone you think we should speak to that might have heard from her?"

  "Just Amy or Rob."

  "Okay, thanks," said Cullen. He looked over at Miller. "Anything else from you?"

  Miller grinned at her. "No, that's more than enough to be goin' on with for now."

  They got up and went to the door of her office. "Okay," said Cullen, "if there's anything you want to add, just give me a call."

  Cullen led them back out to George Square. An old guy with grey dreadlocks cycled past as they went onto the cobbles of the street.

  "She was a right minger," said Miller.

  Cullen raised an eyebrow. "I don't know. She had a nice nerdy look about her."

  "See, you are a dirty bastard."

  Cullen took his phone out and dialled Rob Thomson's number again. Same result; voicemail.

  "Right," he said, "we're going to see Rob Thomson."

  four

  Cullen waited in the Alba Bank reception area, checking his watch for the umpteenth time. Miller sat next to him, reading the sports pages of the Argus, muttering away. "Gonna get relegated at this rate and the season's not even started." He folded the newspaper and tossed it onto the coffee table. "Fuck sake, man." He snorted, rubbed his nose.

 
Cullen had asked at reception to see Rob Thomson. After a flurry of phone calls, the receptionist had managed to track him down. Cullen had sensed reluctance, but the mention of the word 'police' by the receptionist had been enough.

  "Turnbull needs to get his act together," said Miller.

  Cullen frowned at him. "In what way?" he asked.

  "Getting me made a proper DC," said Miller. "I'm not waiting around forever, likes."

  "Do you think you're ready for it?"

  "Do you think I'm no'?"

  Cullen burst into a smile. "Bain's got a point."

  "Eh?"

  "You are a cocky wee bastard."

  "The gaffer's got it in for me, likes."

  "You think?"

  "Aye," said Miller, with a sigh. "He disnae like us. No idea what I've done likes. Have to keep going to Turnbull to sort stuff out."

  "That might be what pisses Bain off."

  Cullen picked up a leaflet that was sitting next to the elegantly folded newspapers. It told him everything he already knew about the company.

  Alba Bank was Scotland's third biggest bank, though the only one not to over-reach itself in the Credit Crunch. Cullen knew all of this already; his flatmate worked for them. He also knew a fair few facts that the leaflets didn't mention.

  Cullen replaced the leaflet. He looked around the reception area. The building itself was impressive, an ultra-modern construction in steel and glass, which had replaced the eyesore that previously sat atop the St James Centre. The Alba pyramid pierced the skyline directly above where Cullen and Miller sat, and was visible all across the city centre. The main office space led off along three long and wide corridors, each with six offices located off to either side, housing over three thousand staff. It made Cullen feel like he was living in the future. Despite them opening at roughly the same time, Alba Bank's HQ pissed all over Leith Walk police station.

  "DC Cullen?"

  Thomson introduced himself. Cullen shook his hand then introduced Miller, who nodded before wiping his nose. Thomson didn't shake Miller's hand.

  Cullen was surprised at the size of Rob Thomson. He was a lot bigger than Cullen had imagined from Amy's description; tall and muscular, shaven head and could have been anything from 25 to 35. He wore a pinstripe suit, a fake tan and a fake smile. He emitted a long sigh as he signed them in.

  "Can we do this in my office?" asked Thomson.

  "Fine," said Cullen.

  Thomson led them down the left-most corridor, away from the reception, walking like he owned the place. They passed tables full of people, which made the place feel more like a Parisian terrace than an office. Cullen looked up at the point of the pyramid, slightly ahead of them. The place was drowning in light that flooded down from the glass of the pyramid onto the office and the multiple cafes dotted around the building. Thomson stopped at a security door just by a Caffe Nero and swiped through the door with his badge. He led them down another long corridor, an open plan area visible through the glass wall - Miller practically ricked his neck looking around at the girls. At the end of the corridor, Thomson led them into an office with his name on the door, plus his job title "Programme Manager, IT Services".

  The room was lavishly decorated with expensive designer furniture and lighting. There was a single internal window, which looked out to the Caffe Nero. The walls had some framed artworks and a framed Rangers shirt. The desk was cluttered with empty coffee cups, a bottle of Volvic, a small laptop plugged into a docking station and a packet of Silk Cut cigarettes with a Zippo lighter.

  "Have a seat," said Thomson. He sat down at the desk, taking a Blackberry from his jacket pocket and setting it on the table. He leant back and crossed his legs. Cullen and Miller sat down in the two armchairs facing the desk.

  "You're a difficult man to get hold of," said Cullen. He pointed to the Blackberry. "I've called you a few times."

  "I'm a busy man, Constable," he replied. "I've got a project implementing at the weekend. It's been non-stop all day." He picked the Blackberry up and started playing with it. "Now, how can I help you?"

  "I need you to answer a few questions about your ex-wife, Caroline Adamson," said Cullen. "We're trying to trace her current location."

  Thomson frowned. "Has something happened to her?"

  "She's been reported missing."

  He sat bolt upright. "Is Jack okay?"

  "Your son is with a friend of Ms Adamson's, Amy Cousens. "I believe that she has tried calling you."

  He sat back in his chair. "Aye, well, I don't have time to listen to all of my voicemails. Hang on - is she saying that I've abducted her?"

  "Have you?"

  Thomson laughed nervously. "Would I say so if I had?"

  "Look, Mr Thomson," said Cullen, sitting forward in his chair, "this is a serious investigation and I can't stress strongly enough the magnitude of the situation. It's your duty to divulge any information that could help us track down your ex-wife."

  "I'd say if I knew where she was," said Thomson, "but I've not heard from her in weeks. And that's the truth."

  Cullen stabbed his pen into his notebook. "Mr Thomson, where were you on Wednesday evening?"

  "Eh? What's Wednesday got to with anything?"

  "It's when Caroline disappeared."

  Thomson ran his hand across the stubble on his head. "I was in work till eight."

  "Can anyone corroborate that?"

  "I left with Kim."

  "Can I have her full name?"

  He scowled. "It's Kimberley Milne."

  Cullen recalled Amy Cousens mentioning Thomson had an affair with a Kim.

  "Can I ask what you did after you left for the evening?"

  "We went for a pizza down Leith Walk."

  "And do you have a receipt for this meal?" asked Cullen.

  "I only keep work receipts."

  "I see," said Cullen. "And this Kim Milne is a colleague?"

  "She was," said Thomson. "She's my partner now. They separated us when we got together."

  "Was Kim Milne the cause of your marriage breaking up?" asked Cullen.

  Thomson sat forward in his chair. "What's that got to do with anything?"

  "Mr Thomson," said Cullen, "I am trying to put together a picture of your ex-wife's life, so that I may be able to track her down before some harm comes to her. She's already been missing since Wednesday evening, and time is of the essence so any assistance you can give us would be appreciated."

  Thomson rubbed his head again. "Okay. I started seeing Kim before me and Caroline divorced, that's true."

  "And you worked together?"

  "That's right," replied Thomson. "I had to come clean to the powers that be here and we got separated at work. Kim's in a different division now. I'm in IT, she's in Corporate."

  "How would you describe your relationship with your ex-wife?"

  He leaned back in his chair. "Cordial," he said, looking away. "I pick my wee boy up every second Saturday. I see Caroline when I pick him up and drop him off. That is all. Supposed to be picking him up tomorrow, in fact." Thomson picked up the bottle of water from his desk and took a drink. "I have had absolutely nothing to do with Caroline's life for a long time now."

  "And you didn't think it suspicious that she hadn't been in touch regarding arrangements for tomorrow?"

  Thomson just shrugged.

  "Mr Thomson, I'm sure you'll appreciate that Ms Adamson has disappeared in suspicious circumstances and that we're keen to track down anyone who might wish to cause her harm."

  Thomson's face flushed red. "Now wait a minute here," he said, stabbing his finger at Cullen. "If you think I did anything, then you should be charging me or getting out of my hair."

  "Is that an admission of guilt?" asked Cullen.

  "No, it's bloody not." Thomson checked his watch. "Now I need you to leave. I've got a meeting I need to dial into."

  "Is there anybody that you could imagine would wish to cause your ex-wife harm in any way?" asked Cullen.

  "N
o."

  "Is there anyone else who might be able to assist us?"

  "Amy or Debi," he said, after a pause. "Maybe Steve Allen. Her parents."

  Cullen got to his feet. "Thank you for your time."

  Thomson looked relieved. "Aye, well, if there's anything else you need."

  Cullen put his card on Thomson's desk. "Just one thing. We will need to get in touch with Ms Milne to get a statement to cover your whereabouts on Wednesday evening. Can you give us her contact details?"

  The colour drained from Rob Thomson's face.

  five

  Cullen pulled in across from the tenement block on East London Street. There, Comely Bank or a new build somewhere was usually the second rung on the property ladder for the Edinburgh professional classes, after the one bedroom flat in Easter Road or Gorgie while they trained, before the house in Morningside, Trinity or East Lothian.

  "Bit of a prick that boy," said Miller.

  "Not the nicest, was he?" said Cullen.

  He didn't get a good feeling from Rob Thomson and his sheer arrogance. He tried not to let it prejudice him.

  "Can you take a statement here? I'll ask the questions, but I want you to write everything down and read it back to her."

  "Aye, primary school stuff, man."

  They got out of the car and crossed the road. Cullen got them buzzed up to the second floor flat.

  "Wish I could work from home when I had a hangover," said Miller as they climbed the marble-floored stairs.

  Thomson had told them that Kim had been out the previous evening, something to do with a friend's leaving drinks, and was working from home that day.

  "You'd never be in the station, though," said Cullen.

  Miller laughed. "You can talk."

  "In here," called a voice from up the stairwell. Cullen looked up; long blonde hair, short skirt, and orange skin. Cullen clocked Miller looking her up and down.

  They went up and inside the flat. It was expensively decorated - dark wooden furniture, cream walls, stripped floors, mirrors and artworks everywhere. There were voices from a room on the right.

  In the kitchen, Kim stood with a carbon copy of herself, albeit with a slightly different face and wearing thick-rimmed glasses.