Bottleneck (18 page)

Working for Rarity was going to be yet another challenge he needed to overcome. She was, at best, a peer. He'd have to work with her and bide his time, making his case for promotion another way.

Fluffy stretched out on the carpet in front of him then climbed up on the bed. He started rearing up and rubbing against Cullen's chin.

"At least someone will miss me."

Cullen parked outside Dalhousie police station, The Invisibles playing on the stereo. He'd driven all that way and he still had no idea what he was going to do there, his mind on other things entirely.

The heater in his car was broken, a repair he couldn't afford. He knew he had to replace the Golf at some point, but all the overtime in the world wouldn't pay for anything barely adequate.

He got his brand new Police Scotland warrant card ready for heading inside. Seeing Detective Constable Scott Cullen again in black and white brought it home. He'd got used to being DS Scott Cullen, the silent A for Acting.

He decided to rise above it all, knowing he could be his own worst enemy. He had enough fire in his belly to prove them all wrong. If either Sharon or Lamb got the final DI position then there would likely be another Acting DS tenure.

Cullen needed to get momentum back in the case - getting stuck in Glasgow had killed it. He got out of the car and walked to the station.

When he was still in uniform, he'd visited the older building before they moved to the outskirts, nearer the rougher housing estates. The shopping centre and supermarket around the new station were fields when he was growing up.

He waved his warrant card at the desk sergeant and signed in, learning there was a DC in the station who could help him. He headed to the office space at the back, past the holding cells. It didn't strike Cullen as being a particularly sensitive design, but making interviewees walk past them might encourage honesty.

He saw a familiar face perched on the corner of a desk, chatting to a female officer. Richard Guthrie.

"Scott Cullen," said Guthrie, walking over and holding his hand out. "I did not expect to see you here today."

Cullen shook hands, unable to avoid grinning. "How you doing?"

Guthrie was an old school friend, though they'd drifted apart at university and beyond. Unbeknownst to each other, they had joined the police at around the same time and rekindled their friendship at Tulliallan police college.

"I'm good," said Guthrie, looking Cullen up and down. "You look tired, Skinky."

"Been busy, mate. Eighth day in a row. Running a murder case."

Guthrie frowned. "Running it?"

Cullen shrugged. "I was."

"Just got back from my briefing in Dundee," said Guthrie. "Big changes."

"How did the restructure affect you?" said Cullen. "I would've thought you'd be in Dundee MIT?"

"MIT North didn't want me," said Guthrie, failing to mask his disappointment. "I was based in Dundee but I'm now North Division local CID for the rest of my life." He coughed. "What about you?"

"Edinburgh MIT," said Cullen.

"Good for you, mate," said Guthrie. "What brings you back here?"

"James Strang," said Cullen.

"I know the name," said Guthrie, frowning. "Folks still live here?"

"Aye."

"Right," said Guthrie. "I'll ask again, because I always need to with you, what are you doing here?"

"Digging up Strang's life," said Cullen. "He lived in Edinburgh but we've come to a dead end there. There might be something here that kick starts us again."

"Let me know if you need any help," said Guthrie.

"I could do with an extra pair of hands, especially someone who hasn't forced everything about this town out of their head," said Cullen.

"Shouldn't be any problems getting approval," said Guthrie, smiling. "We're all part of one big family now."

"Aren't you busy?" said Cullen.

"Wish I was. It's slim pickings here. I'm the only DC in Dal. My DS is in Dundee and I hardly ever see her. I'm bloody quiet. I keep praying for a murder."

"Don't say that," said Cullen, laughing hard.

"Yeah, you're right," said Guthrie. He rubbed his hands together. "Come on, then."

He led him back to his desk, covered in boxes of files, an Aberdeen mug, some empty burger wrappers, three half-empty Coke bottles and a neglected-looking computer.

"Bring me up to speed on this case, then," said Guthrie.

Cullen pulled over a seat and took Guthrie through the case so far, his earlier enthusiasm diminishing as he went.

"It's not a lot to go on, is it?" said Guthrie.

"No," said Cullen. "I'm kind of at a loss as to what to do. The only thing I can think is to speak to his parents and see if we get any leads there."

Guthrie nodded again. "How long you here for?"

"I don't know," said Cullen. "Might be a couple of days, might not."

"Staying with the olds?"

"I hate that," said Cullen. "You sound like someone off
Neighbours
."

Guthrie laughed.

"I'll be back at chateau Cullen. They don't know it, yet. My room is always made up and they're not away on holiday for once."

"I'll need to clear the decks this afternoon," said Guthrie. "Got a court appearance in Arbroath in an hour then a load of admin to catch up on."

"Tomorrow, then?"

"Aye," said Guthrie. "If you're still around."

Cullen looked around the deserted office. "Any danger I could get a desk?"

"I'll have to speak to the sergeant," said Guthrie, his face stern.

Rage built up in Cullen's gut. "But there's nobody here."

Guthrie laughed. "Should see your face, Skinky."

Cullen's anger dissipated. "Right," he said, shaking his head. "You bastard."

"Fancy a pint tonight?" said Guthrie.

Cullen nodded, but knew he'd eventually regret it.

Cullen pulled up outside the Strang's house, spotting the same car in the drive.

He sat behind the wheel for a bit, thinking through his plan of attack. There must be nuggets that didn't seem obvious when Strang disappeared but which meant something in the context of a murder.

He was back in the world of shoe leather, a doer rather than a leader. It was for him to chase down every single lead, rather than the officers working for him. Having help from Guthrie would be useful, adding a bit of local knowledge to the investigation.

He walked up the drive and knocked on the front door. Eventually, it opened.

Norma Strang screwed her eyes up at him. "Have you found my son's killer?"

Cullen shook his head. "Not yet, I'm afraid."

"Oh."

"I need to ask some further questions about your son," said Cullen.

"Well, you'd better come in then, Sergeant."

Cullen didn't correct her.

She led him into the living room. The mantelpiece was now filled with cards, a perverse inversion of Christmas.

"My husband is sorting out the arrangements at the funeral director's office," said Norma.

"I'm sorry to miss him."

"Have you got anything to report?"

"Nothing much, I'm afraid," said Cullen. "It would be very useful if you could provide us with any other people we could speak to about your son."

"People who could have caused James harm?" said Norma. "I told you already."

"No," said Cullen, "people who can give us some background."

She looked hurt. "We've not given you enough already?"

"We can't overlook any avenue in a case like this," said Cullen. "Did James have any brothers or sisters?"

"He's got a sister, Audrey," said Norma. "You're from Dalhousie, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"What year did you finish school?" said Norma.

"Two thousand and one."

"Did you do sixth year?" said Norma.

Cullen nodded. "I did."

Norma did some mental arithmetic. "You'll have been in the same year as my Audrey."

Despite how antiquated the name now seemed, there were a couple in his year alone. He couldn't remember Audrey Strang. "Can I have her address and phone number?"

"Certainly."

Cullen scribbled the mobile number down. "What about any friends?"

"There's Paul McKay," said Norma. "That's all I can think."

Cullen didn't recognise the name. "Anyone else?"

Norma stared into space, drumming her fingers on the edge of the sofa. "There was another laddie. What was his name?"

Cullen gave her time.

She clicked her fingers. "That's it. Mark Andrews."

Cullen wrote it down. "No more?"

Norma shook her head. "I'm afraid not. I know both those laddies' parents, just enough to speak to in the Tesco. I think they both work in Dundee."

Cullen was relieved he didn't have to go to London or similar.

Cullen drove to Dundee and now sat on a designer chair in the reception of Indignity Design, the video game company Mark Andrews worked at. Cullen thought working in computer games must beat the shit out of the police. The place had the feel of money, glass and chrome everywhere and a healthy buzz among the staff.

He'd returned to Dalhousie police station first, to search for McKay and Andrews. He quickly discovered rural stations in Angus didn't quite have the level of IT systems he was used to. He eventually got current phone numbers and addresses for both, though he'd only managed to get hold of Andrews, leaving a few missed calls and voicemails for McKay.

Cullen had never been one for computer games aside from his annual addiction to
Football Manager
, a game he deemed career threatening in its addictiveness. He could lose himself in it for days at a time. One of the best things about moving out of Tom's flat was getting away from the cycle of 'just one more game' at three in the morning. Sharon wouldn't tolerate it and last year's edition was still in its shrink-wrap.

Cullen recognised some Indignity games from posters on the wall, mainly from adverts on Sky Sports.
Dawn of Heroes
was a role-playing game, the sort of thing played by the kids at school Cullen took the piss out of.
War Games
was one of those shooting games that seemed popular these days - killing people with guns, killing buildings with tanks.
Indignity
itself was their biggest, which involved playing as a gangster, killing people, stealing cars, selling drugs and doing God knows what else, all from the comfort of your own sofa.

A man approached Cullen, wearing a t-shirt, jeans and big NHS glasses, his hair gelled back like a gangster in a Scorsese film. He walked in a strange manner, his skinny shoulders raised up and his body practically immobile apart from the long legs. Despite the hairstyle, all Cullen could think was
dweeb
.

"DC Cullen?"

Cullen got to his feet and offered a hand, limply accepted. "Mr Andrews?"

Andrews nodded. "Come through to my pod."

If it involved
pods,
Cullen thought working in the company wouldn't be much fun after all.

Andrews' pod turned out to be his office, a circular room etched in glass. The single wall was occupied with stills from films such as
Pulp Fiction
,
Goodfellas, The Lord of the Rings
and
Die Hard
.

Cullen sat on a bar stool while Andrews kneeled on a strange seat behind a glass desk, a custom-built PC with a monstrous monitor occupying most of the space.

Andrews folded his arms, his leg jigging up and down. "Speaking to a real life police officer is very exciting."

Cullen took an immediate dislike to him. Whatever he thought about computer games, he couldn't approve of glorifying the sort of shit he dealt with on a daily basis. "I believe you were acquainted with one James Strang from Dalhousie."

"Jimi." Andrews shook his head slightly and smiled. "I don't know him that well any more, I'm afraid."

"What happened?"

"We were good friends at school but you know how it is," said Andrews. "We just drifted apart during uni. We saw each other a fair amount in the first couple of years but it became more sporadic after that. I haven't seen him in a long while, come to think of it. We mostly just emailed each other."

Cullen nodded. "He's been murdered."

Andrews' eyes bulged, his childlike excitement disappearing. "My god. When?"

"We think it was approximately nineteen months ago," said Cullen. "The body was only recently discovered in Edinburgh. Have you any idea what could have happened to him?"

"No idea at all," said Andrews. "As I said, I haven't seen him in years."

"Did the police speak to you at the time of his disappearance?"

"No," said Andrews. "This is genuinely the first I heard of him being missing. I honestly thought he'd just stopped emailing."

"It was in the press, I believe," said Cullen. "Mr Strang featured in a national campaign."

Andrews shrugged. "I don't read the papers unless one of our games is featured."

"When was the last time you had contact with him?" said Cullen.

"I had a flurry of emails from him about a year and a half ago," said Andrews.

"How would you describe them?" said Cullen.

"Odd," said Andrews. "The last few emails were a bit cryptic. Before that, it had all been about his band and the music. He used to spam me a lot about gigs and what have you but I never had the time to go. I told him to stop sending me that shit and he took it a bit personally. There was radio silence for a few months, then he started up again with some bizarre stuff."

"When was this?" said Cullen.

Andrews swallowed, his large Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "About nineteen months ago."

"I see," said Cullen. "These emails, what do you mean by cryptic?"

Andrews screwed his face up. "Just
bizarre
." He picked up a foam stress ball from his desk and start squeezing it. "It was like he was writing sort of poetry, you know?"

"Do you still have the emails?"

"Let me check," said Andrews, before tapping on his computer. "Here we go. I'll just print it for you."

He left Cullen alone for a minute or so while he walked through the office. Cullen took in the open-plan space outside the
pod
. Andrews was clearly a big shot here - four people approached him on his way to the printer, apparently looking for approval for something or other.