Dyed in the Wool (23 page)

Wdowski laughed. "You funny man. How I suppose remember that long ago?"

Buxton looked around the shop. "Do you have CCTV?"

"No I not. Too much money."

"Thought you had a steel trap mind?"

Wdowski laughed again. "You very funny man. You should be on stage like that John Bishop. He very funny."

Cullen folded his arms. "I'm serious. Do you remember anyone in that week?"

"Lot of people. Give me minute." Wdowski cradled his hands, holding them up to his nose. He stood like that for some time.

Cullen looked around - the queue behind them was ten deep now. A couple of people left the shop, shaking their heads and swearing.

"I remember now." Wdowski stabbed a finger in the air. "Was boy with, how you say, hat that is part of jumper?"

"A hoodie?"

Wdowski smiled. "Yes, that it. Man with hood bought two card. Was middle of afternoon, so I not busy. I remember him."

"What did he look like?"

"Hood was low. I not see he face too good. He white, that all I say."

"What accent did he have?" Cullen frowned. "Was it like mine or like yours?"

Wdowski shook his head. "He not speak to me. He pay cash then go."

Buxton pointed to the shelf behind Wdowski. "Did he not ask for them?"

Wdowski smiled, exposing gappy teeth. "He point like you. He grunt. Say 'card'. I ask him if phone card. He shake head. I ask him if SIM card. He nod. I give him card."

Cullen handed Wdowski a card. "Give me a phone if anything else comes to you or the man in the hood comes back."

Wdowski nodded. "I do that."

Cullen led them back out, stopping by the car. He opened the Lucozade and downed half of the bottle in one go. "What do you think?"

"It could be the same guys that set fire to the lock-ups. Worth looking into."

"Hoodies torching the garage and hoodies buying disposable mobile phones. Methven's going to kill me for this."

"You reckon? He seems like a proper geezer to me."

"He's got it in for me."

"That hangover's making you paranoid."

"It's making my day shite."

"What next?"

"What we're supposed to be doing. Let's try and pick up the trail from when Aitken went missing after his work on Tuesday."

*
*
*

"What's the plan, then, Morse?" Buxton switched off the ignition.

Cullen laughed. "You're hardly Lewis, are you?" He watched the lunchtime crowds walk about, some heading to a coffee shop on the corner, some to a burger van and others into Drummond House, where Aitken had worked.

"This ain't Oxford, that's for sure."

"Have you been there?"

"I went to university there."

Cullen scowled. "Shut up."

"God's honest truth, did PPE at Hertford College."

"Didn't know you could do PE at Oxford."

Buxton laughed. "PPE is Politics, Philosophy and Economics."

"Thought you'd be working in the City with a degree from Oxford?"

"Moved up here after I graduated. The bird I was seeing was from Edinburgh, wanted to move back, so I came with her. I was in a band for a few years. Both things broke up at the same time. Tell you, the band was a harder break-up than the girl."

"And you joined the police then?"

"Yeah, I was just working in a shitty office, selling pensions. Decided to do something with my life."

"Why not go back south and work in the City?"

"Cos it's full of wankers. I'm from London, I know what goes on there. I'm keeping as far away as possible."

"It's very noble, if I actually believed it."

"Believe what you like. It's the truth."

"What did you play?"

"Bass."

"Brilliant. You'll need to show me it some time."

"Sixty-four Fender Precision. Worth a fucking mint, I tell you. Should really sell it, but I just can't bring myself to."

"So you didn't get signed?"

"Just about did. Couple of labels were interested in us but it never came to nothing. Fucking annoying."

"I still don't believe it." Cullen opened his door. "Come on, let's speak to the security guard."

They trudged over the road, the cutting wind carrying a few falling leaves, heading to the security barrier.

Cullen rapped on the glass.

The guard looked up. "You again?"

"Afraid so. We're investigating the murder of an Alexander Aitken who worked in this building."

The guard's face contorted in concentration. "The name rings a bell."

"Does he have a parking space?"

The guard gave a nod. "That'll be it." He rummaged around in a clipboard on the desk. "Aye, his motor's been left here for the last few days."

"In the car park?"

"Aye, son, in the car park. A blue Subaru Impreza WRX. Lovely motor. Been left overnight since Tuesday. We normally report them after a week."

Cullen whipped out his mobile and called Methven, ready to break some good news for once.

*
*
*

Cullen stood in the canteen putting milk into his and Buxton's builder's teas, using a small wooden stirrer to mash the teabag against the side of the paper cup.

"Scott."

Cullen looked up.

Sharon. "How are you?"

"Fine."

"There's no need to be like that."

"Really?" He put the lids on the cups, noticing Caldwell lurking in the distance. He started off towards the stairs.

Sharon grabbed his arm. "We need to talk this through properly."

He looked down at her hand then up at her face. "No, we don't."

"Come on."

"Is that another conquest you've got?"

Sharon glanced at Caldwell. "You're one to talk. We need to sit down and discuss this."

"I've said all I'm going to say. I'll collect my stuff on Saturday. That's it."

Sharon slowly loosened her grip on his arm then shook her head.

Cullen walked out of the canteen, feeling a pang of guilt. She knew it was over and yet she still persisted.

He needed to get out. He just needed a sideways move to a place with more opportunities. It'd be better in the long run. Maybe St Leonard's. He knew how it worked, knew the faces and the area they covered. That was the only way to get away from her.

Cullen entered the CCTV room, handing Buxton his tea.

Methven folded his arms. "You've not got me one again?"

Cullen smiled. "I'm not psychic."

"You need the gift of foresight."

Cullen almost laughed. "How can I help, Sarge?"

"I was just asking Simon how it was going down here. I hope you've not been sleeping off that sodding hangover."

"Hardly. We've been over the CCTV footage from the Gyle. Might be on to something."

"Go on."

"We need to verify it from the other footage, but we think we've got Aitken leaving work at quarter past four and getting into a Land Rover Discovery." Cullen nodded at Buxton. "Show him."

Buxton pressed play on the machine. Xander Aitken walked through the revolving doors at the front of Drummond House, a tiny figure in a grey landscape of cars, concrete and tarmac.

Aitken walked through the car park, out through the pedestrian entrance by the parking barrier. He then vanished off the screen. Buxton switched to a camera looking down South Gyle Crescent.

Aitken leaned into the passenger window of an old Land Rover before getting in.

"This is excellent work, boys. Do you have a license plate?"

"Just away to process it now." Buxton flipped to another view - the camera facing across the roundabout towards the Gyle Centre. He put a freeze-frame image on screen of the dark grey Land Rover. "It's a bit of an odd one, though. Just a string of five numbers."

Methven got to his feet. "Don't let me hold you back."

"Just be a second." Buxton switched to the Police National Computer and entered the license number. "Says it was scrapped in two thousand five."

Methven collapsed into a desk chair. "What? Can you contact the owner?"

"Will do." Buxton went through another couple of screens. "It's nobody we know, if that's what you were hoping."

"This is still good, guys."

"We can get an ANPR search done on it." Cullen blew on his tea. "It'll trace where this car's gone after here."

"Cracking idea. Get onto it."

"Knowing them, it'll be an overnight return."

"That's fine." Methven fixed his eyes on Cullen. "I'm starting to see why Turnbull might think you're a rising star."

Cullen tried to ignore the sarcasm in his voice.

Just after five, Cullen's phone chirruped - a reminder to meet up with Alison Carnegie that evening, just after six. Shite. He could really do with going to bed. He got to his feet and stretched out. "Think that's me done."

Buxton scowled at him. "Really?"

"Aye. I've got the Automatic Number Plate Recognition search kicked off. Naismith reckons it's an overnight turnaround time."

"Okay. See you tomorrow."

Cullen left the CCTV room, making for the stairwell, hearing footsteps in front of him.

As he got out into the car park, he saw Caldwell unlocking her car. He jogged and caught up with her. "Is this you going back to your love nest with Bill?"

She stopped and glared at him. "Stop it, Scott. I'm going home, yes. To Bill, yes. You don't need to be so nasty. I'm not Sharon."

"That's harsh."

"Is it? You're being outrageous. You've no idea how upset you're making her."

"I'm not making her feel anything."

"Really? What you said earlier was below the belt as well. Are you saying I look like a lesbian because I'm so tall? Well, newsflash for you, Captain Caveman, I know lots of short lesbians."

"I'm not a homophobe."

"I keep hearing that from you. Your behaviour stinks."

"I don't like being lied to."

Caldwell laughed. "Scott, you're the biggest liar I know." She turned, got in her car and drove off.

*
*
*

Cullen was early for once. He checked his watch - Alison was running ten minutes late already. He had a lemon and lime drink, which he'd almost finished. He took the last mouthful of a meatball melt, sating his hunger.

The cafe was bright and airy and they were playing some chilled techno which helped Cullen's mood slightly.

"Hey, Scott."

He looked up, stunned at how much she'd aged in just fourteen months. She looked ten years older, her hair streaked with grey, skin pale and lined. Her eyes darted around the room, surrounded by deep rings.

He got up and offered her his hand. "Can I get you anything?"

"Cup of tea would be nice." She slowly took off her coat and sat down. "Just black, thanks."

He went over to the counter to order her tea and get himself another drink. He checked her out. Her dress revealed a very skinny frame. When they'd been intimate, she'd been reasonably buxom - full chest, muscular physique. That had all gone.

He paid for the drinks then took them back to the table.

"Thanks."

Cullen finished his drink. "How are you doing?"

She looked at him for twenty or so seconds, eyes burning into him. "I look like shit. If I hadn't slept with you this wouldn't have happened to me."

His stomach lurched - this was his fault. All the harm she'd done to herself, by neglect, all stemmed back to Cullen, his libido and his inability to say no to available women.

Cullen nodded. "I'm sorry about what happened. I acted badly, I'll be the first to admit that."

"That's a start, I suppose." She fished out the teabag. "I need closure on this. I reached out to you for help the other day and you shunned me."

"I shouldn't have done that." Cullen looked away. "It wasn't the right thing to do. You needed help from me and I didn't give you it. I'm sorry."

"Thank you. That's the probably first time you've been honest with me."

"A lot of what you thought was me wasn't actually me. You know that, right?"

"I know that."

"How've you been?"

"I had been better. When I spoke to you and you treated me like shit… I haven't been so good the last few days."

"What can I do to help?"

"I'm trying to get closure on what happened between us. I know a lot of the time it was…" She paused for a few seconds, her eyes moistening. "I know it was him most of the time, but I need to know what was actually you."

"Hardly any of it was me and that's the honest truth. We met at that party, we… we had sex. Just a one night thing. I'm a shallow bastard, I know that and I'm sorry. We met up again and I got called away. Then you came to my flat and that's literally it. Everything else wasn't me."

She nodded. "Thanks."

"Are you back at work?"

"I was. I went back a few months ago. I've been off the last few days, I've not been feeling too good."

Cullen took taking a drink. "How's it been?"

"It's been okay. People at work are frightened of me. Even working in HR, there are people who can't accept I've got issues. They call me the mental girl." A tear rolled down her cheek. "I'm getting through it a day at a time." She took a sip of tea. "I've been trying to deal with a lot of the problems and move on. I've put half a stone back on in the last three months. That's progress."

"That's good."

She laughed. "I used to wish I was thinner, you know? Katie thin. I was the skinniest one at her wedding."

Cullen widened his eyes. "When did she get married?"

"In August. The bank holiday weekend. It was a lovely day."

"I didn't know."

"Well, she's not likely to tell you, is she?"

"I guess not."

"I got a phone call from someone at the Argus today. He wanted to do an article on my experiences. It's almost a year since he got sentenced, you know?"

"I can sort that out, if you want. I've got friends who work there. I could put some police frighteners on them."

She smiled. "Thank you. The guy's name is Frank."

"I'll have a word."

"There's talk of a film."

"You should maybe think about doing it."

"Really? Why?"

"I'm serious. It might help you." Cullen poured his drink over the ice in the cup. "Is there anything I can do?"