Ghost in the Machine (3 page)

"Old bastard," said Miller.

Cullen gently knocked on the door as they entered. The flat was small, sparsely furnished and reasonably tidy. It was like every one bedroom flat in Edinburgh Cullen had been in over the years.

"Amy Cousens?"

The young woman sitting in an armchair in the living room was staring into space, her fingers drumming. She glanced at him then got to her feet. "That's me."
 

Cullen figured she was quite pretty. She was in her late twenties, good figure and with blonde hair most likely out of a bottle.

A small boy lay on the floor in the bay window, playing with some Doctor Who dolls, seemingly oblivious to the two strangers in the room. Cullen assumed it was Caroline Adamson's young son - he didn't remember the boy's name from the file. He was next to useless with children, figuring the kid could be anything from two to five years old.

Cullen sat on the tattered leather sofa, with Miller at the far end.
 

Amy returned to the armchair, her hands twitching against the fabric, her foot tapping. "Can I get you some tea? I've just made a pot."
 

Cullen couldn't quite place her accent, West Coast somewhere, though less harsh than Glasgow. "I'm fine, thanks." He smiled.

"I've just had one," said Miller.

Cullen pulled his notebook from his coat pocket and turned to a fresh page. "I need to ask you some questions about Caroline Adamson. I'll apologise in advance if I go over anything you've already covered with another officer, but it's important I get a full account from you."

She sighed. "Fine."

"You reported Ms Adamson missing," said Cullen. "Do you have any idea where she might be?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "That's why I phoned the police."

Cullen smiled, trying to disarm her. "Can you tell me where she was going when she disappeared?"

Amy took a deep breath. "She was out on a date with some guy. It was somewhere up the Bridges, near the Uni. Don't know where exactly. She just said it was on the Southside."

"Was it a bar or a restaurant?"

"I don't know."

"Okay. What do you know about the person she was meeting?"

Amy rubbed her eyes. "Not much to tell. She met him online. I don't even know his name. Caz could be like that. I think she's been chatting to him every day on the internet. It's been a few weeks at least."

"I see. Do you know what site they met on? A dating site, maybe?"

"Schoolbook."

Cullen knew it - he had a profile on the site and had just downloaded the app for his mobile. He was constantly bombarded with friend requests from people at school, which he generally accepted then ignored. "When did you start worrying about Caroline?"

Amy glanced at the small boy on the floor and bit her lip. "She dropped Jack off here from nursery after work on Wednesday. Caz was supposed to pick him up yesterday afternoon. I don't work Thursdays so I was keeping him."

Cullen nodded. He drew a timeline in his notebook, running from Wednesday to now - Friday lunchtime - marking Thursday afternoon for the arranged collection. "So she's been gone almost two days?"

"Aye."

"When was the last time you actually heard from her?" said Cullen.

"I got a text at about seven on Wednesday asking how Jack was."

Cullen added it to the timeline. "What did the text message say?"

"I let her know he was asleep," said Amy, "but she didn't reply. She'd been on the phone a few times before that. I think it was nerves."

"Was it unusual she didn't reply?"

"She likes to text, I suppose," said Amy, "and she likes to get the last word in. But I can go weeks without hearing from her."

"Okay." Cullen sifted through his notes. "I assume you've tried to get hold of her on her mobile since then?"

"Yeah, I called loads of times, but it just rang through to voicemail." Amy sat forward on her chair. "I left messages, sent a million texts. It's just not like her. She would always answer, just in case anything had happened to Jack."

"Could she have gone back to this man's flat after their date?"

Amy looked up at the ceiling. "Well, I suppose so, aye, but she should still have had her phone on." Her hand shook as she picked up her cup, tea spilling down the sides.
 

Jack wandered over to Amy, his steps slow and unsteady - even Cullen now realised he couldn't be any more than two.
 

"If she had gone back to his flat," said Amy, "that was two nights ago. She would've at least phoned me yesterday to see how Jack was, and to tell me she wasn't coming to pick him up."

"Have you tried her flat?"

"Aye, I've got a key," said Amy. "I was round there yesterday. I didn't want to barge in, in case they'd, you know, gone back there, so I just knocked. I went round again this morning. I let myself in, but she hasn't been back as far as I could tell."

"And that's when you reported her missing?"

"Aye."

Cullen jotted some notes down - so far, he'd only confirmed what he already knew, though this mystery man was already digging at his synapses. "Have you contacted anyone who might know where she is? Any family?"

"I phoned her parents, but they hadn't heard from her."

"Any brothers or sisters?"

"Caz is an only child," said Amy.

"Where do her parents live?"

"Carnoustie, near Dundee."

Cullen knew it well - he was from Dalhousie in Angus, a small fishing town up the coast, the other side of Arbroath. The local football teams, Carnoustie Panmure and Dalhousie Trawlers, had a fierce rivalry in the Juniors league. If you asked anyone in Dalhousie, they'd tell you their golf course was the equal of their more famous close neighbour.

Amy gave him contact details for Caroline's parents.

"How about Jack's father?" said Cullen.

Amy scowled. "Rob?" She looked away, her fingers gripping the armchair tight. "They divorced last year. They'd been together since they were at school, went to uni together, got married, had this wee fella then that scumbag had an affair with this girl he worked with, some tart called Kim. It tore Caroline in two."

"What's his name?"

"Rob Thomson." Amy stared at the floor for a moment - Cullen let her take some time. "He's a nasty piece of work."

"Do you think he could have anything to do with her disappearance?"

Amy hesitated for a moment. "I wouldn't know."

"Do you have an address or phone number for him?"

"Aye, Caz gave me some for when I had Jack." Amy sifted through her mobile and he noted them down.

Cullen clocked Miller ogling Amy as she leaned forward to replace the phone, his tongue practically hanging out of his mouth.

"Could Caroline have run away?" said Cullen. "Maybe with this guy she was meeting?"

Amy stared into space for a few seconds. "I doubt it. Jack's her life. She adores him."

It seemed unlikely to Cullen - in his experience, most young mothers had at least some level of resentment towards their children, mixed with varying levels of maternal love. "She never expressed any frustration or irritation with her son?"

"Not once, not ever." Amy shook her head, emphatically. "Caroline was very open about that sort of thing. She loved Jack. My other pals that have kids moan about them, but Caroline never did. I mean, she'd say if he'd been a nightmare that morning or whatever, but it never seemed to bother her."

"Are there any friends or colleagues who might know where Caroline is?"

Amy bit her lip. "You could maybe try Steve Allen. He was at school with her and Rob. Think he lives in Glasgow now. He's a really good pal of hers. He might have heard from her, I suppose. I tried but I couldn't get hold of him." She gave him a mobile number.

"Anyone else?"

Amy rubbed her nose for a few seconds. "There's maybe Debi Curtis. We both worked with Caroline a few years ago. I hardly see her now, but Caroline's still pretty close to her."

Cullen noted her number down. "Where does Caroline work?"

"The University. In the Linguistics Department. She's a senior secretary."

Cullen noted the contact details. He reckoned he'd got all the information he could out of her. He needed to speak to Rob Thomson. "Is there any family Jack can stay with?"
 

Amy nodded. "I spoke to her folks. He'll be fine with me until Caz shows up. If she's not turned up by the weekend, they'll come and get him."

"What about her ex-husband?"

"What about him?"

"Have you spoken to Mr Thomson?" said Cullen.

"He didn't answer my call."

Cullen stood up, not sure whether to believe her or not. "You mentioned you had a key to Caroline's flat. Could I have a look around?"

The summer wind howled down the street as Cullen and Miller stood outside, having driven round in silence even though it would have been quicker walking. Caroline's top floor flat was on Smith's Place, a cul de sac just off Leith Walk full of ornate Victorian buildings now subdivided into flats.
 

"Fuck me, man." Miller gave a lewd cackle. "That Amy would get it." He ground his hips for emphasis.

Cullen opened the front door of the building. "You're a dirty bastard."

"Who gives a shit?" said Miller. "She's a tidy little piece."

"You might want to think about acting a bit more professionally."

"Eh?"

"You just sat there looking her up and down," said Cullen. "Don't make me tell Bain about it."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wouldn't I?" Cullen led them inside. "What do you make of the story, then?"

"Don't know, man," said Miller, as they begun the climb. "Something seems a bit fishy."

"Were you actually paying attention?" said Cullen, as they reached the top floor.
 

"I was a bit, aye."

"How much is a bit?"

"Well, you know," said Miller. "Her pal went missing, hasn't turned up."

Cullen held up the brass key. "I'm going to have a look around. I want you to give Rob Thomson and Steve Allen a call, see if we can set some time up with them."

"Right." Miller frowned and looked away.

Cullen sighed. "Tell me you copied the numbers down."

"I thought you were."

Cullen doubted Miller would ever get past the Acting DC stage to being a full detective, but the mystery remained as to how he'd even got there in the first place. He showed Miller the numbers in his own notebook. "There."

"Aye, cheers." Miller took Cullen's notebook and started copying.

Cullen pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and opened the front door. All of the rooms in the flat faced into the street. It was dark inside, despite it being midday at the end of July. They entered the open plan living room and kitchen, which seemed perfectly ordinary, nothing particularly amiss.
 

Miller sat on the sofa and started fiddling with his mobile.
 

Cullen checked the calendar stuck to the fridge - the only allusion to going on a date was a note to take Jack to Amy's.

He left Miller and went into the first room, obviously Jack's bedroom. It was small yet crammed with toys. Cullen wondered if they were presents from the guilty father.

Caroline's bedroom was almost as big as the living room. On the dressing table sat an empty wine glass and a half-empty bottle of Chardonnay, the top screwed back on. He took a look through the wardrobe, stuffed with clothes and shoes. The chest of drawers by the bed was full of underwear and cosmetics. Under the bed were two new-looking suitcases, both empty.

It looked like she hadn't run away.

In the middle of the double bed sat a sleeping Apple laptop, not a new model. Cullen took a few seconds before deciding to wake it up. It was logged into Schoolbook. He sat on the bed and looked closer - there was a stream of messages between Caroline and someone called Martin Webb. He scanned through the message chain - this was definitely the guy she was meeting.

He felt slightly guilty about reading through the personal messages, thinking how he would feel if someone did the same to him.

From the profile picture alongside every message, Cullen could tell Martin Webb was a pretty boy - the guy was either good-looking or had spent a lot of money on getting a photo professionally taken. His own profile photo had three days of stubble and he'd been hung-over when one of his flatmates snapped it.

Cullen clicked to Martin's profile - if he could find him then maybe he could find Caroline. The icon in the middle of the screen spun round for a couple of seconds then took him to the login screen. The password field stayed blank, no asterisks auto-populated. He clicked on the back button, but it returned to the home page.

He swore, angry with himself and pissed off at her bloody laptop.

He got up and tried to think if there was anything else he could glean from the flat, coming up short. He went back to the living room, Miller still on the sofa, mobile in his hand, looking out of the window. He chucked Cullen's notebook back over.

Cullen pocketed it. "Anything?"

"No answer from either of them."

"How many of Rob Thomson's numbers did you try?"

"House and mobile."

"Not the office?" said Cullen.

"Just away to, then you came back." Miller smirked. "Finished sniffing her dirty knickers?"

Cullen laughed despite himself. He got his phone out and called Steve Allen's number. It was engaged. He tried Rob Thomson's numbers, all going through to voicemail.

"Believe me now?" said Miller.

"Aye, I suppose so."

"Nice phone, though, Scotty," said Miller. "iPhone 4, right?"

Cullen shrugged. "It's just a phone."

"Aye, right. It's more than a phone." Miller rubbed his hands together. "Anyway, I called that Debi bird. She works at the History Department at the Uni. She can see us this afternoon."

"Good. We can speak to Caroline's work colleagues while we're up there. Maybe you're not such a useless bastard, Miller."

"I am if you listen to Bain."

Cullen grinned. "For once, he might have a point."