Ghost in the Machine (4 page)

Cullen parked the car on the double yellow line across from Appleton Tower, one of two high rises built by Edinburgh University in the late sixties, architecturally at odds with the surrounding buildings. The Linguistics Department was in a townhouse round the corner on George Square, one of the few old buildings still standing.

"Just here, isn't it?" said Miller.

"Aye."

Cullen knew the area well from his student days but right now he didn't recognise it. Bristo Square - usual haunt of skateboarders and teenagers - was now cordoned off ahead of the impending Festival, the square becoming a number of different venues centred around the Student Union. For one month of the year, the centre of the city twisted into a parallel twenty-four hour version of itself. Cullen imagined London festivalgoers returning for a November weekend, surprised to be turned away from student unions.

A new office building stood across from Appleton Tower, looking like a stretched-out sibling of Leith Walk station. When Cullen was a student it had been a car park and he'd once fallen headlong across the gravel on a drunken night in his first year, slicing his arm open. He was so drunk he didn't even notice until he was barred entry to the Student Union.

"Seems like a different place now," said Cullen, as they got out of the car.

"You went to uni?"

Cullen nodded. "English Literature."

Miller snorted with laughter. "Isn't that a poof's subject?"

Cullen didn't answer.

"Did you finish?" said Miller.

"Dropped out after third year. Got an Ordinary Degree."

"That when you joined the force?"

"No," said Cullen. "I worked in a shitty office for a couple of years while I got myself fit."

"It's a bastard," said Miller. "I hate running but you've got to keep it up."

"What about you?"

"Wasn't smart enough to go to uni." Miller smirked. "I worked in an office for a couple of years after school. Old man got us the job. Fucking hated it."

"Why?"

Miller's expression was the most serious Cullen had ever seen on him. "Put it this way, Bain seems all right compared to some of the wankers I worked for."

Cullen laughed as he pressed the buzzer. "Tell me about it."

"How do you want to play this?" said Miller as they waited.

"You speak to the office staff, I'll speak to the boss. There will be academics in the department, but I suspect they won't know much about Caroline so we'd best avoid them. Then we'll go and see Debi Curtis."

"Aye, fine, sounds good," said Miller, as though he'd suggested it.

They were buzzed up to the office. A middle-aged woman stood at the top of the stairs, hand on her hip, glasses on a chain round her neck, looking every inch the sort of battleaxe Cullen had been shit-scared of as a student.

She held out her hand. "Margaret Armstrong."

Cullen shook it, then flashed his warrant card and introduced himself. "This is Acting DC Miller."

"Can I ask what this is about?" Armstrong smiled politely, her forehead betraying a frown.

"We're investigating the reported disappearance of Caroline Adamson," said Cullen. "We believe she works here. Is that correct?"

Armstrong's lined face creased further. "Oh."

"I wanted to ask you a few questions about Caroline," said Cullen, "to see if there were any leads we could perhaps investigate."

"Certainly." She was still frowning.

"Could I speak to some of your staff?" said Miller.

Armstrong looked him up and down. "Very well." She pointed towards a closed door with a concerned look on her face. "The girls are in there."
 

Miller thanked her and entered the room.

Armstrong led Cullen along the corridor in the opposite direction into a plush first-floor room overlooking George Square, the view of the gardens marred by the abomination of the library and lecture theatres. She sat at her desk and put her glasses on, before taking a drink from a cup. "Can I get you a tea or coffee?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks." Cullen got out his notebook. "I take it Caroline hasn't turned up for work?"

Armstrong grimaced. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Has she called in sick?" said Cullen.

Armstrong shook her head. "No, she hasn't."

"Has this sort of thing happened before?"

"Absolutely not." Armstrong took another drink. "There were times when young Jack - that's her son - when he wouldn't be well, but she would always have called in by the time I got here. And I'm
always
in early, I can assure you."

Cullen didn't doubt it. "How would you describe your relationship with Caroline?"

"Professional."

"I see." Cullen imagined Armstrong didn't have many close friends. "So you weren't friends as well as colleagues?"

Armstrong folded her arms. "I don't fraternise with my staff. Caroline was on good terms with my girls. Of course, there were the girls we had before Kelly and Lesley. Amy and Debi. All three of them used to go out for a glass of wine of a Friday night. I just let them get on with it."

Cullen smiled. "Amy Cousens called this in and we plan to see Debi Curtis next."

"Very well."

"Do the current girls go out with her for a drink, do you know?"

Armstrong gave a slight shrug. "I don't think so. Not with young Jack on the scene these days. Caroline always rushed home at five on the dot to see him."

"Would any of the academic staff know anything about Caroline?"

Armstrong shook her head. "We operate a strict though informal demarcation between the administration staff and the academic staff in this office. It helps to keep it working efficiently and effectively."

"I see. So none of them would be particularly acquainted with Ms Adamson?"

"Aside from asking her to photocopy lecture notes or re-arrange seminars," said Armstrong, "there would be very little direct interaction. All of the work comes through myself."

"I know you and Ms Adamson had a strictly professional relationship," said Cullen, "but how had she seemed over the last few weeks?"

Armstrong furrowed her brow and paused for a moment. "I would say that, on reflection, Caroline had seemed a tad distant, but then she was often like that. Having a young son has been quite a strain on her, what with her being on her own."

"Did Caroline talk about her ex-husband often?" said Cullen.

"Seldom." Armstrong's expression seemed to warn him not to plough too far down that furrow.

Cullen ignored the perceived warning. "And when she did?"

Armstrong's nostrils flared slightly. "Never in good terms. She took a couple of weeks leave to get her affairs in order when the divorce was going through." Her expression got sourer. "Terrible business."

"And did anything untoward happen at the time?"

"Not that I knew of."

Cullen smiled. "Okay, one last question then. Did she mention anything about having a new man in her life?"

"Nothing at all, I'm afraid."

Cullen had exhausted all avenues of questioning. "Thanks for your help, Mrs Armstrong." He got to his feet and handed her a card. "If you hear from Caroline, please get in touch."

Miller was waiting for Cullen in the corridor. They didn't speak until they were outside.

"I'm totally starving, man," said Miller. "You'd been for your rolls when I got back. Can I go get a sandwich now?"

"There's a decent place round the corner." Cullen led him past Appleton Tower and on to Potterrow. "Did you manage to get anything?"

"Only thing those pair were worried about was her weight," said Miller. "She'd been getting quite thin. Typical birds."

"Did they know why?"

Miller shrugged. "New man on the scene. Wanted to look her best."

Cullen could well imagine. "Anything else?"
 

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

Cullen shook his head. "I don't know where you get that from."

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

"Eh?"

"There was that bird at the Christmas party, wasn't there?" said Miller. "And there's DS McNeill."

"There's nothing going on between me and DS McNeill." Cullen gestured at the sandwich shop. "Don't be ages."

Miller went inside with a smile on his face.

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 and called Steve Allen. He pushed the phone between his shoulder and neck and listened to the ringing tone.

Allen answered, sounding flustered.

Cullen introduced himself. "I believe you're acquainted with a Caroline Adamson."

"That's right."

Cullen found it hard to make out his voice 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," said Cullen. "One of her friends has reported it to us."

"Oh sweet Jesus."

"I need to track Ms Adamson's movements," said Cullen. "It could be you were the last person to speak to her before she disappeared."

"Okay, okay," said Allen. "Give me a second." There was a pause. "I think I texted her on my way to the Celtic match. About seven, I suppose."

"And Ms Adamson 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 - she had been jovial enough on Wednesday night, then. "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?"

"Now you mention it," said Allen, "she does usually reply to texts quite quickly."

Cullen noted it down - that was the second unanswered text message. "And before that, when was the last time you'd spoken to her?"

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

"And how did she seem?"

"Nervous, I suppose," said Allen, after another brief pause. "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," said Allen. "I just knew 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?"

"Look, how serious is this?"

"We're concerned for her 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 Christ." 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 I've got to go. Give me a call if you need anything."

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

"Who was that?" said Miller through a mouthful of mashed up chicken and white bread.

"Steve Allen."

"Good work getting through to him."

Cullen nodded at the roll. "What did you get?"

"Cajun chicken," said Miller. "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?"

Miller did a mock salute. "Yes, boss."
 

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

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

They headed towards the History Department and Debi Curtis.

*
*
*

Debi Curtis' office was old and in dire need of repair. The white paint covering the furniture was chipped and the cabinets had seen better days - the late seventies, thought Cullen. They sat across the desk from her.

"I haven't seen Caroline for about a month," said Debi. "I'm studying for an MBA just now and work was really busy towards the end of the academic year."

Cullen placed her accent as being somewhere near London and she was one of the smallest women he had ever met - easily a couple of inches under five foot. 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 Cullen didn't know.

"Were you good friends?" said Cullen.

"We were, yes," said Debi. "We worked together at Linguistics just after I graduated. We used to go out on a Friday night and chat about stuff, you know. Me, Caroline and Amy."

"When was this?"

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

"And do you still email or text her at all?"

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

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

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

"Okay." Cullen was keen to move away from her love life. "Can you tell me anything about her marriage and divorce?"

"I tried to stay out of it," said Debi, slowly. "We weren't working together any more and I was friends with both Rob and Caroline, so I wanted to remain impartial." She sighed. "I haven't seen Rob in a long time, though. 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."