fine."
"Just make sure you are," she said. "I'd better go. Love you."
"See you later," he said.
He ended the call, pocketed the phone and wondered why he couldn't say the 'L word' back.
ten
Fifteen minutes later and Cullen sat at the back of the Incident Room, finishing off a foot long sub which had filled his stomach if not satisfied his taste buds. The Cajun chicken might have been the better option.
Bain had managed to obtain upwards of twenty officers, the majority of whom had come from the other East Lothian stations. Law, McLaren, Murray and Lamb sat on office chairs beside Bain, chatting amongst themselves as the great man stared at the newly-installed whiteboard, trying to conjure some leads from it. Cullen was thankful that Law hadn't come over and recommenced flirting. He really needed to nip that in the bud - he'd done nothing and planned to do nothing, but the fact that Caldwell had noticed meant that it would be out in the open sooner rather than later.
Just as Cullen scrunched up his lunch bag, Irvine appeared carrying a Gregg's bag. He handed Bain a sandwich, sausage roll and coffee then sat down across from Lamb as he tucked into his own lunch. He deposited his wad of gum into a tissue and put it on the table.
Cullen's phone rang - the display showed an unknown number. He knew people that never answered those types of calls but to Cullen it could have been anyone. Any number of contacts in West Lothian had his number - snouts, busybodies, gossips - and, while he didn't work there any more, he could pass them onto someone who did.
He answered the call.
He heard music down the line - the rattle of a tambourine and a dirty throbbing bass guitar. He didn't recognise the song - it was the sort of indie rock that Cullen had stood through at countless festivals over the years while his ex-girlfriend tossed her hair from side to side in time with the music, usually before he had to hoist her onto his shoulder. Guitar cut in, choppy chords played on a distorted electric, along with singing in a harsh and guttural Scottish accent, the sort that could have come from either Glasgow or Edinburgh, or any of the myriad towns in between. The voice was singing a mantra - 'Where have you gone?' over and over as the music changed underneath.
"Hello?" he called three times. He hung up before the song went anywhere near a chorus.
Nobody else in the room appeared to have noticed. He was sweating - the room was only just warming up from its long, unused chill, but he was soaked through.
Cullen had never received a crank call before. He didn't know what to do. He could think of a hundred people that would want to get at him but couldn't think of a single one that would have his number. The only likely candidate he could think of was Jamie Cook - he'd phoned him half an hour previously. Why he would phone and leave a message like that was beyond Cullen. He had seen some pretty fucked up people over the years - maybe what Mulgrew and the boy's parents said was true and Cook was so far off the rails that goading the police was something he actively pursued.
Bain finally turned round and called the officers to order. Cullen finally joined Bain and Irvine at the front. Caldwell sat next to Lamb.
Bain had managed to appropriate the station's brand new whiteboard, a large screen mounted on a frame with metal legs ending in castors. Bain was at home, poised by it, his hand pointing and prodding as he went over the case so far - Mandy's body, her parents, God's Rainbow, Seamus Mulgrew and Jamie Cook. He had drawn a rough map of Garleton around the Gibsons' house and a larger scale one which showed Garleton and Balgone Ponds. He used Cullen's investigation in the main, plus bits and pieces gathered by Lamb and his team which was news to Cullen - witness statements from the streets around Gibson, Cook and Mulgrew which hadn't yielded anything - as well as the information that Murray had discovered about Charles Gibson's car
"Just make sure you are," she said. "I'd better go. Love you."
"See you later," he said.
He ended the call, pocketed the phone and wondered why he couldn't say the 'L word' back.
ten
Fifteen minutes later and Cullen sat at the back of the Incident Room, finishing off a foot long sub which had filled his stomach if not satisfied his taste buds. The Cajun chicken might have been the better option.
Bain had managed to obtain upwards of twenty officers, the majority of whom had come from the other East Lothian stations. Law, McLaren, Murray and Lamb sat on office chairs beside Bain, chatting amongst themselves as the great man stared at the newly-installed whiteboard, trying to conjure some leads from it. Cullen was thankful that Law hadn't come over and recommenced flirting. He really needed to nip that in the bud - he'd done nothing and planned to do nothing, but the fact that Caldwell had noticed meant that it would be out in the open sooner rather than later.
Just as Cullen scrunched up his lunch bag, Irvine appeared carrying a Gregg's bag. He handed Bain a sandwich, sausage roll and coffee then sat down across from Lamb as he tucked into his own lunch. He deposited his wad of gum into a tissue and put it on the table.
Cullen's phone rang - the display showed an unknown number. He knew people that never answered those types of calls but to Cullen it could have been anyone. Any number of contacts in West Lothian had his number - snouts, busybodies, gossips - and, while he didn't work there any more, he could pass them onto someone who did.
He answered the call.
He heard music down the line - the rattle of a tambourine and a dirty throbbing bass guitar. He didn't recognise the song - it was the sort of indie rock that Cullen had stood through at countless festivals over the years while his ex-girlfriend tossed her hair from side to side in time with the music, usually before he had to hoist her onto his shoulder. Guitar cut in, choppy chords played on a distorted electric, along with singing in a harsh and guttural Scottish accent, the sort that could have come from either Glasgow or Edinburgh, or any of the myriad towns in between. The voice was singing a mantra - 'Where have you gone?' over and over as the music changed underneath.
"Hello?" he called three times. He hung up before the song went anywhere near a chorus.
Nobody else in the room appeared to have noticed. He was sweating - the room was only just warming up from its long, unused chill, but he was soaked through.
Cullen had never received a crank call before. He didn't know what to do. He could think of a hundred people that would want to get at him but couldn't think of a single one that would have his number. The only likely candidate he could think of was Jamie Cook - he'd phoned him half an hour previously. Why he would phone and leave a message like that was beyond Cullen. He had seen some pretty fucked up people over the years - maybe what Mulgrew and the boy's parents said was true and Cook was so far off the rails that goading the police was something he actively pursued.
Bain finally turned round and called the officers to order. Cullen finally joined Bain and Irvine at the front. Caldwell sat next to Lamb.
Bain had managed to appropriate the station's brand new whiteboard, a large screen mounted on a frame with metal legs ending in castors. Bain was at home, poised by it, his hand pointing and prodding as he went over the case so far - Mandy's body, her parents, God's Rainbow, Seamus Mulgrew and Jamie Cook. He had drawn a rough map of Garleton around the Gibsons' house and a larger scale one which showed Garleton and Balgone Ponds. He used Cullen's investigation in the main, plus bits and pieces gathered by Lamb and his team which was news to Cullen - witness statements from the streets around Gibson, Cook and Mulgrew which hadn't yielded anything - as well as the information that Murray had discovered about Charles Gibson's car
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