Dyed in the Wool (20 page)

Cullen put his tray down on the table, macaroni cheese and chips plus a large coffee.

Buxton mashed the second half of his baked potato, stirring beans and cheese into the buttery gloop. "Ah, you're back. You missed a fun morning."

Cullen chewed cheesy pasta. "Aitken's dad went mental."

"You serious?"

Cullen nodded. "Aye. He threatened that Hugh Nichol guy who runs the garage in Ravencraig. The fucking idiots I used to work with in Bathgate let him escape. We chased him. Methven caught him but got battered in the balls for his trouble."

"Bet you're enjoying that."

"Hardly. It's been a total waste of time. We've got nowhere with it."

"Must beat what you've had me doing."

"How's it gone?"

"Got through nine of the twelve disks."

"Not bad for, what, three and a bit hours?"

"Yeah, whatever. I've got a trail of the vehicle heading out of town, but I've lost it on the last disk. One of the remaining disks might have it."

"Does it show anything?"

"Not really." Buxton put a mouthful of potato mush in his mouth. "There is a potential sighting heading back through town which we need to validate."

"I'll give you a hand."

"Thanks. I feel honoured, by the way."

"Why?" Cullen frowned.

"You spending two meals with me in one day. Feels like a royal visit or something."

"You wish." Cullen slumped back in the chair and took a sip of burning hot coffee. "You lot love the royal family where you come from."

"Gawd bless you, ma'am."

"It's Tottenham you support, isn't it?"

"Fuck's sake, I'm a QPR fan. Don't ever make that mistake again."

Cullen was keen to keep talking and stretch out to the full lunch hour, before they went back to the CCTV room.

Caldwell sat down next to them. "Here they are, the golden boys."

"You sound more and more like Bain every day." Cullen took a sip of coffee.

"You act more like him."

"I need to get back downstairs." Buxton got up and he left them to it.

Cullen looked over. "Have you just come here to be nasty, Angela?"

"I actually wanted to see how you were doing. I heard about what happened with Sharon. It's a real shame, you were good together."

"Didn't stop her lying to me."

"And you've never lied in your puff?"

"There are various levels of lying. White lies and the stuff I say to Bain are pretty much fine. What she did just wasn't on."

"Sounds like you're saying it's okay for you but not for her."

"Hardly, this is long-term deceit."

"She's torn apart, Scott. She might not show it, but she's really upset."

"Well, she should've told me the truth. Maybe her next boyfriend or girlfriend will benefit from the experience."

"That's harsh."

"Has she got a thing for you?"

"Are you serious?" Caldwell looked over his shoulder.

Cullen turned around.

Wilkinson was heading their way. "There you bloody are. Had to ask Britpop."

Caldwell frowned. "Who's Britpop?"

"Buxton." Cullen smiled at Wilkinson. "How can I help?"

"You're coming with me." Wilkinson grabbed Cullen by the shoulder and tugged him to his feet, tearing his suit jacket further.

"Can't I finish my lunch?"

"No."

Wilkinson led them out of the canteen. "I'm not happy with you and your game playing, Curran."

"What's this about?"

"I caught up with DI Cargill, after I finally found her." Wilkinson pushed through a swing door into the main stairwell and started trotting down the stairs. "We've agreed I can have your time."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Wilkinson stopped at the top of the stairs and took a sheet of paper from his trouser pocket. "To stop you bloody wriggling out of my grasp, I've got her to sign another form." He handed it to Cullen. "So no more nonsense, all right?"

Cullen inspected it - Cargill giving permission to use him until the investigation at Schoolbook was closed. He trotted down the stairs, Wilkinson almost a flight below him. "Where are you taking me?"

"I'm driving you and Charlie Kidd out to Livingston to get to the bottom of this nonsense." Wilkinson entered the car park and headed towards his C-Max.

Charlie Kidd leaned against it, arms folded.

Wilkinson glanced around. "Besides, it might do you good to be apart from your ex-bird. Heard she's been sniffing around young Caldwell."

*
*
*

Wilkinson pulled away from the Hermiston Gate roundabout, putting his foot down as they came onto the first stretch of the M8 towards Livingston.

"What are you looking to achieve at Schoolbook?" Cullen shifted in his seat to face Wilkinson.

Wilkinson took a deep breath. "I told you about this hooligan fight I'm looking into, right?"

"You did."

"We've got an undercover operative on the Celtic side. One of his ringleaders let slip the fact the fight was organised on Schoolbook. I want you pair to see if it was and, if so, who organised it."

"Just wanted to make sure this is solid intelligence."

"Well, I've spoken to the Procurator Fiscal and my superintendent, we're comfortable this won't be a waste of resources."

"Your funeral."

Kidd leaned between the seats. "What is it we're looking for?"

"I've told you. Whoever organised this fight."

"I know that. Schoolbook's a big site. Based on what we had to do before, this isn't going to be quick, easy or cheap."

"Not my problem. I've been given the name of the chatroom. The rest is over to you two."

Wilkinson turned off the dual carriageway to join the road to McArthur Glen.

As they passed the outlet park, Cullen wondered how Demi Baird was coping with her fiancé's death. "Have you been looking into connections to the English or Scottish Defence Leagues?"

Wilkinson powered on, heading towards the business park where Schoolbook was based. "I'm afraid so. It's not just bloody sectarianism these boys are up to. Islamophobia's where it's at nowadays. Half the time these fights are training for kicking in clerics in Luton or somewhere like that. The Rangers and Hibs fans are the worst. I had to go down to Bedfordshire last month to share some of our intelligence after a few lads from up here got arrested."

Cullen spotted a security guard at the entrance to the car park. "Look, Charlie, they've got security."

"Aye. Physical security. Bet their network security's still a joke."

Wilkinson glanced over, his forehead creased. "Are you telling me you walked into the building?"

"Aye."

"This should be easy."

"Not sure about that." Cullen grimaced. "Have you called ahead?"

"Aye. Got some boy called Aitchison meeting us in reception." Wilkinson checked his watch. "Said we'd be there at half past one but it's bloody nearer two."

The guard at the parking barrier let them through.

Wilkinson parked in a visitor's space near the front entrance and led them across the car park. "Quit dawdling, you two. All right?"

Inside, a grizzled old security guard sat behind a desk, flicking through The Sun. He looked at Wilkinson's warrant card, muttered to himself then made a phone call.

Cullen looked around - the previous open plan area had now been boxed off, large security doors with card readers leading off in both directions.

A man appeared through a door and nodded their way.

Cullen frowned before it dawned on him. Gregor Aitchison. He'd lost his beard and was wearing business casual - dress trousers and a striped shirt open to the neck. His eyes avoided Cullen and Kidd. "DI Wilkinson, is it?"

Wilkinson shook his hand, while showing his warrant card. "I presume you know my colleagues?"

Aitchison grunted. "I do, aye. Come on through." He led them into a large room, rows and rows of servers surrounding banks of desks with noticeably more people than fourteen months previously.

Cullen pulled across a couple of seats.

Aitchison settled down at his desk. "How can I help?"

Wilkinson got out his notebook. "I explained the case in detail on the phone but specifically, I need to get a list of usernames for a chat room on your site."

"Which one is it?"

"It's called CentralBelter, all one word."

"Okay." Aitchison tapped his keyboard, flicking through several screens and pages. "Bad news, I'm afraid."

"What is it?"

"That's an old Intarwubs chat room. We bought the technology from them last Christmas and integrated it in March, don't know if you saw the announcements?"

"No. Spell it out for us."

"The integration wasn't perfect. It was rushed to make sure we avoided paying a default as part of the contract. There's a second release going in soon which will be a bit tighter."

Kidd let his ponytail drop. "So what are you saying?"

"Well, it's got a separate user database. We're working on that for the next release, but I can't link people on Schoolbook to people on the chat room."

"You must be able to."

"I can't. It's all aliases and nicknames and they don't enforce any integrity. Here, look at this one. It's got names like gorgie_billy, dubliner1916 and blackburnteddy. They're the biggest users of the chat room."

Cullen scribbled them down in his own notebook. "What does this mean, Charlie?"

Kidd sat tossing his ponytail for a few seconds. "If he's right, then we're snookered. I can have a fiddle, see what I can do."

"Okay." Wilkinson pointed at the screen. "These names here, are they the ones that organised this meeting?"

"Hold on a minute." Aitchison brought up a screen with some message trails.

Cullen didn't have to read between any lines or pixels, it was pretty clear they were organising a mass fight, no code words or anything. "And you just let this happen?"

"What can we do? There's over twenty-seven thousand chat rooms. We can't afford to police them."

"You've taken an unsecured chat room and added it to your site." Cullen dug his nails into his palms. "Haven't you learned anything?"

Wilkinson held his hand out warning Cullen to calm down. "I think we've got something here. These users were the ones that arranged the fight. While Charlie works with Mr Aitchison, I can do some digging in the real world."

Cullen couldn't believe it - he wanted to tear the servers apart and shut the place down.

Wilkinson got to his feet. "Charlie, stay here and work on linking these back to users?"

"I've not got my car."

"I'll get someone to pick you up. This is important." Wilkinson nodded at Cullen. "I need to get you back to your lord and master." He shook Aitchison's hand before leading Cullen back to the reception area.

Cullen waited until they were out of earshot of any employees. "Why the hell have you got me out here?"

"Weight of numbers. Plus, all the stuff with the Schoolbook Killer last year, I thought a friendly face such as yours would put the frighteners up him. Seemed to work."

Cullen bit his lip. "Any idea who these people are?"

"The first two, I've no idea." Wilkinson grimaced. "Blackburn Teddy, though, I think I've got a possibility."

"Go on."

"Tommy Aitken."

"Xander's father?"

"Aye, lad. He's from Blackburn, you know, the West Lothian one. Moved to Ravencraig when he was a teenager. He's a Rangers fan that we've had under investigation by my lads for a few months."

"Why didn't you mention it before?"

Wilkinson stopped to open the security door. "The minute Cargill hears anything about how my case might be linked to hers, you watch it disappear out of my hands."

"That's not right."

"That's the way this thing works. Now, I've got to get a couple of lads to bring him and his computer in."

"He's in Bathgate nick. Just interviewed him."

*
*
*

Wilkinson knocked on the interview room door. "A word?"

Methven looked up. He narrowed his eyes before leaning across the table. "Interview paused at fifteen seventeen." He screeched the chair on the lino as he got to his feet, smiling at Aitken's solicitor. "I'll be back in a few seconds." He left the room, pulling the door shut behind him. "What?"

Wilkinson folded his arms. "Need to have a word with your suspect in there."

"I'm deep in an interview. His alibis haven't checked out."

"Let me remind you who has rank here, Sergeant."

"I can get DI Cargill on the phone."

"Go grassing to teacher, lad? Very big of you."

Cullen's phone rang. Buxton. Stepping away, he answered it down the corridor, a safe distance from the cock fight. "Britpop, how can I help?"

"Bloody freezing in here and bloody boring, too."

"You can come out here to Bathgate, if you want."

"I'll pass. Anyway, I think I've got something. Check your phone."

Cullen held his phone away from his head - he'd five messages from Buxton. He put the call on speaker and opened the first one. The shot covered the entrances to Ravencraig from the north, giving a good angle right down the street, showing the Range Rover, its right-turn indicator on. While the angle was perfect for viewing the car, it was next to useless for showing its occupants. "What is this?"

"What do you think? The Range Rover went into that street."

Cullen flicked onto the next image, a map. He tilted the phone to get his bearings. The way the Range Rover was indicating, there was only one side road, which headed to a set of lock-ups. He squinted at the screen, pinching to zoom in - a couple of the garage doors were just about visible through the haze of pixels. He looked at the map again - there were another four garages circled in red.

Cullen tried to work through his options. Keeping things from Cargill and Methven - as he'd done earlier with the Gavin Tait investigation - had been a bit stupid. Much as he wanted to be the hero, he was starting to think working with these officers, playing the team game, was a better strategy than merely doing the opposite of whatever Bain told him. "Who knows about this?"

"Well, I put a call out to uniform in West Lothian. Boy called Green."