Ghost in the Machine: An edge-of-your-seat serial killer thriller (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 1) Read online

  contents

  Copyright

  Other Books

  Dedication

  Wednesday 27th July 2011

  One

  Friday 29th July 2011

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Saturday 30th July 2011

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Sunday 31st July 2011

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Monday 1st August 2011

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Forty-Eight

  Forty-Nine

  Fifty

  Fifty-One

  Fifty-Two

  Fifty-Three

  Fifty-Four

  Fifty-Five

  Fifty-Six

  Fifty-Seven

  Fifty-Eight

  Tuesday 2nd August 2011

  Fifty-Nine

  Sixty

  Sixty-One

  Sixty-Two

  Sixty-Three

  Sixty-Four

  Sixty-Five

  Sixty-Six

  Sixty-Seven

  Sixty-Eight

  Sixty-Nine

  Seventy

  Seventy-One

  Seventy-Two

  Seventy-Three

  Seventy-Four

  Seventy-Five

  Seventy-Six

  Seventy-Seven

  Seventy-Eight

  Seventy-Nine

  Eighty

  Eighty-One

  Eighty-Two

  Eighty-Three

  Wednesday 3rd August 2011

  Eighty-Four

  Eighty-Five

  Eighty-Six

  Eighty-Seven

  Eighty-Eight

  Eighty-Nine

  Ninety

  Ninety-One

  Ninety-Two

  Ninety-Three

  Ninety-Four

  Ninety-Five

  Ninety-Six

  Ninety-Seven

  Next Book

  DEVIL IN THE DETAIL excerpt

  CULLEN YEAR ONE

  Afterword

  Other Books by Ed James

  Copyright © 2012 Ed James

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Ed James

  Version 2.0

  OTHER BOOKS BY ED JAMES

  THE SCOTT CULLEN SERIES

  1GHOST IN THE MACHINE

  2DEVIL IN THE DETAIL

  3FIRE IN THE BLOOD

  4DYED IN THE WOOL

  5BOTTLENECK

  6WINDCHILL

  Writing as Edwin James -

  SHOT THROUGH THE HEART, a standalone supernatural thriller

  for C

  Wednesday

  27th July 2011

  one

  Caroline

  Wednesday 27th July, 7.30pm

  Where was he?

  Caroline was still waiting in the bar where they'd arranged to meet. She checked her watch - he was twenty minutes late.

  It felt like hours.

  She shouldn't have got there half an hour early. She took another sip from her cocktail, staring into the ice.

  The music playing on the bar's stereo switched song. She recognised it, something about making him magnificent tonight. She looked over at the barmaid and pointed up at the speakers. "What's this?"

  The barmaid checked a CD case. "Sleeper. Atomic."

  Caroline nodded. "Thanks."

  Taking a deep breath, she hoped Martin would be magnificent. She rummaged around in her handbag and found her mobile. She opened the Schoolbook app and found her train of messages with him, re-reading the instructions again, just like she had four times on her laptop at home.

  No, there it was - meet in the bar of the Jackson Hotel at half seven.

  She went into Martin's profile, looking at the baby-blue eyes in the photo, the wide smile, the perfect teeth. Almost too good to be true.

  The only messages on his profile were hers - she wondered if she looked like some mad stalker woman.

  She scanned around the room again for anyone even vaguely resembling Martin's profile shot. Nobody came close.

  Caroline looked over at the barmaid. "I'm supposed to be meeting someone." She held up her mobile. "Has he been in?"

  The barmaid inspected Martin's profile for a few seconds before shaking her head and returning the phone. "Don't recognise him. He's pretty, though." She wiped the counter with a cloth then pointed at Caroline's mobile. "Did you meet him on Schoolbook?"

  "If you can call it meeting."

  "Happens a lot these days, I suppose."

  "We'd been talking about films on a message board."

  The barmaid moved off to fuss over the coffee machine.

  Caroline took another sip and looked back at the message chain stretching back almost two months, the flirtatious subtext getting ever stronger towards the inevitability of their meeting.

  She'd not felt that level of connection with anyone for a long time. It felt like he knew everything about her.

  Her heart was thudding in her chest. She took another sip to steady her nerves.

  The CD switched track again and she started humming along. She made eye contact with the barmaid. "What's this one?"

  The barmaid looked at the box again, her eyes squinting. "New Order, Temptation."

  Caroline frowned, thinking she knew the album. "What CD it?"

  The barmaid held up the box. "Trainspotting soundtrack. It's just what was here. Got some decent tunes on it, though."

  "That's my favourite film. It's what we were chatting about on Schoolbook." Caroline looked down at her glass again and bit her lip. "Rob bought me that."

  "Who's he?"

  "My ex-husband. He's a wanker."

  The barmaid snorted. "Don't get me started on mine." She moved off to serve another customer.

  Caroline stabbed at her phone, tempted to delete Rob from her friends list there and then. She should never have accepted his invite in the first place, but she'd been trying to be friends for Jack's sake.

  She noticed her fists were clenched. She let them go, taking another drink, hoping nobody noticed.

  She looked across the bar area, seeing herself in the mirror. She sighed, reflecting on how little had outwardly changed in her - she'd lost weight after having Jack and didn't look much older than her thirty-two years. The divorce had added dark rings around her eyes she just couldn't get rid of.

  Her mobile lit up - a text from Amy. "Jack's just gone to sleep. No more phone calls. A x"

  Caroline swallowed hard, fe
eling guilty at being out and leaving her son with a friend.

  The music changed again. Anger burned through her as she thought of Rob moving on, leaving her with Jack. Not that she resented him it was just-

  Caroline put the phone back on the bar.

  It buzzed almost immediately - a text from Steve Allen, one of her oldest friends. "Just on my way to Parkhead, wanted to wish you good luck for tonight. Not that you'll need it."

  She texted back. "I don't think I will. You might."

  She tapped send and the phone rang, an unknown number. Her hands shook as she put it to her ear.

  "Caroline, hi, it's Martin."

  His voice was familiar, almost reassuring. She loved Northern Irish accents.

  "Hi." Her voice was a nervous croak. She cleared her throat. "Hi, Martin."

  "I'm really sorry, but I'm running late. I've just got back from the office, had a last minute meeting thrown at me and I'm only getting ready now. And I left my personal mobile in my hotel room like an idiot."

  Caroline wasn't sure what to make of it. "That's okay."

  "Tell you what, I'm just about ready now so why don't you come meet me at my room and we'll go on from there?"

  "Sure."

  "It's just at the back of the ground floor. Room twenty."

  The phone clicked dead.

  Her heart was racing again. She was finally going to meet him. In person.

  She wondered about meeting him in his room but they'd talked so often on Schoolbook it felt like they'd known each other for years.

  She grinned at the barmaid as she got up, leaving the ice at the bottom of her glass. She walked through reception, a brass plate on the wall indicating room 20 was along a wood-panelled corridor.

  When she got there, the door was ajar.

  She called into the room. No answer.

  She frowned and looked back along the corridor, her heart racing.

  She took a deep breath and knocked on the door. It opened further.

  "Come in."

  She entered.

  The door slammed behind her. A hand clasped over her mouth. "Hello, Caroline."

  As she twisted around, she saw his face. Her eyes bulged.

  A rope bit into her neck.

  A fist slammed into her skull.

  Friday

  29th July 2011

  two

  Detective Constable Scott Cullen stood on Leith Walk, staring up the road at the police station. He held an Airwave handset and glared at Keith Miller, the Acting DC who had been shadowing him for the last month. "You've done it again, haven't you?"

  Miller shrugged. "Done what?"

  "Arsed it up." Cullen shook his head. "We've been staking that flat for a week. Kenny Falconer killed someone. You let him get away."

  Miller sniffed. "You were in the shop. He must have seen you."

  "I wasn't the one pissing about on his phone when Falconer did a runner."

  The Airwave crackled to life. "PC Angela Caldwell for DC Cullen. Over."

  Cullen glared at Miller as he put the device to his mouth. "This is Cullen. Over."

  "I've just spotted Falconer at the entrance to Pilrig Park."

  Cullen started running, turning right into Pilrig Street. "On our way." He jogged down the pavement, heading for the park at the end, a large patch of grass between side streets.

  Cullen called into his Airwave again. "Give me an update. Over."

  His reply was a burst of feedback from Caldwell, still out of sight a couple of hundred metres ahead of them in the park.

  Cullen was breathing hard. "Have you got him?"

  "He's still here. You don't need to worry. Just apprehending him now."

  Caldwell screamed.

  Cullen quickened his pace. "What's happened? Are you okay?"

  "Little bastard's hit me and made a run for it!" Another blast of static. "Shite."

  Cullen entered the park and spotted Caldwell, doubled over in pain.

  Miller quickly overtook Cullen, his long legs giving him an advantage. He changed direction to follow a figure in a hooded top closing on the football pitch, the goalposts still down for the summer.

  Cullen stopped alongside her. "Are you okay?"

  "I'll be fine," said Caldwell. "He got me right in the guts. Go on, get after him."

  Cullen darted after Miller, now being led towards the road through the park.

  Miller caught up with Falconer just as they entered a thin wood and Cullen quickly lost sight of them.

  Cullen tentatively entered the patch of trees and heard a shout.

  "Here!"

  He slowed to a walking pace. Through the branches, Miller stood with his hands out in front of him, baton extended. Falconer had a knife out, his hand and Miller's eyes doing a synchronised dance. He kept lunging towards him, thrusting the knife closer.

  This was all Cullen needed - as well as running operation clusterfuck, he was now risking the death of a fellow officer. It wasn't going to happen. He circled round and came at them from the road side, hoping the steady stream of mid-morning traffic would mask his approach.

  Falconer was shouting. "Think you can catch me, you pig scum? I'll fucking gut you."

  Miller had his hands held high. "I'm not trying to start anything here, Kenny. Put the knife down on the ground and we can all have a chat about it."

  "This knife is going in you, pal, and then I'm getting out of here." Falconer slashed forward, causing Miller to dodge backwards. "Fucking stay still, would you?"

  Miller backed off a little, letting Falconer approach him.

  Cullen came up behind Falconer, readying himself to grab hold.

  Miller's eyes darted from the knife to Cullen.

  Falconer spun round and lashed out, catching his knife in the bark of a tree.

  There was a moment of silence as they stared at each other - Cullen with his baton still retracted and Falconer with his knife stuck.

  Falconer tugged at it. Cullen extended his baton and lashed out. Falconer dodged at the last minute, much faster than Cullen had expected, and lurched forward, slashing the knife at Cullen, missing by inches. Miller jumped in but caught an elbow in the face from Falconer, sending him sprawling on the ground.

  "Fucking pig scumbag." Falconer lashed out at Cullen with the knife, each slash getting closer and closer.

  Cullen moved quickly forward, flicking out with his baton, cracking Falconer's wrist and making them both drop their weapons. Cullen kicked the knife towards Miller, lying prone on the ground. Falconer moved his knees up quickly, almost battering Cullen in the groin. He grabbed Cullen by the hair and tried to punch him. Cullen yanked Falconer backwards, pulling him down. He rolled over, putting Falconer in a hold he'd learned long ago in his training days. Breathing hard, he reached behind his back for his handcuffs.

  Falconer elbowed Cullen in the stomach and pushed him over, kicking him in the side - twice - before running off.

  Cullen tried to get up but couldn't.

  Falconer dashed into the middle of the road - cars screeched to a halt.

  Cullen thought about giving chase but decided assessing Miller's condition was his highest priority. He jogged over, Miller still lying on his back, staring up and making a lot of noise.

  "Are you okay?" said Cullen.

  "I'll live," said Miller. "Did you catch him?"

  "He got away."

  "Fuck's sake," said Miller. "I took a kicking for nothing. Next time that happens, go after him, right?"

  Caldwell appeared beside them. "That's gratitude."

  "Tell me about it," said Cullen. "Did you see where he went?"

  "Rosebank cemetery, I think," said Caldwell. "There's like a hundred ways out of there."

  Cullen closed his eyes. If he could have run after Falconer, he would. "I'm going to get such a doing."

  This wasn't going to look good on his record.

  three

  Cullen yawned as he walked down the corridor in Leith Walk police station, heading back
to his desk, trying to ease out the lactic acid in his legs. It was Friday lunchtime at the end of four straight day shifts and he was knackered, and not just from the incident in Pilrig Park. He carried his lunch - a BLT clutched in one hand, a coffee in the other, steam wafting out of the hole in the lid.

  Detective Sergeant Sharon McNeill was walking alongside. She stopped, looked around at him and laughed.

  Cullen frowned. "What?"

  "You haven't listened to a word," she said, with a grin.

  "Sorry," said Cullen. "I'm starving. I've not eaten since six this morning and I've had too much excitement for one day."

  McNeill was tall, early thirties, her dark hair loosely tied back in a ponytail. She was maybe carrying a few extra pounds, but if Cullen could ever be described as being selective enough to have a type, she was it. She wore a charcoal trouser suit and a cream blouse, open at the neck. "Yeah, well, at least you're not in tomorrow." She led on.

  "What was it you said anyway?"

  McNeill's eyes darted over at him. "I asked if you had any plans for your days off."

  "Avoiding detective inspectors."

  McNeill grinned. "Other than that?"

  "Just out drinking with my flatmates tonight," said Cullen. "If the pain in my side eases any, that is."

  "Messy one?"

  Cullen smiled. "Hope so."

  She stopped outside their office space, a small portion of the third floor. Egg mayonnaise roll in one hand, tea beaker in the other, McNeill struggled to push the door. Cullen had learnt the hard way not to offer his assistance. Eventually, she barged it open.

  Cullen's four-man team occupied a bank of desks by the window. Leith Walk station had opened the previous summer and now housed the bulk of Edinburgh's CID, though there was still a presence in Torphichen Street and St Leonards stations.

  Cullen and McNeill both reported to Detective Inspector Brian Bain, who sat at his desk poring through a file, an open can of Red Bull in front of him. He was early forties, tall and thin with a neat moustache and grey hair shaved almost to the bone. He wore a black suit and white shirt with a red tie hanging loose from the collar. He glanced up, made eye contact and looked back down again.

  Cullen sat at the desk across from Bain and logged in to his computer.