Free Bottleneck by Ed James

"Right. Hold that thought for now." He looked at the whiteboard. "We've spoken to two of the band already, is that correct?"
    Cullen nodded. "David Johnson and Beth Williamson. We need to get Beth in to give a formal statement. The Johnson interview transcript should be with us tomorrow."
    "I expect you two to close that out," said Methven.
    "Will do," said Cullen. "The only blocker we've now got is we can't get hold of Alex Hughes."
    "Is that suspicious?" said Methven.
    "Could be," said Cullen. "Might be he's on holiday or has a new phone number."
    "That's two phones we've tried, though," said Buxton. "I called Tommy Smith in the Phone Squad on the way back." He held his own mobile up. "He's got nowhere in tracking either phone down."
    "What do you think, Sergeant?" said Methven, losing patience.
    "I don't think he's a suspect," said Cullen. "Yet. Nobody has mentioned any antagonism between Hughes and Strang. Quite the opposite, in fact. He's been speaking to Strang's mother about her son."
    "I want that on the top of your radar tomorrow," said Methven.
    "The top of my what?" said Cullen.
    Methven snorted. "Just get it done." He looked back at the board. "You've interviewed the parents?"
    Cullen nodded. "Other than the Jane potential lead, we've got nothing. Some interesting background for a biography on him, but that's it."
    Methven's gaze turned to Chantal "And the work colleagues?"
    "Strang worked in a record shop, which Beth Williamson eventually went on to manage. He was casual labour with no formal employment contract. We've got the previous manager coming in tomorrow to give a statement, but he didn't remember much about Strang when I spoke to him on the phone. The one thing he did say was Strang was always in early every day, half an hour before his shift, so he could listen to the new music and talk to people, usually about his band.
    Methven scribbled a link to the manager, prompting Chantal for the name. "Any other colleagues we should be bringing in?"
    "Not spoken to anyone yet," said Chantal. "Still waiting on the list from Beth Williamson." She pulled a hand through her hair and refastened her scrunchy. "If that doesn't appear, God knows what we're going to do."
    "Did they have a manager or an agent?" said Methven.
    "Johnson told us Strang did all that," said Cullen. "He was a bit of an obsessive."
    "Next," said Methven. "Flatmates."
    "We've not progressed that yet," said Cullen. "From the discussions with Williamson and Johnson, it looks like it won't come to anything. He just had a room in a flat, didn't seem to interact with his flatmates."
    "They might know something," said Methven.
    "They might not," said Cullen, before looking at Buxton. "One for you, Simon."
    Buxton grimaced. "Got a call back from Johnson earlier. The flat was on Marchmont Road. He also gave me a list of friends I should speak to."
    Methven let out a deep sigh. "Okay, so we've got sodding nothing to show for a day's work."
    "That's a bit harsh," said Cullen. "We know the victim."
    "We need to do better," said Methven. "Hopefully tomorrow will be a bit more productive. You can all head home for the night."

CHAPTER 20

    Cullen got to the flat at the back of ten, dumping his stuff on the sofa and getting a glass of milk from the fridge, downing it in one. He spotted a note on the breakfast bar saying Sharon had gone to bed.
    The cat bleated at him again, baring the large fangs in his pink mouth. Cullen reached down and picked him up. He weighed an absolute ton. He started tickling him under the chin, eventually making him purr.
    "See, I'm not so bad," said Cullen.
    He put the cat down, then retrieved Strang's stack of CDs. After a few minutes, he found his DJ headphones and plugged them into his stereo, the set of separates that had superseded Sharon's mini system, which Cullen couldn't stand the sound of.
    He sat listening to the music for half an hour or so. He didn't know what to make of the band. It wasn't Cullen's cup of tea, squalling