Free Bottleneck by Ed James Page A

guitars and pounding drums, but they were offset against strange vocals, oscillating between screaming and shouting to the sweetest singing he'd ever heard. He struggled to find the talent and genius Johnson's hyperbole had attributed to his bandmate.
    As he let the music wash over him, he wrote up an action list for the following day, his tired eyes drying from his contact lenses. It felt too short and they didn't have anywhere near enough to go on.
    He couldn't quite fathom out the strange t-shirt arrangement with Johnson. Was there anything there? He'd had a similar thing at school with his two best mates, both called Richard, where they'd buy each other CDs every Christmas. Eventually it became a joke, with Cullen stopping after he received Never Mind the Bollocks by the Sex Pistols, his old man's number one record.
    Beth Williamson had gone from being a muscular drummer to a housewife in eighteen months, quite a rapid change. She looked like she was in a settled relationship and had been for quite some time.
    Just like Buxton, Johnson and Williamson gave up on a music career without a second thought. The dream turned sour.
    Alex Hughes was a mystery, still plugging away at music. Tomorrow's main action was to find him, most likely rooting around Glasgow.
    He picked up the magazine by the sofa, half of Expect Delays staring out at him. They were still trapped in the belly of the beast, living the dream. He didn't know if they'd made enough to never work again. Maybe they'd have to retrain in a more useful vocation when it all fell apart, or exploit the next generation of musicians as managers.
    He put the CDs back in a pile and went to bed.
    As ever, Sharon was partly over his half. He spooned into her.
    "Don't get any ideas."

Saturday
    30th March 2013  

CHAPTER 21

    Cullen got into the station at six that morning, trying to cobble together ideas to expand his sketchy action plan, determined to show Methven up. He kept coming up blank.
    At the back of eight, he grabbed Buxton and they drove to Queen Charlotte Street station in Leith.
    "It's your old mate Willie McAllister, isn't it?" said Buxton as he parked.
    Cullen nodded. "His legend prevails."
    "He worked for you on a case a couple of years back, right?"
    "Aye. I had to move him on pretty quickly."
    "What's he doing investigating uptown if he's based down here?"
    "He was working at St Leonard's when Hughes called it in," said Cullen. "Another week and he'd have been back down here and I wouldn't have to deal with him again."
    They entered the building and went through to the station's meagre canteen.
    "Here's Robocop," said McAllister, not getting up. "Heard they made you a sergeant, that right?"
    "Acting," said Buxton, sitting next to McAllister.
    Cullen glared at him before taking the third chair, only discovering it had a wonky leg when he sat. The veteran cop looked worse than ever. "Only a couple of months to go, is that right?"
    "Due my date from Personnel any day soon, son," said McAllister. "Not long now."
    Cullen couldn't wait. "We just need to ask you a few questions about the disappearance of James Strang."
    "Fire away."
    "We believe it was reported by one Alex Hughes," said Cullen.
    McAllister retrieved a battered notebook. He put on a pair of reading glasses, looking over the rims at Cullen, but still had to hold it at arm's length. "This Hughes boy called up to report his mate missing. I was covering a maternity at St Leonard's. Luckily, I got posted back down here not long after, which suits me fine as I live just up the road in Lochend."
    "How much investigating did you do?" said Cullen.
    McAllister looked thoughtful for a moment, then flicked through a few pages. "We spoke to some people who knew the laddie."
    "Who?"
    "Hughes," said McAllister. "Some lassie called Beth or Bess or something. We went up to sheep-shagger land to speak to the boy's family."
    "They were all you spoke to?" said Cullen.
    McAllister shrugged. "Standard practice, son. You'd