Windchill (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 6)

by Ed James

  Just as he pocketed it, the phone rang. What now? He held it up, trying to focus on the display. Sharon. "Hey."

  "Where are you?"

  "I'm waiting on Budgie." Cullen looked around, a young couple pointing in a jeweller's window a few units up. "I'm supposed to be off today. Fucking Crystal. I should go to the Police Federation about this."

  "Right. That's not the sort of attitude an officer chasing a promotion should display..."

  "You've maybe got a point."

  "The reason I'm calling is I'm just out of my sergeant's meeting - Methven's spitting teeth about the state you were in last night."

  "What state?"

  "Don't muck about, Scott. You pissed in a sink." A pause he wasn't going to fill. "Look, I've stopped Crystal going to Turnbull and Cargill about it."

  "Cheers." Cullen tugged his hair with his free hand. Couldn't remember much past unwrapping the ball gag. Where had he left it? "Is this why I've got to come in on my day off?"

  "A suspicious fire goes right to the top of the pile. Crystal's already short-handed with all these secondments at the moment. He's got people helping uniform out for tonight and he's lost Chantal to Davenport's case. Pissing him off today isn't the wisest move."

  Cullen sighed as he took a few steps away, looking down the street for Buxton in the pool car. "I get it, I'm Satan."

  "It's not just that. He's complaining about you not having an appraisal with him for six months."

  Cullen closed his eyes and bit his lip. What a wanker. "Right, I'd better do something about that."

  "I'm really worried about you and your drinking, you know?" A long pause. "We'll have words later."

  Sounded ominous. "I'll see you after work." Cullen left a gap but she didn't fill it. "Love you."

  "Bye."

  Cullen ended the call, spotting a text from Buxton. "Five minutes."

  He put the phone away again and tugged his scarf tighter. Did he have time to grab a coffee?

  Chapter 4

  "Come on, mate." Cullen rubbed his forehead, damp with sweat, before crumpling his coffee cup. "What else are they saying about last night?"

  Buxton turned off the City Bypass before turning right to head under the dual carriageway. He took the last exit from a roundabout and stopped at the lights. "Chantal Jain overheard you and Sharon talking about something in the ladies' toilet."

  "That's all?"

  "That's all I've heard."

  Cullen let out the deep breath he'd been keeping sucked in and loosened off the scarf. The heater was all the way to the red. "Honestly?"

  "Yeah." Buxton sniffed as he glanced over. "Go on, what did you do?"

  Cullen undid a few buttons. "I pissed in the sink."

  "Classic." Buxton tilted his head back as he laughed. "That's not so bad, though, is it?"

  "Not sure Sharon sees it that way." Cullen reached over to turn the heater down. "Just glad nobody came out of the cubicle while I had the old fella whipped out."

  Buxton smirked, the corners of his lips turning up. "They'd have to see both inches first."

  Cullen shook his head as he laughed. "Fuck off."

  Buxton waved his hand, gesturing across the road. "Isn't that Phonebox Jimmy?"

  Cullen frowned as he clocked a figure trudging along Lanark Road, clad in a parka and several layers of fleece. "That name sounds funny coming from your lips."

  "Suppose it does. I've seen him a few times. Just goes through every phone box in Edinburgh, looking for uncollected change."

  "Surprised he's still with us." Cullen shrugged as they passed him. "Everyone's got mobile phones these days. Nobody uses phone boxes."

  "He still seems to manage, though."

  "True." Cullen sniffed as he looked at the houses around them. "Bit far off his usual patch this. Poor guy will no doubt be having a shite Christmas."

  "Yeah, can't be any life, can it?" Buxton laughed. "Bet he didn't get a bondage gag in a Secret Santa, though."

  Cullen felt the jolt of booze recollection. "What happened to that?"

  "Just left it on the table when we went downstairs."

  "Thank God." Cullen tugged at his coat, separating his shirt from his back, now sodden with sweat. "What time were you out till?"

  "Late." Buxton turned right onto the main road before clearing his throat. "And I didn't wake up in my own bed last night."

  Cullen felt his stomach lurch as they descended to the Water of Leith, his mind filling with an image of Buxton on the dance floor. "You were dancing with someone in Lamb's team, right?"

  Buxton tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "Geraldine. Can't remember her surname."

  "Classy. How old is she?"

  "Forty."

  "Another cougar?"

  "That's not a very nice term, you wanker."

  "So you'll be seeing her again, right?"

  "Not if I can avoid it." Buxton turned down Woodhall Millbrae and parked behind a pair of fire engines blocking the road, the firefighters now packing away their equipment. On the other side was a row of police vehicles - SOCO van, patrol cars, the forensic pathologist's Lexus. "Looks like the gang's all here."

  "So it does." Cullen stared past them at the house, mostly intact apart from one corner still smoking. Like the rest of the street, it was yet another turn-of-the-millennium new-build, stark cream stucco inset with huge chunks of stone, dormer windows dotting the third floor. "No prizes for guessing which house we're looking for."

  "Yeah." Buxton took his coffee cup from the side and drank it down in one go. "It's bloody lukewarm." Scowling, he craned his neck forward, looking around. "Can't see Crystal, though."

  "Shame." Cullen got out of the car and stretched out.

  The place stank of the fire, the deep stench of burnt wood. It was freezing, the bitter wind swooping down towards the river just behind the houses, making him shiver from cold rather than the alcohol for once. He wrapped his winter coat tight around him and waited for Buxton to get out. He took in the street, the City Bypass rumbling above them. In the distance, a man in a salmon polo shirt walked a small terrier along the street, apparently oblivious to the temperature, staring at his phone.

  "That's like you and me, right?" Buxton slammed his door, nodding at the house they'd parked beside, encased in a mesh of scaffolding and looking like it wasn't far off being finished, the gang of workers with half an eye on the crime scene. "Those boys are milking the Christmas overtime before heading to the pub, I expect."

  "Remind me, again, what's this overtime of which you speak?" Cullen ground his teeth. "Besides, I'm supposed to be off today."

  "So you keep saying. All the way out here." Buxton chuckled as he took in the area. "It's bloody expensive out here, isn't it?"

  "It is, aye. Sharon'd kill to live in Juniper Green."

  "Not you?"

  "Maybe a bit of assault and battery but not killing." Cullen set off towards the hubbub, a wave of dread hitting his stomach as he thought of the words they'd have later. "Come on."

  A uniformed officer was manning the crime scene outside the house's front gate. He held out a clipboard as they approached. "Need to get you to sign in."

  "Right." Cullen filled in both of their names. "Is DI Methven here?"

  "Aye." The uniform rolled his eyes. "He's inside the house now."

  "Cheers." Cullen led over to the building, noting DS Catriona Rarity running the inner locus, the interior. She stood in the front doorway, the door open wide; inside, the cream walls were soot damaged higher up, the expensive wood-flooring covered in mud and sailing with water.

  A figure in a SOCO suit stormed out - tall, athletic and male - before tugging at his mask and goggles and letting the whole thing rest behind him. DI Colin Methven.

  Another figure followed him, a similar motion revealing Jimmy Deeley, the city's chief pathologist. He led two assistants as they took great care to roll a gurney into the back of a van, a black body bag lying on the top.

  Methven trotted up the
path towards Cullen and Buxton and watched the pathology team load up the van. "Morning, Constables."

  "Morning, sir." Cullen did up another button on his coat, the sweat now turning to a sheet of ice. "What's made you drag me in today?"

  Methven scowled at him before nodding over to the van. "The fire service got the call late last night. It's taken them until this morning to stabilise the building and do a proper search. That's when they found the body."

  "How bad is it?"

  "Not that bad. My understanding is they got here in sufficient time to prevent the blaze getting out of control. Our victim is reasonably well preserved."

  "Victim?"

  "Indeed. I'll come on to that. The body found was not a blackened lump, put it that way."

  "I see." Cullen folded his arms, the cold now biting into him. "Any idea who it is?"

  "Steven McCoull."

  "How do they know it's him?"

  "He had a distinguishing feature, Constable." Methven leaned down and ran his hand up and down his leg below the knee, the suit crumpling with the motion. "Deeley managed to get hold of his GP. Reckons Mr McCoull had a metal pin inserted in his leg as a result of a cycling accident in his teens. Knocked off in front of a bus on Lothian Road. Needless to say, they've found it."

  "Okay. So, you said he was a victim?"

  "Which is the reason we're here, gentlemen. This is bloody suspicious." Methven clapped his hands together and turned his back on Deeley's crew, closing his eyes as he spoke. "All of his teeth and fingernails were removed and his arms were broken."

  "So he wasn't that badly burnt?"

  "Quite. I've seen the corpse and I'm thinking the cause of death was smoke inhalation rather than fire." Methven finally reopened his eyes, little slits beneath his thick eyebrows, little strands escaping up. "We found what looks very much like a toolbox in the living room. The metal's charred rather than melted."

  "So, you're saying it looks like he was tortured before he died?"

  "That's my working hypothesis, Constable." Methven smoothed down his eyebrows, a couple of strands still escaping. "People in Juniper Green don't tend to pull out their teeth before setting fire to their own house."

  "You live here, don't you, sir?"

  "Currie."

  "Right." Cullen waved around, his arms taking in the entirety of the house. "What else's been happening here?"

  "We've now got street teams going door-to-door around the neighbours under Catriona Rarity's command."

  Bollocks. Cullen winced. "And you want us on that?"

  "I do." Methven focused on Cullen as he thumbed behind them. "Make yourselves useful and go and speak to an Alistair Walker. Lives two doors down in number fourteen. He called the fire in last night." He sighed. "Too late, obviously."

  Chapter 5

  Cullen stopped outside the house - more a set of garages with attached living quarters than the other way round - to look back at Methven and scowl. "Still can't believe they made that wanker a DI."

  Buxton shook his head as he pressed the buzzer. "You're still going on about that nine months on?"

  "Maybe it's because they busted me back to a DC at the same time."

  "At least you're a full DC, mate." Buxton took a step back and peered in the living room window. "I'm still acting. Been going on too long."

  "Aye, sorry." Cullen nodded. "If I had my way, that'd be sorted out long ago."

  "Cheers." Buxton brushed his hair back. "You know he hated you calling him Acting DI all the time, right?"

  "I like to find an angle." Cullen shrugged as he rested against the frozen garden gate, feeling the burn in his fingers. "He shouldn't have been such a pompous git about it."

  "Speak for yourself. Always moaning about how you're not a sergeant."

  Moaning? Bloody hell. Cullen stepped forward and stabbed his finger against the buzzer, holding it for a few seconds. "It's reporting to Rarity that's a bloody nightmare."

  "And Methven would be better?"

  "Maybe."

  The door opened. The man Cullen had seen earlier stood there, the collar of his polo shirt now turned up, a large Nokia in his piggy fingers. "Can I help you?"

  Cullen flashed his warrant card. "Police Scotland. We're looking to speak to Alistair Walker."

  "That's me." Walker frowned. "Is this about the fire?"

  "It is." Cullen cleared his throat. "We need to ask you a few questions."

  "Sure." Walker led them inside, his shoulders hunched and arms wagging at his sides. He led them into a sitting room, the din of small children coming from down the hall, accompanied by the acrid smell of fried food - pancakes done with too much oil. "Sorry about the noise, officers. Kids are off school for Christmas. Can't get a moment's peace."

  "No problem." Cullen sat on an armchair before getting out his notebook and clicking his pen. "We understand you called to report the fire at Mr McCoull's house last night?"

  "Aye, that's true." Walker clicked his fingers and a white Scotty dog raced across the room. It sat on its hind legs in front of him, ears pricked up and left paw raised. "I took Benji here out for his constitutional last thing. Be about half eleven. I smelt smoke. It clearly wasn't Eric next door doing some winter barbecuing, didn't smell anything like that."

  "Winter barbecuing?"

  "Aye." Walker chuckled. "He likes to cook steaks on his gas barbecue."

  "Even in winter?"

  "Aye. And at half eleven sometimes." Walker reached down to stroke the dog's fur, smoothing out some dirt. "It's been known to happen. Big Australian thing he's got. Picked it up from a garden centre sale."

  "But you didn't think it was him cooking steaks?"

  "As I say, the smell was different. It wasn't meat. It was like a fire, you know, in a blazer or something."

  "So you went over to inspect?"

  "I did, aye. I put Benji inside and hurried over. There were flames leaping out of one of the windows that had burst open. I could feel the heat on my skin, you know?" Walker held up his phone. "So I dialled 999."

  "And what did you do after you phoned us?"

  "I made sure Benji was in his bed and told the wife. We both went back over. There were a few people out by then. The fire had really taken off. There were flames in the windows and stuff."

  "Did you recognise these people?"

  "Aye. Most of the neighbours."

  "Did you see anyone you didn't recognise?"

  Walker sat forward, clasping his fingers and staring into space for a few seconds. "Not that I can think of, no."

  Cullen noted it down. Something to check with Rarity later.

  Walker frowned, though he avoided eye contact. "Listen, what's this about? Are you investigating it as an insurance job?"

  "What makes you think that?"

  "Two detectives pitching up at my door asking questions about a house fire, seems a bit strange to me."

  "It wouldn't be a Major Investigation Team working an insurance fraud case, Mr Walker." Cullen clicked his pen shut. "Mr McCoull's body was found inside the building."

  Walker swallowed before blinking a few times. "Steven's dead?"

  "He is."

  "And you think he was murdered?"

  "It's a possibility."

  Walker frowned. "Could it've been a chip pan fire?"

  "We don't believe so." Cullen noted it as something to check in the fire service report. "Do you know if Mr McCoull was partial to late night chips?"

  "No idea, really. Just knew the boy to speak to, in all honesty. At barbecues, in the street and that. He doesn't have kids so I've never had the opportunity to get to know the punter, you know?"

  "Were you in all night?"

  "No, I was at the pub."

  "Locally?"

  "No, in town. I work at Alba Bank. Few of us finished up for the break at three o'clock yesterday so we went for a few pints. Finished up about eight and got the bus home." Walker frowned, the lines on his forehead deepening. "When I got back last night, just as I was comi
ng down the hill there, I saw a taxi come out of our lane."

  Cullen clicked his pen again and made a note. "What kind of taxi was it?"

  "Just a standard black cab."

  "And what time was this?"

  "Be about eight forty, something like that?" Walker stretched out, putting his hands behind his head, staring out of the window. "There was something else. It's probably nothing..."

  "What was it?"

  Walker focused on Cullen. "Just when I got back in Sheila - my wife - was moaning at me to take Benji out to the toilet. I'm not a hundred per cent sure on this, but I think I saw Steven outside his house."

  "Was he alone?"

  "See, that's the thing. He might not've been."

  Cullen sat forward on his seat. "Can you describe who he was with?"

  "I didn't quite see." Walker locked eyes with his dog, his forehead creased. "It was really dark and the streetlights aren't the best round here."

  Cullen held up a hand. "Please, take your time."

  "Sorry." Walker shook his head. "I think they went inside with Steven but that's it."

  "Male or female?"

  "Male, I think, but it was dark, as I say."

  "What were they wearing?"

  "A jacket."

  "Heavy? Light?"

  "No idea. Light, maybe."

  "Okay. What style of hair?"

  "Didn't see, sorry."

  "What time was this?"

  "Be about quarter to nine, I think."

  "Thanks." Cullen made a few notes. Be lucky to get anything out of that. "Did you see anyone leave the house later on?"

  "Afraid not. Sorry." Walker rubbed his hand across his nose. "When I got in, I read a story to my girls then came down to watch the second half of Die Hard on the telly."

  "What about when you were on the street last night after the fire engine arrived?"

  "Nothing, sorry."

  "You didn't see this person?"

  "Don't think so." Walker massaged his temples for a few seconds. "Sorry, I just can't think."

  "That's okay." Cullen got to his feet before handing him a business card. "Give me a call if you think of anything that might help us, okay?"