Windchill (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 6)

by Ed James

  "In what way, sir?"

  "For starters, at official functions."

  "I don't recall having been invited to any official functions. I'm just a lowly constable, as you keep reminding me."

  "Sodding hell." Methven put both hands around his coffee cup. "You made a bit of a tit of yourself at the Christmas party last night, didn't you?"

  "That was nothing." Cullen focused on the swirling steam coming from the pitch black surface of his coffee. "Superintendent Turnbull was as bad as I was."

  "Superintendent Turnbull didn't do what you did."

  Cullen tugged at his hair. "Excuse me?"

  "You know full well what you did, Cullen. It's completely unacceptable behaviour."

  "I'm not sure what you're talking about."

  "You're not sure?" Methven glowered at him. "The state you were in, I'm not surprised. I saw you entering the ladies' toilet."

  Cullen nodded slowly, his heart pounding. What was Methven after? How much did he see? "I was drunk, sir. You're right, it shouldn't have happened."

  "You're bloody right it shouldn't." Methven took an experimental sip of coffee before wiping his lips with his hands. "I've heard rumours you urinated in a sink."

  "Those rumours would be incorrect, sir. I got confused by those symbols on the toilet doors down there, I can't tell them apart."

  Methven put the lid back on his cup, eyes locked on Cullen. "I'm afraid you'll need to come in tomorrow to progress this case."

  "Are you kidding me?" Cullen raised his eyes to the ceiling. "First, you drag me in on a day of confirmed annual leave and now this?"

  "Constable, I'm afraid I've got an unavoidable family commitment."

  "How do you know I don't have one?"

  "I know you don't, Cullen, because you sodding told me just before you entered the ladies' toilet!" Methven pushed his coffee cup away, eyes narrowed at Cullen. "You were just planning on spending the whole day drinking, weren't you?"

  "I was going to spend it with DS McNeill, sir."

  Methven shut his eyes for a few seconds. "You and I have had conversations about your drinking before, haven't we?"

  Cullen sighed. "We have, yes."

  "Well, I don't appreciate cheeky little jokes at briefings about you wanting to head to the pub. You're a police officer. You cannot let alcohol take over your life."

  "I know, sir." Cullen nodded with a little more vigour than intended. "Look, I'm not an alcoholic. I'm a social drinker, that's it."

  "I'm not convinced. Look at the state of you."

  "We've been over this, sir. I took today off so it wouldn't impact my performance in here. It was your decision to bring me in under duress."

  "I acknowledge that." Methven put a hand to his coffee then took a sip. "I want to know why you're behaving like this. If you're a senior officer, you'll have impressionable young officers looking at your behaviour. I need to know this is going to stop."

  "Okay. I get it." Cullen put his head in his hands. "You know I've had a few things going on in my private life over the last few months, right?"

  "We all do, Constable."

  "Do you?"

  "Of course. I know what happened with yourself and DS McNeill. It's... unfortunate."

  Cullen struggled to swallow back a tear in case a torrent burst forth. Put his teeth together. Tongue to the roof of his mouth. "It's been a bit difficult to process, sir."

  "We've all got this sort of thing going on in our private lives, Constable. I need to see you rise above it, okay?"

  "Will do."

  "There are opportunities forming here. If you want to grasp them, you need to demonstrate you've grown up a bit."

  "You know I'm better than most of the sergeants you've got."

  "I don't doubt you are. The good thing with Catriona Rarity or Brian McMann is they don't show themselves up to be complete idiots every so often. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  Cullen nodded, his teeth clamped together. "I understand where you're coming from, sir."

  "And especially not on police nights out." Methven downed the rest of his coffee then crumpled the cup, pushing it to the side. "I'm not in tomorrow and Catriona will have her hands full with the street team so I'm leaving you in charge."

  "Oh, come on..."

  "Listen, Constable, I'm fed up to the back teeth with you complaining about lack of opportunities. Here's one. Take it. Demonstrate you're not all mouth and no trousers, okay?"

  Cullen looked around the room. Hoist by my own petard. He nodded at Methven. "Fine."

  "Make sure your little friend Buxton comes in as well. Show me you can lead an investigation."

  Cullen felt his guts churn. Happiness or excitement, maybe. Or coffee. "Thanks, sir. Will do."

  Methven tugged his chair closer to the table. "Now, have you brought your appraisal form?"

  Chapter 14

  "There we go." Methven pushed the form back across the table. "Let's have another one of these in three months, okay? I'm not best pleased with having to do this at half past seven on Christmas Eve, but you've left me no choice."

  "Okay." Cullen leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "You know I've tried to get time in your diary."

  "Drop it, Constable."

  "Fine. Are we done here?"

  Methven got to his feet. "Yes."

  "Happy Christmas, sir."

  "You too."

  Cullen watched Methven race across the canteen, hand in pocket. He let out a sigh. Glad that's finally over. Two hours he won't get back. He headed to the fridge, looking for a sandwich. Nothing much tempted him. He looked at the counter.

  Barbara stood there, fingers dancing across a calculator. She glanced at Cullen. "I've got some bacon in if you don't mind waiting?"

  "You're a lifesaver." Cullen grinned as he walked over, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. "Surprised you're in today."

  "Got to provide Christmas cover, don't we? Mind you, there are still rumours about shutting this place down."

  "That'd be a disaster."

  "Tell me about it." She glanced to Cullen's right. "I'll just make your roll. Got to cook the bacon from scratch."

  "Long as you don't have to kill the pig as well."

  "You're one of my favourites." She smiled before wandering off into the kitchen.

  "That your next conquest, Sundance?"

  Cullen swung round.

  DI Brian Bain stood there, arms folded, leaning against the counter. He sniffed, his top lip still bereft of his moustache.

  Cullen tightened his grip on his wallet. "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "Charming." Bain dumped a sandwich on the counter and crossed his arms. "First day back."

  "On Christmas Eve?"

  "My choice." Bain shrugged. "They're desperate for cover tomorrow and Boxing Day, so I thought fuck it."

  "Tell me you're not based through here again?"

  "Aye. I am."

  "Shite."

  Bain laughed. "Should see your face, Sundance."

  "You aren't, though, are you?"

  Bain looked away. "Bloody DCS Soutar made me come through here to apologise to that fat bastard."

  "Who?"

  "Don't fuckin' play that game with me, Sundance." Bain ran a hand across his scalp, the salt and pepper stubble now more white than black. "Jim fuckin' Turnbull. Should've seen the state of him - looked like he'd been going pint for pint with you. Fucker was acting like I'm five years of age."

  "Right. Well, you were kind of out of order in March."

  "No, I fuckin' wasn't. I was cleared of any wrongdoing and you know it."

  Cullen nibbled at his bottom lip. "I wish I'd told them the truth about what you were doing."

  Bain got in his face. "I was just taking a leaf out of your book, Sundance. Your nice wee cowboy streak always gets results, or so you keep telling people."

  "Don't start."

  Bain nodded over to Bollocking Corner. "That what Crystal Methven was speaking at you fo
r?"

  "You saw that?"

  "Been here a while. Found your wee boyfriend downstairs watching home movies, asked him where you were. Told me you'd be up here."

  Cullen took a step back, Bain's acrid breath getting too much. "You glad to be back?"

  "Beats lying in a fuckin' hospital bed, Sundance." Bain laughed. "Anyway, got out of the whole thing alive. Can't really complain, can I?"

  "You still a DI?"

  "Mind your own fuckin' business."

  "Right." Cullen stepped away from him, craning his neck to see where Barbara had got to with his roll. He could smell the bacon frying.

  Bain nudged his shoulder. "You not going to thank me, then?"

  Cullen frowned at him. "What for?"

  "For saving your fuckin' life, Sundance!"

  "That." Cullen sighed. "Cheers."

  "Fuck's sake. I was in a fuckin' coma for three days cos of that and I've been signed off for over eight months! If that's all the thanks I get, I might as well have not bothered."

  "Right. Aye. Cheers."

  Bain shook his head. "You're something else, Sundance. You really are."

  "Look, I appreciate it, don't get me wrong. It's just..." Cullen shrugged. "I don't know. It's good to see you. I'm glad you pulled through."

  "At least somebody is."

  "There you go, precious." Barbara tossed Cullen's roll on the counter, her eyes bulging as she spotted Bain. "I thought I'd banned you from here?"

  "Aye, well you're welcome to try chucking me out." Bain handed her exact change for his sandwich before patting Cullen on the arm. "I need to get back through to civilisation, all right? Keep in touch, you grumpy sod."

  "Will do." Cullen watched him retreat to the exit, a ghost from his past he didn't need to see again.

  Chapter 15

  "Here you are." Cullen stood in the doorway to the CCTV suite. "It stinks of Pot Noodle in here."

  "Yeah, I got hungry." Buxton paused the tape. "Found a chicken and mushroom one in the corner. Only a month out of date."

  "You're a brave man." Cullen sat next to him, the chair crunching with effort. "What have you been up to?"

  "Been through the CCTV from the Living Room and I checked it out with these Roger and Tim geezers. The story stacks up - McCoull did just hurry out of the place. Neither of them know why."

  "Seems really strange. Did you see a taxi?"

  "Sort of." Buxton held up a still, a grainy shot of the bar's front door as a couple in their forties entered the building, a black blur in the background moving off. "You can just make out a taxi."

  "Bugger. What about the person he was with?"

  "Nope. Nothing outside the bar."

  "Can you get onto-"

  "Already have, mate. Phoned the CCTV numpties on the Royal Mile just now. No ETA."

  "You say numpty like a true native." Cullen picked up the still and examined it. Nothing conclusive, certainly nothing that tightened the timeline around McCoull. He set it down again and sniffed. "The bar manager said there were seven in the group, right?"

  "Yeah. Got names of the other three and passed them to Rarity."

  "Good." Cullen slumped down in a chair. "What else have you been doing?"

  "Watch this." Buxton pressed play on the video app on the screen. "This is footage I did get from the CCTV control team on the Royal Mile. The numpties can do something."

  Cullen frowned at the monitor - a series of shots cut across various stretches of motorway, the same BMW in each. "This is Young's car, right?"

  "Yeah. Joined the A720 at Juniper Green then onto the M8 at Hermiston Gait as you'd expect. Off the M9 at Linlithgow."

  "This is just snapshots, though. How do we know he was in it all the way?"

  "The timing for one. It tallies with how long it takes to get up there. While I don't absolutely know he was in the car on the way there, it's pretty tight. Geezer drives slow."

  Cullen grinned. "Have you been onto his phone company?"

  "I haven't yet. Want me to give Tommy Smith a call?"

  "Aye."

  "Will do." Buxton made a note.

  "What about on the way back?"

  "We've got this." Buxton opened another video file and hit play.

  The screen filled with a petrol forecourt, the BP logo visible. A couple of hatchbacks jerked across the tarmac, pulling up by the pumps, drivers getting out to fill up, one of them struggling as he pulled the nozzle over his Audi's roof to reach the fuel cap.

  Buxton tapped the screen. "The automatic number plate stuff said he came off the M9 at Newbridge on the way back and took the A8 to the airport where he doubled back so he could stop at the BP." He raised a hand. "Before you ask, I checked with them. He bought just over sixty quid's worth of diesel, two litres of milk and a bag of biltong."

  "What the hell's biltong?"

  "Dried beef. Spicy. It's South African, I think. Like beef jerky."

  "Whatever." Cullen burped, his bacon roll already starting to repeat on him. "So this shows Young wasn't in Juniper Green when the blaze started, right?"

  "The call was made at ten p.m. This was half past. I followed his movements at that petrol station, he just goes in and out. No swapping cars, nothing like that. The car didn't leave the motorway till Newbridge, so it doesn't look like he swapped beforehand either."

  "So it's him, right?"

  "Yeah. I'll get the mobile records to back it up."

  "Fine." Cullen got to his feet. "Come on, let's go tell Crystal."

  "Been looking forward to that. Not." Buxton led out, locking the door behind them before setting off for the stairs. "Where have you been anyway?"

  "Crystal toasted my nuts at my appraisal." Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. "Then I bumped into someone."

  "Bain, right?"

  "Aye."

  "Right. He popped into the CCTV room. Gave me the fright of my life, mate. I heard he died."

  "Rumours of his death were greatly exaggerated, sadly."

  Buxton shook his head as they walked. "What did he want?"

  "The usual." Cullen started up the stairs. "Saving my life, all that shit."

  "You shouldn't be too much of a wanker about that. My jaw still clicks when I eat because of the fucker we were after."

  "Maybe you're right." Cullen opened the meeting room door.

  Methven was putting his coat on, phone to ear, scowling as he waved to them. "Bye, dear. Yes, I'll see what I can get at this hour." He glowered at them. "What?"

  "Simon's closed off Young's alibi."

  Methven flared his nostrils. "I'm very pleased for you."

  "So, do you mind if we leave?"

  "I don't particularly care. I'm heading home after I speak to Jim Turnbull. I'll see you both on Boxing Day." Methven dashed off, leaving the door stuck open.

  "Thank God for that." Cullen slumped against the table, watching the DI jog across the office. "Right, then, where we headed?"

  "Doubt Tigerlily will let you back in."

  "No." Cullen clenched his jaw. "The Elm?"

  "It's pretty much the only boozer that'll not be really busy tonight."

  "Good. I'll text Sharon."

  Chapter 16

  Cullen sat at the window table, watching the pedestrians battle against the wind and the rain, just as they'd done. He took a gulp of lager and gasped. "Fuck me, that feels better."

  "I'll pass on the kind offer, if it's all the same." Buxton sat next to him, clenching a bottle of Peroni. "Glad to be out of there for a few days."

  "That's what you think."

  "What?"

  "Methven's dragging us both in tomorrow."

  "Oh for fuck's sake." Buxton grimaced as he took a pull on his lager, the fizz rising up in the bottle. "My mate's invited me round to his place tomorrow. His bird's cooking for all their friends. I'll be popular."

  "Look, we're going to have to play it by ear. He's put me in charge so I ca-"

  "He's put you in charge?" Buxton laughed, the bottle poised in f
ront of his lips. "Seriously?"

  "Aye. So I can make sure we get out sharpish."

  "That's cool, I suppose." Buxton took another drink of lager.

  "He's got me with the carrot and the stick this time." Cullen took a sip, eyes tracking a ned as he staggered up the Walk, hoodie pulled up. He sighed, watching a black cab pull up outside the pub, wipers on full, a crowd of tarted-up young men getting out. "I just have to keep him sweet."

  "Tell me you weren't going on about getting a DS gig then?"

  Cullen nodded. "That's the carrot he's got me with."

  "Anything specific?"

  "Never is with him."

  Buxton finished his bottle. "Reckon Sharon'll be pissed off at you being in?"

  "Maybe. We were just having Christmas to ourselves. She'll be wanting to watch The Wire box set I'm giving her."

  "Buying a copper a police TV series. Classy."

  "She loves it." Cullen shrugged and took another drink, almost down to the bottom. "My folks are with Michelle and Sharon's are with her sister in East Linton. It was going to be absolute bliss." He tapped Buxton's bottle. "Another?"

  "Aye."

  Cullen walked over to the bar and dumped the empties on the counter.

  The barman looked up from his newspaper. "Same again?"

  "Aye." He spotted a few familiar faces playing pool in the back room. Best avoid them. He checked his phone, still no reply from Sharon.

  The front door opened, a gust of wind sucking the heat out of the pub. He paid for the drinks and took them back to the table. "Here you go."

  "Cheers." Buxton took a slug of beer. "You definitely coming to my birthday next month, Scott?"

  That was when he and Sharon... Last year. Becky. Cullen swallowed hard. "When is it again?"

  "My birthday's the thirtieth of January, but we're going down on the first. That's a Saturday. Will get pretty messy."

  "It's just a pub night, right?"

  "Fuck's sake, mate. It's down in Newcastle. My mate's wangled tickets for the Tyne-Wear derby, man."

  "I forgot."

  "Listen, I need to pay the accommodation or cancel it. You said you were definitely coming."