Windchill (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 6)

by Ed James

  "Aye, I'll be there."

  "Not Sharon?"

  "Doubt she'll come to a boys' weekend at the football." Cullen took a drink.

  Buxton finished his bottle and set it down. "I need to move onto pints. You want a top up?"

  "No, I'm good."

  "Back in a sec." Buxton went over to the bar.

  Cullen watched the stream of traffic heading up and down Leith Walk, letting it blur as his eyes lost focus. He took another sip, starting to feel woozy. Pissing in a sink in the ladies. A new low for him. Why was he doing it?

  Oh, he knew all right.

  Buxton set a pint down on the table and chucked a bag of Kettle Chips across to Cullen. "There's your bird."

  Cullen focused on the front door, seeing Sharon shaking off her umbrella. She gave the universal signal for 'pint'. He held up his full pint and shook his head.

  Angela waddled over, settling on the seat next to Buxton. "Evening, gents. Sharon caught me in the meeting room. Don't mind if I crash your party?"

  Cullen smiled. "By all means. Thought you'd have been away back to your love nest in Garleton ahead of a busy Christmas."

  "I wish." Angela gripped the edge of the table. "Bill's stuck in a meeting with Turnbull and Cargill. He's going to pick me up when he's finished. Didn't fancy getting the train home and Stuart Murray's already left, so I thought I'd come for a Coke with you lot."

  "It's good to catch up without Crystal listening in to everything." Buxton took a gulp of his pint.

  "He's doing my head in." Angela scowled back over the road, the police station just visible.

  Cullen nodded at her. "Did you finish your homework for Crystal?"

  "Aye." Angela lifted up a thick financial report and dropped it to the table. "Their company accounts for the last year on record. 2011/12. Didn't want to leave it lying around."

  "Great, now I've got to do something with it." Cullen flicked through, heading straight for the director's remuneration section. "Have you read it?"

  "Aye. They show a decent profit. Looks like they took well over a hundred grand out of the company in dividends and salary, plus they each made massive pension contributions."

  Cullen took a sip of lager as he scanned down the page. Young took ninety thousand in dividends, McCoull seventy-eight. "Hang on. Says here they're not taking the same amount out of the business."

  Angela grabbed the report back. "There's other dividends of twelve grand."

  "That doesn't make sense, though." Cullen took a sip. "Neither of them could've taken that without disclosing it."

  "You're saying there's a third shareholder?" Buxton was frowning.

  "I think so. Hang on." Cullen got out his phone and went into the calculator app, battering the screen. "The way that stacks up, there's a fifty per cent ownership to Young and only forty to McCoull."

  "What about the other ten?"

  "I don't know."

  Angela frowned. "You only have to disclose shareholders above twenty-five per cent, I think."

  Cullen focused on Buxton. "I've got a shitty feeling Evelyn McCoull is the other shareholder."

  Chapter 17

  "Thanks for doing this. I appreciate it." Cullen ended the call and crunched on the mint, savouring the burn. He breathed into his hand and smelled it for alcohol. Clear. "Give us that Lynx, would you?"

  "Sure." Buxton tossed the can over.

  Cullen caught it and sprayed himself, twice round for good measure. "That was the woman from Companies House Angela's been dealing with. Evelyn does own ten per cent."

  Buxton stared down the corridor. "Why the fuck didn't she mention this before?"

  "Let's find out. I just need to catch Crystal again."

  "Want me to start the interview?"

  "Please." Cullen dialled Methven's number again as he watched Buxton enter the room. Nelson and Evelyn sat in conference on the opposite side of the table, the lawyer doing most of the talking.

  The call rang through to voicemail. Cullen turned away as he started speaking. "Sir, it's Cullen. We've got a lead on the McCoull case. Give me a call back, please." He pocketed the phone, popped another mint in his mouth and entered the room, sitting next to Buxton, gesturing for him to lead.

  Buxton nodded. "Mrs McCoull, we've discov-"

  "Why is my client still here?" Nelson pushed his glasses back up his face.

  Cullen tapped at his watch. "Mr Nelson, we've got until ten o'clock until we have to release your client from detention."

  "She's not done anything."

  "Scratching a police officer's face isn't nothing."

  "It was under duress. We've been over this with the officers who were in here for over an hour." Nelson tapped his fingers on the desktop. "Need I remind you, her husband has just died."

  "Ex-husband, but I'm sure that'll be taken into account." Cullen leaned back in his seat. More pissed than he should've been on two pints. "We're just playing by the rules here. I'm sure you can understand that?"

  Nelson twitched his nostrils before tapping his watch. "Well, you've got another eighty minutes with her."

  "We'll see." Cullen turned his gaze to Evelyn, shifting uneasily on the seat, her make-up now smudged or worn off. "We understand you own ten per cent of JG Investments."

  Evelyn's eyes bulged. She blinked a few times. "Excuse me?"

  "I just got off the phone to Companies House. They reckon you're a shareholder of the company."

  Evelyn looked over at Nelson, who shrugged. "It's part of the divorce settlement. Steven couldn't afford to buy me out of the house completely. The deal we came to was he gave me ten per cent of the business."

  "Nice of you to mention this earlier."

  Evelyn squirmed in her seat. "I'm sorry."

  "Mrs McCoull, do you know who will inherit your husband's estate?"

  "I don't. We've been divorced for three years remember?"

  "It wouldn't be you, would it?"

  "I'd be very surprised."

  Cullen scribbled on his notebook. "What were your whereabouts last night, Mrs McCoull?"

  "I was at home."

  "Falcon Road, correct?"

  "It is."

  "Were you alone?"

  "I was."

  Nelson leaned over to Evelyn and whispered in her ear.

  She shook her head. "No."

  Cullen arched his eyebrows. "What was that?"

  "Nothing." Evelyn sucked in breath. "I was watching a DVD. I got it from that Lovefilm thing."

  "What was the DVD?"

  "Before Midnight."

  Cullen wrote it down. Sat through it with Sharon at the Filmhouse. "Do you still have the disc?"

  "I sent it back this morning, I think. Before Eric called me." Evelyn raised a finger. "It'll be on my account. You can check."

  "That will show us you've received it, maybe. It won't show us you've watched it."

  "I swear, it's the truth." Evelyn nibbled at her bottom lip. "Look, I was on the phone to my sister, if that would help?"

  Would it? Cullen tried to think through the lager - if she was on the phone, it might pin her location down. He glanced over at Buxton. "We'll look into that."

  Buxton made a note, a scowl on his face.

  "Is that all from you?" Nelson took off his glasses and blew on the lenses, misting them up. He rubbed them on his shirt before replacing them. "She would like to spend Christmas in her own home."

  Cullen leaned forward. "Interview terminated at eight twenty-one." He smiled at Nelson. "Mrs McCoull's release is not up to us, I'm afraid. We're just mere constables."

  "I see."

  Cullen nodded at the PCSO before leaving the room. He checked his phone for messages. Nothing from Methven. "Reckon Crystal's in his den?"

  "Fucking hope so, mate. I'm starting to get a hangover here."

  Cullen trotted up the stairs, losing breath with each step. "The sooner we find him the quicker we get back over the road." He led down the corridor to the meeting room. "Don't want our pints g
etting warm now."

  Methven and Detective Superintendent Jim Turnbull were scowling at the whiteboard. Methven pointed at them. "Here they are now, sir."

  "My rising stars." Turnbull shook their hands, his meaty fists hairier by the day. "Have you solved this case then, lads?"

  "Not quite, sir." Cullen glanced at the whiteboard, barely any of the background free of Methven's scribbles. "We're getting there."

  "Well, I'll let you gentlemen round-table this." Turnbull patted Methven on the shoulder. "See you around, Colin."

  Methven waited for the door to shut. "Well?"

  "We've just been in wi-"

  "I know that, Constable. I've listened to all five voicemails. A text will suffice in future." Methven tugged the collar of his coat. "I want to know what you've got out of her."

  "We've confirmed she's a minority shareholder in the business."

  "Sodding hell."

  "That's good for us, isn't it?"

  "Possibly." Methven added Shareholding to the board. "Have you got anywhere with the inheritance?"

  "Not yet, sir."

  "So what conclusions does it lead you to?"

  "Assuming Evelyn's going to inherit McCoull's forty per cent shareholding..." Cullen thought it through for a few seconds. "I'm thinking her or Eric Young did it. Maybe both. If she inherits the shares, they both own the business. Not the most original of motives but a good one."

  Methven added her name to a list marked Suspects. "And if it's Mr Young?"

  "Well, if it's him, I assume he knows how McCoull's estate is going to be divvied up."

  "Explain."

  Cullen put another mint in his mouth and crunched, buying time as he thought. "McCoull had no kids, he was divorced and both parents are dead. It's either going to go to a distant uncle or to the Crown. If it's the Crown, Young will be able to come to an arrangement."

  "I see." Methven tapped on the board. "Find out."

  "Will do, sir."

  Methven sniffed the air. "Is that you two?"

  "What?"

  "The deodorant? You smell like a pair of Tesco delivery drivers." Methven glanced at his watch. "Sodding buggeration, is that the time?" He left the room, his trench coat swinging after him.

  Buxton slumped back against the wall. "Nice to see Turnbull entertaining us peasants."

  "Called you a rising star."

  "Rising star, my English arsehole."

  Chapter 18

  "Because Scrooge is a wanker!" Angela shook her head before taking a drink of Coke. "Why can't you see that?"

  Cullen sat back in his chair and shrugged. "Scrooge didn't have to put up with getting a bondage ball gag in the Secret Santa."

  "That was funny."

  "It was you, wasn't it?"

  Angela looked away. "Might've been."

  "I knew it."

  Sharon sat down. "Why are you lot talking about Scrooge?"

  "Scott had a visit from Bain earlier."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Bain?"

  Cullen nodded. "I said he feels like the ghost of Christmas past."

  Sharon slapped Buxton on the shoulder. "Unlike the ghost of Christmas present here."

  "Piss off."

  Cullen's phone rang. He didn't recognise the number so got to his feet. "Better take this."

  Angela raised her eyebrows at Sharon and Buxton. "Another of his little errands, right?"

  Buxton grinned. "He's supposed to have stopped all that stuff."

  "Never." Cullen left them and headed out into the cold to stand with the smokers, regretting not taking his jacket. He answered the call and walked up the street, the smoke already snaking its way towards him. "Cullen."

  "Hello there. It's Donald Ingram."

  Donald Ingram? Cullen frowned as he waded through the four pints on top of last night's excess. Donald Ingram? Nope, no idea. "Thanks for calling, sir."

  "Is this about Steve McCoull?"

  Got you now. Cullen patted his trouser legs, searching for his notebook and pen. Both inside. Bugger. "Yes, it is."

  "Aye, I just heard now. Robert Heald called me. Terrible news. Got a couple of Edinburgh boys over for Christmas so we were out in the town. That's why I missed your call earlier."

  Cullen started to walk in a tight circle, his full bladder adding to the misery of the cold. "How well did you know Mr McCoull?"

  "We were pretty good mates. We played rugby for a bit back in the day, before I had to retire. I supported him as he rose up through the club. He was a good lad. Solid."

  "When was the last time you heard from him?"

  "Not recently." Ingram cleared his throat. "I've been out here for the last two years. Got fed up of the old country. The weather mainly. Even the golf's not bad out here."

  Cullen gripped his phone tighter. Get to the point. "So, when exactly did you last hear from him?"

  Ingram sighed. "Got a few messages from him about six months back through that Schoolbook thing. Other than that, nothing."

  "Was there anything suspicious in the messages?"

  Ingram paused for a few seconds. "Not really. He was chatting about a few old pals. Sounded like things were going well with him and Eric. You know, their business."

  Was there anything else? Cullen shivered, the biting cold and the stink of cigarette smoke making him want to head back inside. "Give me a call back if you think of something, okay?"

  "Aye, will do."

  Cullen returned to the warmth of the Elm, pocketing his phone as he sat. He rubbed his hands. "Bloody freezing out there."

  Buxton nodded. "Who was that?"

  "Donald Ingram returning my call. Doesn't know anything." Cullen looked around. "I'm just off for a slash, anyone want anything?"

  Sharon took a drink of red wine, peering over the rim of the glass. "I just want you to remember which one's the gents."

  Chapter 19

  Angela smiled. "You're both in tomorrow?"

  Cullen avoided Sharon's glare. "We are."

  Angela folded her arms. "You don't need anything from me?"

  "We'll be fine." Buxton nodded. "So long as Crystal's not in, it'll be okay. Be like the last day of school." He nudged Cullen. "Can we bring games in?"

  "I've still got a Subbuteo set somewhere." Cullen finished a long sip of lager, already starting to look over to the bar, wondering whose round it was next.

  Angela glanced at Sharon. "I thought Chantal would be coming out tonight?"

  Sharon smirked. "Simon's scared her off."

  Buxton frowned. "Have I?"

  "Put it this way, you've entered the friend zone, I'm afraid. Just stop trying it on with her."

  "Wish she'd stop flirting with me, that's all." Buxton focused on Angela instead. "So how far along are you now?"

  "Seven and a half months. Not long to go."

  "You didn't exactly waste any time after..." Buxton creased his brow. "Sorry, I can't remember your boy's name."

  "You're worse than Scott." Angela scowled at him, eyes like tiny slits. "His name's Jamie."

  "Right." Buxton winked. "Didn't exactly waste any time, did you?"

  "Wasn't planned." Angela shrugged. "We're going to need a castle at this rate, not Bill's flat in Garleton."

  "You still planning on getting married?"

  "Next summer."

  Buxton smirked. "Unless you're knocked up again?"

  "This is the last one, believe me." Angela swirled the ice cubes around in her glass before patting her belly. "I told Bill he's getting a vasectomy after this one. It's that or I'm smashing his balls between two bricks."

  "Classic." Buxton snorted beer up his nose.

  Cullen finished his pint and got to his feet. "Anyone else want anything?"

  Buxton held up his glass. "Another Peroni, cheers."

  Angela squinted over at the bar. "Get me a bag of those pickle-flavoured Mini Cheddars, would you? I've got a monster craving for them."

  Sharon got to her feet. "Come on, Scott, time to get home."

&n
bsp; "Okay." Cullen frowned. What's got into her? "You two be okay without us?"

  Angela held up her phone. "Bill's just texted me to say he's on his way."

  Buxton finished his pint. "I think I saw Wilkinson and a few others through the back."

  Cullen wagged a finger at him. "Eight o'clock tomorrow, all right?"

  Buxton gave a salute. "Sure thing, boss."

  Cullen tugged his suit jacket over his shoulders, struggling with the left arm. Sharon had already made it to the front door.

  Angela creased her forehead. "Was it something I said?"

  "Maybe." Cullen waved at Angela and Buxton before he jogged out of the pub, heading up the frosty street to catch up with her. "What's up?"

  Sharon stopped, hands on hips. "You didn't tell me you were working tomorrow."

  "Didn't I?"

  "No. You didn't."

  "Sorry." Cullen stared at the ground, nostrils twitching at the cigarette smoke. "I should've told you when Crystal dropped the bombshell, shouldn't I?"

  "Aye." Sharon set off up the hill, arms crossed, her breath clouding the air.

  "Are you okay?"

  "We had plans, Scott. I need a proper Christmas. This year of all years."

  "Do you want to go to Deborah's? I can come over when we've finished."

  Sharon stopped at the London Road crossing, prodding him in the chest. "The last thing I want is a family Christmas, people fawning over children. I want to spend time with you."

  "Right." Cullen shut his eyes. Now he got it. "This is about the baby."

  "Of course it's about the bloody baby. You saw Angela in there, didn't you?" A tear slicked down her face, leaving a trail behind it. "Sitting there, patting her belly. She knows what happened. If it hadn't, we'd be having our own family Christmas."

  "I know." Cullen swallowed, the fug of booze slowing his brain. "Do you want to talk about it?"

  "No, I don't. I just want something to take my mind off it." She crossed the road, powering up Leith Street past the cinema complex. "As it is, I've got nothing to do other than lie in bed drinking a bottle of Baileys."

  "Just the one?"

  "Scott, I'm not in the mood."

  "Sorry." Cullen walked alongside her in silence, crossing side streets and passing smokers outside the pubs and gay bars, the cigarette smoke hanging in the cold air. "Are we going to have those words?"