Windchill (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 6)

by Ed James

  "All I know is the business he owned at the time went to the wall. He was eventually discharged by Companies House and was allowed to become a company director again, hence us starting up JG Investments." Young unfastened his apron and tugged it over his head. "The receivers really went for him over it. HMRC was the main one. Inland Revenue as was."

  "So why did he play silly buggers with them this time round?"

  "He honestly thought he wasn't doing anything wrong. I swear."

  "Was it just Mr McCoull involved in this business?"

  "I think there was another man, but I don't know his name."

  "We'll need it."

  "Look, I'm sorry. This is before I moved here. I simply don't know. I've heard anecdotes after fifteen pints down the rugby club, that's it. Nothing concrete."

  "Who would know?"

  "Donald Ingram might."

  "Really? Was he involved?"

  "I can't remember. All I know about Donald is he just got fed up of whatever business he was in, sold up and moved to Spain." Young got to his feet. "Now, do you mind if I get back to watching my kids open their presents?"

  "One last thing." Cullen held up a finger. "Do you know anything about a burglary at Mr McCoull's house in June?"

  "Afraid not, no."

  Chapter 29

  "Look, officer, it's Christmas Day."

  Cullen swapped his mobile to the other ear, eyes scanning down the street as he leaned back in the car seat. "I understand that, Mr Ingram, I just need to spe-"

  "Look, I'm sorry, son, but I've got a busy day here. I've not got time for this."

  "Mr Ingram, as I've mentioned before, we're dealing with a murder. I'm really sorry to have to drag you away from the pool or wherever but there's something we need to discuss with you."

  Ingram paused for a few seconds. "Right. What is it?"

  "We understand Mr McCoull was declared bankrupt ten years ago."

  "That's correct. 2003."

  "Why didn't you disclose it to me last night?"

  "Is it pertinent to your investigation?"

  "It could be. Another witness just mentioned it to us."

  "Right. And?"

  "He said you'd know about it."

  "Did he?" Ingram sighed. "Okay. So what? Ten years ago, Steven was declared bankrupt. The business he had at the time went to the wall."

  "Do you know why?"

  "Not really. I only know from chatting to Steven or stuff I've heard from others. I wasn't involved myself, of course. I was more into conveyancing. Property law."

  "We understand there was another party in the business."

  "That's correct. I think Steven's business partner was called Richard. I don't know his surname. Sorry."

  "Do you have a number for him?"

  "Sorry, mate. I just knew he was called Richard. Do you mind if I go?"

  "Fine. Give me a call if anything comes up."

  "Will do."

  The call ended.

  Cullen looked across at Buxton, still on the phone himself. He stared up at the dark flat, lit up by the blue light of a TV.

  His phone rang. Sharon. "How's it going?"

  Cullen sighed. "Getting somewhere, I think."

  "Right. I'm not getting my roast chicken, am I?"

  "I doubt it."

  "Shall I threaten you with my cooking?"

  "The bacon roll was good this morning."

  "It's a bit harder doing a chicken."

  "That Delia Smith book flops open at the roast chicken recipe."

  "Mm."

  "Look, we'll sort something out."

  "Mum's been on the phone. We're welcome over there."

  "I'd rather just have a packet of crisps than hear your dad and your uncle Brian talk Hibs and Celtic."

  "At least you can talk that language."

  Buxton tapped his shoulder. "Got something."

  Cullen glanced over at Buxton, the sunlight shining from behind and silhouetting him. "Better go."

  "Right, please get home in time. Love you."

  "Will do. Love you, too." Cullen pocketed his phone.

  "Mwah, mwah, love you." Buxton blew kisses into the air.

  "Piss off." Cullen scowled at him. "And you want to listen to me talk seriously about stuff?"

  "Offer still stands, mate." Buxton stared straight ahead. He held up his own phone. "That was Tommy Smith in the Phone Squad. He's pinned four calls on her and the GPS shows the phone stayed in the flat apart from a sojourn to Waitrose. His words not mine."

  "Right, I just spoke with Ingram." Cullen nodded up at Evelyn McCoull's flat. "I reckon your little cougar might know something."

  "Piss off."

  Chapter 30

  Evelyn McCoull collapsed into her sofa, a glass of white wine in front of her, the TV paused halfway through a film with Sandra Bullock. "Should I get my lawyer in here?"

  Cullen nudged himself down on the armchair opposite, waiting for Buxton to do the same. "This isn't related to the matter we discussed during your detention last night, Mrs McCoull."

  "What is it then?"

  Cullen tried to drag his eyes away from the TV. "We understand your husband was made bankrupt in 2003."

  A frown flickered onto her forehead. "And what of it?"

  "You didn't think to tell us?"

  "It didn't seem relevant."

  Cullen sighed. "Mrs McCoull, a lot of people lost money as a result of your ex-husband's actions. That's a lot of people we should be speaking to as potential suspects."

  "I'm sorry."

  "I seem to say this a lot, but I'd much rather exclude facts at a later date than not include them at the start."

  "I said I'm sorry."

  Cullen took a breath, just about calm. "What happened to your husband after the bankruptcy?"

  "Steven got a job on George Street at Standard Life Investments. Earned a decent amount and it kept his hand in. He saved up over that time. He used to talk about how obsessed with failure the British were. It's different in America. The whole thing just made him more determined than ever."

  "I assume his bankruptcy was discharged if he went on to own another company?"

  "It was. It took ages, though."

  Cullen frowned as he recalled a previous case he'd worked with a bankruptcy. "I thought it was usually just a year."

  "The receiver didn't like what he found."

  "Which was?"

  "Well, the business wasn't doing so well and our house was secured against the company."

  "So they extended Steven's discharge period?"

  "They did. They were trying to get the house sold and it took a long time. There were loads of new builds hitting the market and there was a wee scare about flooding in the street. Nobody wants a not-quite new build, do they? The bank wasn't exactly pleased with the contract we'd used to secure the business against it, either, but then their lawyers should have been more thorough first time, I suppose."

  "And you and Mr McCoull still lived in this house?"

  "We did, yes. Steven managed to re-secure the mortgage once he'd got on his feet again. That allowed them to accelerate getting the discharge."

  "And you co-owned the property?"

  "I did, yes. Once we'd unpicked the legalities, we managed to buy the house back by paying off the Revenue. Of course, when Steven and I divorced, he paid me."

  "And this shareholding in JG Investments?"

  "Aye, well. That was part of the settlement." Evelyn took a sip of white wine, leaving a red mark on the rim.

  "Donald Ingram mentioned a Richard."

  "Richard Airth." Evelyn nodded. "He was Steven's business partner. He was going to sell his house to prop up the company."

  "Was going to?"

  "There was a fire." Evelyn sucked in breath. "Richard's house burnt down. It wasn't suspicious, or so they said." She leaned forward, tears welling in her eyes. "Richard's family were in it, his wife and two children. They all died."

  "Where was the house?"

/>   "It was on our street, two doors down. I think it's just been rebuilt."

  "This was ten years ago, though?"

  "I think so."

  "So why did it take them so long to rebuild?"

  "Richard disappeared. Nobody knew where he'd gone."

  Cullen raised his eyebrows. "He just disappeared?"

  "He did."

  "Was it reported to the police?"

  "It was but nobody knew what happened. Nobody's seen him since. That was one of the problems with Steven's discharge, that Richard had just disappeared like that."

  "Why did he go?"

  "I just don't think he could cope with the loss. Losing his wife and children like that..." Evelyn sniffed. "When the business fell apart, Richard was having a very hard time. The failing business was all on his head. Steven was much more on the sales side, I think; going and speaking to people. Richard was managing their money. His mother was on a ventilator at the same time. He wasn't allowed to turn it off. His mother and his business died just like that."

  "So they thought Mr Airth committed suicide?"

  "That was how they initially approached it, I think." She looked away. "They never found a body, though."

  "Is he still alive?"

  "I think so." Evelyn nodded her head. "I get a Christmas card from him every year. It turns up on Christmas Eve. Hand-delivered. I've never caught him yet."

  "Did you get one this year?"

  "Yes."

  "Would we be able to see it?"

  "Of course." Evelyn got up and wandered out of the room, Cullen clocking Buxton's eyes follow her.

  Buxton switched his focus to Cullen. "What are you thinking here?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I can see that glint in your eyes."

  "We need look into this." Cullen recapped his pen. "Feels like we're finally onto something."

  "She's still my favourite for it."

  Cullen smirked. "I don't doubt she's your favourite."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Nothing."

  Evelyn walked back into the room, holding some papers. "Here, this is the only one I could find." She fanned it out. "I've got a couple of photos."

  "Thanks." Cullen held up the photo so Buxton could see as well. Three men at a rugby function, bow ties let down, collars open. One of them was Steven McCoull, but the others looked like they could be brothers - large, round heads covered with beards and thick, curly hair. "Who are these with your ex-husband?"

  "That's Donald Ingram and Richard Airth on the right."

  Cullen scowled at the photo. Where did he recognise Airth from?

  Chapter 31

  "Constable." Methven stood in the meeting room, jangling the keys in his pocket. "Have you got a result yet?"

  Cullen waited for Buxton to enter the room before shutting the door behind him. "Not yet."

  "Well, what the sodding hell have you been doing?"

  "We've just been speaking to Young and Evelyn McCoull. We might have something, sir."

  "Go on."

  "Couple of things. First, McCoull was being investigated by HMRC for tax fraud. Nothing major, just a ten grand golf club membership he'd been fiddling as expenses. It's a grey area, it might've been okay. I'm not an expert."

  "Still, ten grand sounds reasonably major." Methven sucked his teeth. "What was the other thing?"

  "Turns out McCoull was declared bankrupt ten years ago." Cullen tossed the photo on the table, tapping Airth's head. "His partner in the business, a guy called Richard Airth, disappeared after a house fire killed his family."

  "And you think he could've killed McCoull?"

  "It's possible."

  "Find him."

  "I've got a call out to the investigating officer, sir. Same guy did the fire and the disappearance."

  "Very well." Methven glowered at Buxton. "I got you that bacon roll but you weren't here."

  "Sorry, sir, we had a lead."

  "I don't like having to eat two rolls, Constable, especially when one was supposed to be a gift. And when it's covered in brown sauce." Methven put his suit jacket on, pushing the meeting room chair back under the table. "Keep me apprised of your progress. I'm off to the Scotsman. Got to sodding do this one-to-one while the media office are eating turkey in front of the Queen."

  Cullen watched him leave the room and march through the almost-empty office space. "What a guy."

  Buxton creased his forehead. "He's not gay, is he?"

  "I said guy."

  "Right." Buxton went back to typing on his laptop.

  Cullen picked up the photo and stared at it. It still looked familiar. Who was it?

  His phone rang. Unknown number. "Hello?"

  "Is that DS Scott Cullen?"

  "It is. Who's this?"

  "PC Johnny Stewart. I investigated the Richard Airth case back in the day."

  "Thanks for calling me back. Surprised you're working today."

  "Aye. I'm out in Wester Hailes now, sadly. Run off our bloody feet. I miss Colinton and Fairmilehead."

  "The reason I wanted to speak to you was Mr Airth's business partner, a Steven McCoull, was murdered the other night."

  "Christ."

  "I want to know if there was anything suspicious surrounding Mr Airth's disappearance."

  "The whole thing was suspicious, if you ask me." Stewart exhaled down the line. "We'd no idea what happened. He just fell off the map."

  "I understand there was a house fire?"

  "Aye. His whole family was killed. We took that as the reason Airth scarpered."

  "Because of the trauma or because you suspected he caused it?"

  "The trauma. He was in Glasgow at the time doing some business deal through there. We triple-checked the alibi. It was rock solid - no funny business like you get sometimes."

  "Did you speak to Steven McCoull as part of your investigation?"

  "We did, aye. Nothing jumped out at us about him, I'm afraid. Well, other than the whole business thing."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "Ach, just the fact both houses were tied up in the business. We didn't really buy the fire being entirely innocent."

  "You said both houses were tied up?"

  "Well, only McCoull's was secured against it. They were trying to do something with Airth's. Just looked suspicious. Business teetering on the brink. House fire. Insurance job written all over it."

  "Right. And was it?"

  "Think the insurer eventually paid out, but the money went straight to the tax man."

  "Okay. Any idea what happened to Airth?"

  "No, sorry. We searched high and low for him. Had a team of four looking for him at one point. Notices went all across the country and down south. Not a sausage."

  "Cheers." Cullen ended the call and stared across the meeting room. He picked up the photo of Airth.

  Where are you, Richard Airth?

  He looked up at the ceiling tiles, focusing on a dark brown mark in the corner of one then glanced over at Buxton, fingers tapping the laptop keys. "You got a second?"

  Buxton didn't look up. "I'm trying to finish typing this report up."

  "I want to run something by you."

  "Fire away." Buxton shut the lid on the laptop.

  "Let's start over again, okay? What do we know?"

  Buxton folded his arms. "First, McCoull was in the Living Room on the twenty-third. Bolted out of there. Got a taxi home."

  "Aye. Not alone, either."

  Buxton scratched his right eyebrow. "According to that Gellatly geezer, McCoull was staring out the window for a while, most likely at his companion, the parka-wearing man."

  Cullen looked at the photo again, tapping it a few times. "I'm thinking Richard Airth is our most likely suspect."

  "You think he's parka man?"

  "Aye. He's disappeared after a house fire killed his family. McCoull dies in a fire. Fight fire with fire."

  "That's a bit of a stretch, mate."

  "I know.
It's what I do best." Cullen chucked the photo down on the desk. "Did you get a chance to look at the CCTV?"

  Buxton lifted the laptop's lid again. "Think they're in here somewhere."

  "I take it that means you didn't look at it?"

  "Mm."

  "Any idea where?"

  "Sorry, I'm in the zone here, mate."

  "I'll believe that when I see it." Cullen hauled himself to his feet and took in the heap of shit on the meeting room table, piles of papers and documents. Someone was going to have to tidy that lot up by the end of the day.

  At the far side was a packet, brown parcel tape wrapped over it several times. He leaned over and inspected it - sent to DC Simon Buxton. He glanced at Buxton; the cheeky sod. He flipped it over, finding the address for the city council's CCTV unit stamped on the back. Sneaking a finger in a hole in the corner, he tore the tape off in a couple of goes. He popped the contents on top of a report. Three DVDs, all labelled with black marker.

  "Come on, Simon, let's head downstairs."

  Chapter 32

  "Yeah, sorry. Nothing I can do. I'll let you know when I'm leaving. Love you. Bye." Cullen ended the call and dropped his phone on the table. "Where are we?"

  "This is the last of the discs. This bit here." Buxton slowed the jog wheel right down. "There."

  The camera was pointing west down George Street towards Charlotte Square. The grainy footage showed the front of the Living Room, a few brave smokers leaning against its modern extension, laughing and joking amongst themselves in freeze frame. In the background, the street was busy with foot traffic. Cars occupied almost every parking bay. Someone was in the solitary phone box. Two teenage girls squared up to each other outside Tigerlily.

  Buxton tapped the screen. "Shame it doesn't show the inside of the ladies' toilets downstairs in there."

  "Piss off."

  Smirking, Buxton nudged the dial forward. "Here we go."

  Steven McCoull burst out of the pub, the image frozen with his left leg in front of him, hands in pockets, looking back down George Street towards the camera but lower, at street level.

  Cullen leaned forward. "What's he doing?"

  "He's spotted someone, maybe?" Buxton nudged it forward again, McCoull darting across the street in ultra-slow motion. He stopped by the phone box, arms crossed.