Windchill (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 6)

by Ed James

  Cullen leaned forward in the chair, arms hugging his torso. "I don't think we're anywhere, sir."

  "Well, it feels fairly healthy. I may shout and bawl a lot but I can recognise how well we're doing."

  "Cheers."

  Methven scratched the back of his head. "Tell me your working hypothesis."

  Cullen thought it through for a few seconds. "Vardy's got a window of opportunity between leaving the pub and Pauline Quigley returning to the flat." He shrugged. "Chips or no chips, Vardy gets a taxi, heads up there, gets inside, kills him, then heads home. It's not far - Polwarth Gardens to Viewforth is about five minutes' walk."

  "How do you explain the microwave ready meal and the empty beer bottles?"

  "The bottles... Vardy and Keogh could've gone there for a nightcap with Lyle. The SOCOs might find something on them."

  "Or they might not."

  Cullen sniffed. "The other thing is Pauline Quigley could be lying, sir. She might be complicit in this."

  "Feels like we're onto something here, Constable." Methven got to his feet and paced back to the whiteboard. "I'm not quite buying this Vardy's story."

  "Is there anything else can we do?"

  "We've got a lot of investigation we can do. While you're on holiday."

  "Right."

  "You can go home now."

  "But it's half three."

  "Don't make me change my mind. You've been on nine days straight, Constable. You've done a great job so far. You deserve your break."

  Cullen stood up. "Thanks, sir."

  Chapter 48

  "What did Methven want?" Cullen pushed open the door, stepping out into the lane at the back of the station, dark in the late afternoon winter gloom, the bitter cold hitting them.

  "Methven?" Sharon pulled on her gloves.

  "Aye, Crystal asked if I'd seen you."

  "Right."

  Cullen tucked his scarf into his jacket, the way he knew Sharon liked it, as he turned the corner onto MacDonald Road. "Was it about Bain?"

  She frowned as they started up Leith Walk. "What makes you say that?"

  "Well, he's been hanging around the last couple of weeks. And there are all those rumours as well."

  "Right."

  "That's all I get? Another 'right'?"

  "I don't know anything about those rumours, Scott."

  Cullen pressed the button at the crossing for the side street. "It's going to be a nightmare getting home, isn't it?"

  "How do you mean?"

  Cullen crossed the road, eyes on the long row of idling cars on Leith Walk. "The street party. It's blocked off at Leith Street and North Bridge, I think."

  "Shit. It is." Sharon quickened the pace as they headed up Leith Walk. "What do you want to do about it?"

  "Don't know." Cullen smirked. "Never got round to getting those budgie smugglers."

  "You could at least wait until Buxton's here before you make a joke like that."

  "Good one." Cullen looked away. "What time's the flight tomorrow?"

  "Half six." She glanced at him. "Scott, tell me you've finished your packing."

  "That's the problem with you getting me that 3DS."

  "Scott, we're flying tomorrow morning!"

  "I just need to get some budgie smugglers. That's it."

  "Can't you just wear those shorts you wore last year?"

  "You don't like me in trunks?"

  Sharon giggled. "I don't like anyone in trunks."

  "Even Daniel Craig?"

  "With that face? No way." She walked past a hi-fi shop set back from the road. "John Lewis will still be open."

  "Fine. Let's go there."

  She sighed. "One more day then we'll be away from the pissing rain and the bloody wind, lying on the beach."

  "You're in a great mood."

  "Yeah, wonder why. I need a tan." She stopped by Gayfield Square, the grass in the park sodden with rain. "I had a meeting with Turnbull."

  "So did Crystal. What about?"

  Sharon exhaled, her breath misting in the air. "He's moving me to the Rape Unit in Bathgate."

  "Same grade?"

  "It's an Acting DI gig."

  "Seriously?"

  Sharon smiled. "That's how he sold it to me. Good experience and everything."

  Cullen grinned. "He'd have had me at Acting DI."

  "I told him I didn't want to go."

  "What?"

  "He's forcing my hand, Scott. Apparently, I'm pissing Bill Lamb off."

  "Really?" Cullen frowned. "Bill doesn't seem the type to be so petty."

  "That's what Jim told me." She prodded a finger on the crossing. "It was, like, 'I mean it, Sharon, this is your big break'." She shook her head, looking around the busy street. "Patronising git."

  Cullen nodded, but he didn't make eye contact with her. "I don't think he really means you were pissing him off, though. Bill got the job you went for in March, remember?"

  "Mm."

  "Are you going to take it?"

  "I've got no choice."

  Cullen felt his mouth go dry. "You're serious?"

  Sharon shrugged. "Aye. No option."

  "Congratulations." Cullen wrapped his arms around her, kissing her on the forehead. "This is brilliant."

  "Maybe."

  "There's no maybe. This is great for you." Cullen felt a sting in his guts. "Who's getting your job?"

  "He didn't mention it."

  "Shite." Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. "You're sure it's not Bain?"

  "No idea."

  "Well, Bain was really cagey when I asked him what he was doing here last week."

  "That's his way."

  "I suppose." Cullen walked up the street, thinking it through. "I don't want to work for that idiot again."

  "That's all rumour, remember?"

  "Maybe." He grabbed her hand, swinging it in the air. "Moving on will be good for you, I think."

  "Seriously?" She was frowning.

  "Of course. You've not been happy working for Lamb and I can't see you working for Methven or Davenport."

  Sharon smirked. "It's made me think about having a baby."

  Cullen coughed and spluttered. "Really?"

  She reached across and held his hand. "Relax, I'm joking."

  "Right." He let out a deep breath, pain stabbing his guts. Becky. He held his eyes shut for a few seconds before wiping the tear away. "Had me going for a bit there."

  "Sorry. I shouldn't have done that." She closed her eyes. "It was in bad taste."

  "It's okay." Cullen rubbed the back of his hand against his cheek, trying to get all of the moisture away. "It still hurts."

  Sharon put her arms around him. "Come on, let's get your budgie smugglers."

  Thursday

  8th January 2014

  (Eight days later)

  Chapter 49

  "Sure you don't want to come up?" Cullen released his seat belt, letting it ride up, looking across the dark car park. "For old time's sake?"

  Sharon shook her head. "At this rate, I'll not get any reading done before I meet my new DCI."

  "I'll miss you."

  "Me too. When do you think you'll be home tonight?"

  "Early, I hope." Cullen shrugged. "Can't be arsed being in here till all hours first day back after holiday."

  "I'll believe it when I see it."

  He chuckled. "I had a great time."

  "Aye, me too." Her smile quickly lost its lustre. "The holiday glow will be gone by lunchtime no doubt."

  "I know." Cullen opened the door before leaning over to kiss her. "Love you." He got out and watched the orange Focus trundle across the underground car park, wishing he was still lying on a beach with his 3DS. He stabbed a reminder into his phone to head along Rose Street and get some more games.

  "Morning, Constable." Methven clapped his shoulder as he walked past.

  Cullen pocketed his phone, grimacing as he caught up with the DI. "Morning, sir."

  "I've actually sodding missed you." Methven
held out his hand. "Good holiday?"

  Cullen shook it. "The best."

  Methven opened the door to the stairwell and stopped. "Well, you'll be straight back into it today, that's for certain. I'm giving you DS McNeill's caseload."

  Cullen scowled. "But I'm just a DC."

  "And you keep on insisting you're at Sergeant level. Prove it to me." Methven checked his watch before he started up the stairs. "Come on, we've got a catch-up briefing. DCI Cargill's instituted an eight o'clock meeting with the DIs every sodding morning, hence me needing an update first."

  "Great." Cullen held the stair door open. "Nothing big's happened, though, right?"

  "Not really. I've lost DS Rarity to DI Lamb for the time being." Methven paused outside the meeting room, looking Cullen up and down. "Relax, I've got DC Jain as a replacement."

  Cullen followed him inside. Set up to do a DS role without the money. He nodded at Jain, wondering if the same carrot was being dangled. "Morning all."

  Buxton sat at the head of the table, fiddling with his phone. "Good day to you, sir."

  Angela Caldwell sat next to him, shifting uneasily on her seat, a pile of papers in front of her. She smirked. "Nice tan."

  Cullen put a hand to his face. "I'll be back to my usual shade of pink any time soon, don't worry."

  Methven clapped his hands together. "Come on, let's get this over with."

  "Right." Cullen sat down, reaching into his suit pocket for his notebook and pen. He caught a whiff from the material - he needed to get to the dry cleaners and swap it for the other one.

  Methven stood by the whiteboard, not much more populated than just over a week ago. "Let's recap the Keith Lyle case for DC Cullen's benefit, shall we?"

  Cullen shrugged. "Suits me."

  Methven pointed at PM. "Deeley completed the post mortem last week." He clicked his fingers at Angela. "Pass Cullen a copy, would you?"

  Angela tossed him a report up from the pile. "Bit of bedtime reading for you, Scott."

  "I'll have no trouble sleeping now." Cullen flicked through the report, before focusing on the executive summary at the front. "So it's pretty much the same as we had last Tuesday morning?"

  "Indeed. Angle of entry. Cuts through his jersey. Yadda yadda yadda. All point to murder. Deeley's able to prove the defensive cuts on the wrists were made by the knife in his abdomen." Methven held up a photo of a ferocious knife, curved metal blade and smooth wooden handle, and pinned it to the board. "The knife in question being a ShivWorks Disciple."

  Cullen pointed at the photo. "That's not something you just pick up in B&Q, is it?"

  "Quite."

  "Any prints on it?"

  "Just the victim's." Methven swallowed. "Mr Anderson detected traces of nitrile on the shaft, which would indicate our killer used gloves."

  "So why are the victim's prints on it?"

  "We believe he owned the weapon. Hoist by his own petard, if you will." Methven held up a hand again. "Okay, moving on. The SOCOs downstairs also obtained prints in the room for Mr Lyle along with those of Pauline Quigley and Dean Vardy."

  "So why would Vardy use gloves to kill him if his prints were there?"

  "DC Jain and I spoke to him about this on Tuesday." Methven tapped Vardy on the board. "He admitted to owning the property and collects the rent in cash from a radiator in Mr Lyle's room. It's all done through the books, though."

  "And you believe him?"

  "We're acknowledging it for the moment, shall we say."

  "What about the beer bottles?"

  Methven tapped on Lager. "All three were drunk by Lyle, according to the DNA in the saliva. Additionally, his blood toxicology showed what we'd expect for three bottles of beer given the time of death."

  Cullen nodded slowly, eyes narrowed. "So Vardy got a cab round there before killing him, right?"

  "And therein lies the rub." Methven stabbed a finger at Chip Shop. "He did buy chips from a kebab shop near to the Debonair. Place called D'Monte's."

  "And you believe him?"

  "You know how many takeaways there are on Lothian Road or just off it?" Buxton rolled his eyes. "Thirty-eight. I know because I visited them all on New Year's Eve. Vardy went to the bloody last one."

  "What time?"

  "Half past."

  Cullen totted it up in his head. "Still fits the timeframe for him killing Lyle. Assuming Pauline Quigley's telling the truth."

  "Agreed, but there's one small problem." Methven leaned across the table, his ID badge dangling from its lanyard. "We can't find any taxi firm that picked him up."

  "So he walked?"

  "It takes twenty minutes to walk from D'Monte's to Mr Lyle's flat."

  "How long to run?"

  Methven snorted. "We've had street teams out speaking to residents and shops on the likely routes - nobody was spotted running on the evening of the thirtieth. It's a busy area as you well know."

  Cullen glanced at Buxton. "You were going to look into phones and CCTV, weren't you?"

  Buxton nodded. "Yeah. Cheers for that. Got nowhere with either. No CCTV cameras outside the kebab shop and Vardy conveniently left his mobile at the Debonair."

  "Did you check Pauline's statement?"

  "In Club Tropicana? Yeah, I did. Chantal and I. It checked out."

  Methven sat on a chair. "We don't currently believe Dean Vardy killed Keith Lyle."

  Cullen flicked back through his notebook. "What about the NCA?"

  Methven inhaled deeply. "Mr Vardy's known to them. They've never been able to pin anything on him however, even going back to their SOCA days."

  "He's Al Capone, isn't he?" Cullen scratched at the back of his head. "So, what? We're just dropping it?"

  "That's correct." Methven nodded, his eyes shut. "I'm not prosecuting Mr Vardy yet because he has an alibi. We've already spoken to him again. The NCA aren't comfortable with us harassing him."

  "Even though he might've killed someone?"

  "Correct."

  "I take it he's being prosecuted for trespassing on the railway?"

  "Our colleagues in the British Transport Police are leading on the matter. You pair are in the clear for it, though expect a court appearance soon."

  "Cheers." Cullen sighed. Need to get notebooks synchronised. "Did you dig into how much debt he was in?"

  Buxton nodded. "Yeah. Just over ten grand. Spoke to the actuary at YouBet, the geezer who does all the odds and that. He showed me Lyle's account. Every bet was signed for."

  Cullen focused on the whiteboard. "Okay, so what do we do next?"

  Methven jangled his keys in his pocket. "The Kenny Falconer case."

  "Him?"

  "Indeed. Mr Falconer's selling knives again, illegally. This is one of the cases your better half was working on before she was sent out to West Lothian. They had an informant on his operation. A man called Andrew Smith."

  "So?"

  "The trail's long since gone cold, Constable." Methven stopped jangling. "I want you to pick it up for me."

  Chapter 50

  Cullen let the seat belt ride up, looking west along Fountainbridge towards Fountain Park and the tenements beyond. "Can't believe he's dumping Sharon's caseload on me."

  Buxton killed the engine. "You keep bitching and moaning about how you're doing a DS job. He's calling your bluff, mate."

  "Didn't tell me the briefing timing had changed, either. I was just lucky Sharon was dropping me off early." Cullen got out of the car, tall black hoardings blocking out the empty site of the old brewery to the left. He blinked away the early morning sun. Smith's address was a tenement just ahead, almost the only old building left on the strip. "Used to be a sauna here, right?"

  "Frequent it, did you?"

  "Hardly." Cullen smirked as they walked over, pausing to press the intercom. "Had to do a raid on it once with Bain."

  "Which reminds me." Buxton held up his mobile. "Got a text from a mate in Glasgow MIT last week. He reckons Bain's heading back through here as a DS."

&nb
sp; Cullen felt his mouth go dry. "Really?"

  "Aye." Buxton's tongue hovered between his open lips as he winked. "Brilliant, eh?"

  Oh for fuck's sake. Cullen loosened his shirt as sweat trickled down his back. "If it's not a load of shit, I'll no doubt end up working for him again."

  "That'll bugger up any chances of me getting a full DC gig, won't it?"

  Cullen held up his phone. "Think I should call him and find out?"

  "You want to put up with him going on about saving your life, be my guest."

  "Good point." Cullen pressed the buzzer again. "Anything else I've missed?"

  "Well, Turnbull's been through in Glasgow and at Tulliallan a few times."

  "Fucking hell. What does that mean?"

  "No idea. Getting his conkers toasted by the looks of things."

  Cullen sighed. Being shat on here - Methven dumping the extra caseload on him while the dangled carrot was swinging away.

  Shielding his eyes from the low sun, he looked up at the flat, the top left of the block of nine apartments. There were no lights on inside, no stream of central heating exhaust, no signs of life at all. "Where the hell is he?"

  "Methven reckoned he's gone to ground, didn't he?"

  "You've been here before, right?"

  "Yeah. Came here with Chantal last Thursday."

  "Did you get in?"

  "Nope."

  "I meant inside the house."

  "Piss off."

  "Right, come on." Smirking, Cullen tried the stair door. It opened. "I seem to have a magic touch."

  "You're like that Genesis song."

  "Wasn't that an invisible touch?"

  "Whatever." Buxton took out a pair of gloves, stretching them before slipping them on. "You'd better get some gloves on to cover your magic touch if you're thinking what I'm thinking."

  Cullen laughed as they entered the building, pitch dark except for a light at the back giving an intermittent flicker. He started up the staircase, spotting a ceiling window at the top. The place stank of too much washing powder. "It's like someone's shoved a whole packet of Persil in."