Windchill (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 6)

by Ed James

  "I know, it's totally rank, mate."

  Cullen stopped at Smith's stairwell, three doors leading off. On the right, a Post-It stuck to the door read Flat 9 - A. Smith. He rapped on the wood, the sound rattling down the staircase. He waited a few seconds then turned to Buxton. "What do you think?"

  "We've not got a warrant."

  "True." Cullen knocked on the door in the middle. No answer. He tried the door on the left. Nothing.

  A bolt released behind the middle door. It opened a crack, an eye surrounded by lined skin peering out. "Hello?"

  Cullen showed his warrant card. "Police. We're looking for Andrew Smith."

  The door opened wider. An old lady checked them out, seventies at the youngest, five foot at most. She screwed up her eyes at the warrant card. "Aye, I've not seen young Andrew for a wee while."

  "How long's a wee while?"

  "Couple of weeks, maybe."

  "Do you know him well?"

  "He looks after my cats when I'm away to my sister's. I water his plants when he's away."

  "Has he asked you to water them recently?"

  "Not for a few months, no. When he went to Ibiza in September."

  Cullen glanced at Buxton, wondering if he was thinking the same thing - Smith had bolted.

  "Why do you want to speak to young Andrew?"

  "We need to ask a few questions about an important investigation. Do you have a key for the flat?"

  "Just a second." The door slammed shut.

  Cullen glared at Buxton. "Didn't think to try the neighbours the other day?"

  "Of course we did, you cheeky fucker." Buxton shook his head. "No response. Must be your natural charm and elegance."

  "Or my magic touch." Cullen thumbed at the door. "Thought she'd be more in your target age range."

  Buxton stared up at the ceiling. "Fuck's sake, mate. I put up with this Budgie shit from you for ages and now I've got to listen to this cougar shi-"

  The door opened again. The woman held out a set of keys. "Here you are, son. Drop them off when you're done."

  "Will do."

  The door slammed again.

  Cullen sighed. "Charming." He headed to Smith's door, putting on a pair of gloves before twisting the key in the lock. "Here goes."

  He pushed open the door and entered the flat. Red carpet, lime green walls, white woodwork. His nostrils twitched. "Something doesn't smell good in here."

  "Agreed. I hope he's just left a pint of milk on the counter." Buxton strolled down the hall. "Mr Smith?" He waited a few seconds before trying the first door on the left. A bathroom. Empty.

  The door opposite was slightly ajar. Cullen nudged it open with his foot. A bedroom - the bed messy, clothes heaped up in a pile on a chair. "Looks clear."

  Buxton led down the hall, taking it slow, opening the final door - a living room cum kitchen. Laminate floor, IKEA sofa and chairs. Wooden kitchen units, dirty pots and pans.

  The grey rug in the middle of the kitchen had a white trainer on it, obscured by the island.

  Cullen leapt forward. A man lay on the floor, legs at crooked angles, hands cupped around the handle of the knife sticking from his guts. Blood caked on his tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt.

  Cullen rested on the island. "Shite."

  Chapter 51

  Cullen looked out of the window, the white SOCO suit creasing with the motion. Below, Methven got out of his Volvo SUV and looked up at the flat, making eye contact. He turned to Buxton. "Here comes trouble."

  Buxton joined him at the window. "Great."

  Cullen looked back across the room, the SOCOs already taking great care in their work.

  Clad in a suit, Deeley stood over the body.

  Andrew Smith lay on the linoleum, the pool of blood now congealed and dried in places. The knife jutting out of his stomach looked very similar to the picture Methven had stuck on the board. ShivWorks something or other.

  Deeley shook his head and wandered over. "Well, the boy's certainly dead."

  "Even I can see that." Cullen grinned. "When do you think?"

  "Looks like he's been there a while. A week or so. Maybe longer. Won't know until I get the lad back to the lab."

  "I take it stabbing's the cause of death?"

  "Most definitely." Deeley looked around the room. "Where's Colin?"

  "Right here." Methven stood in the doorway, eyes on the body, a SOCO suit already on, eyebrows revealing his identity. "This does not look good."

  Cullen nodded. "Agreed."

  "It's definitely Smith?"

  "Aye." Cullen pointed at the sideboard. "We found his wallet. The face matches the driver's license, give or take a few pints of blood."

  "Cut the sodding humour, Constable."

  "Sorry." Cullen led over. "You see this?" He knelt down by the body and pointed to an envelope just to the side, pinned down by a numbered tag. "It says Ken Fa and then cuts off."

  Methven stared at it. "You mean he's trying to tell us who killed him?"

  Cullen shrugged. "Only logical explanation."

  "I trust you've got an APB out on him?"

  "Aye." Cullen let out a deep breath. "I've dealt with Falconer a couple of times before. One thing about him is he's very good at keeping away from us. He almost stabbed my partner a couple of years ago, if you recall."

  "We need to bear that in mind." Methven tugged a SOCO's sleeve. "Mr Anderson, I need an update."

  "Morning, Colin." Anderson slowly stood to his full height, stretching his back out. "These suits are supposed to disguise us from you lot."

  "Cut the banter, please. I need an update right now."

  "Fair enough." Anderson pointed at the body. "Well, we've got the murder weapon. We'll check it for prints. Kenny Falconer's on file. Processed the little shit's prints a couple of times myself. Hope you're going to put him away this time."

  "We'll do our best." Methven focused the eyebrows on Deeley. "Have you had a look at him?"

  "Aye, I have. Not much ambiguity."

  "What about time of death?"

  "I was telling your laddies here, I've got no idea yet. More than a week, probably."

  "Sodding hell." Methven folded his arms, his suit crinkling. "How long's it going to take?"

  "I'll get right on it once you let me breathe."

  "Very well." Methven pointed at Cullen and Buxton then gestured towards the hallway. "You pair, with me now."

  Cullen followed him out of the flat, glad no-one could see his scowl until he took the mask off. "What is it, sir?"

  Methven tugged his mask down. "I don't like this one sodding bit."

  "Me neither." Cullen undid the zip on the suit. "What do you want us to do?"

  "I don't like Smith turning up dead like this. This doesn't look good at all."

  "So...?"

  "Find Falconer."

  "How?"

  "I don't sodding know! Just make sure you do!"

  Chapter 52

  Cullen leaned against the car and swapped the phone to his other ear. There were so many police and related vehicles on the street that Fountainbridge was virtually closed off. "Anyway, Methven's put me on the Kenny Falconer case."

  "Really? Thought that had gone cold."

  "It's just heated up a bit. We found your informant dead at his flat."

  "Andrew Smith? Oh, Jesus."

  "What was he doing for you?"

  "Just giving us information." Sharon sighed down the phone. "He was working with Falconer. You know he had that knife shop on Leith Walk, right?"

  "Aye, behind the Polish shop opposite the Chinese supermarket."

  "That's the one. Well, he's selling knives again from a bookshop in Gorgie."

  "Whereabouts?" Cullen flicked out his notebook and opened it against the roof of the car. He clicked his pen.

  "Just by Tynecastle, I think. It's in the case file."

  "Okay."

  "According to him, you go in there and get a copy of a book. One called Two-Way Split, I think, can't remember
who it's by. Take it up to the man at the till and you get to see the catalogue for the under-the-counter stuff. If you're a very good boy, you get to go through the back."

  "How dodgy is the stuff he's selling?"

  "Not too bad. Nothing like his old shop. Standard American assault knives, that sort of thing."

  "And Smith told you all this?"

  "Aye. We managed to shut down the knife operation, but we didn't get anything on Falconer, as per bloody usual. Didn't even find anything tying him to the place."

  "Perfect." Scowling, Cullen tugged up the front of his hair. "Is the shop still open?"

  "I think so."

  "Okay, cheers for that. I'll give you a call later."

  "You haven't even asked how well it's going out here."

  "Shit. Didn't I?"

  "No."

  "How is it going?"

  "Fine. Just catch that wee shite for me."

  "Will do. Love you. Bye." Cullen ended the call and dialled Angela Caldwell's number. Engaged. He pocketed his mobile and waved to Buxton, phone clamped to his ear.

  "Hold on a second." Buxton put his hand over the mouthpiece. "What is it, mate?"

  "You on with Caldwell?"

  "Yeah, why?"

  Cullen reached over and grabbed the mobile. "Angela, it's Scott."

  "Great, what have I done now?"

  "Nothing, I hope." Cullen stared at the ground. "Have you got the Falconer case file there?"

  "It's around somewhere. Hang on." Silence.

  Buxton folded his arms and leaned against the car. "What are you being such a rude fucker for?"

  "No worse than usual, right?" Cullen swapped ears. Still nothing. "Might have a lead. Can you get Crystal?"

  "Bloody hell." Buxton marched off into the stairwell.

  "Scott?"

  "Yeah, I'm here."

  "Right, got the file. What is it?"

  "Sharon said Kenny Falconer had a bookshop just by Tynecastle. Do you know where it is?"

  "Yeah. Got it. Boab's Books. 132 Gorgie Road."

  Chapter 53

  Cullen drummed his fingers on the dashboard. Fucker better not be getting away. "Methven's definitely got a patrol out looking for him?"

  "Yeah. Soon as we found the body, mate." Buxton shook his head as he drove down Gorgie Road. "You know how much of an annoying bugger you're being?"

  "Sorry, I just don't like the fact we've no idea where Falconer is."

  "You're just back from holiday. Chill out, mate."

  "This is me chilling out."

  "Unreal." Buxton pulled in on the red line on the other side of the road, stopping just by the tattoo parlour. "We waiting for support?"

  "He's probably not there, right?" Cullen shrugged. "Come on." He slammed the car door, just as a taxi behind them honked its horn. He held up his warrant card and waved him on. "You got that 'On Official Police Business' sign out?"

  "Yeah." Buxton locked the car and jogged round to the front.

  Cullen paused, checking out Boab's Books. The sign had red text on a black background, the square window displaying paperbacks and hardbacks - Scottish crime fiction in among some Booker-nominated titles. He squinted - a blackboard sat behind the novels at the back, yellow letters clicked into place.

  This month's titles - Splosh!, Bumlove, 16+ and Girls&Boys.

  "Shite." Cullen rubbed both hands on his face. "It's a porn shop."

  "Oh." Buxton laughed. "Brilliant."

  "Fuck it." Cullen opened the door, heading inside the poky space. It was maybe five metres across, a wide table almost filling the space, buttressed by heaving bookshelves. Signs led through a corridor into the back of the shop, spotlights pointing at them, obscuring their view through a blanket of smoke. The harsh smell of incense sticks burning in an empty wine bottle.

  Cullen checked out the shelves. What was the name of the book? Two-Way Split? He looked around - nothing on the table looked like it. Should've googled it. Fuck it. He headed to the till, eyes screwed up to avoid the glare of the lights, the haze clearing as he made it to the counter.

  The proprietor was sitting behind a wide table reading a book. Mid-fifties, beard, bald head, overweight, dressed in black. He beamed. "First customers of the day!"

  Cullen smiled. "Hi, I'm looking for a book called Two-Way Split."

  The man swallowed. "Any idea who it's by?"

  "Sorry, I don't."

  He grinned and rubbed the side of his head. "Might be better trying Waterstones or Amazon."

  Cullen rested his hands on the counter. "I'm looking for Kenny."

  He frowned. "Kenny?"

  "Falconer."

  "I see." He sniffed. "I'm afraid Kenny's not here."

  "But he has worked here, right?"

  "Are you police?"

  "We are."

  "Then I'll need to see some credentials."

  Cullen nodded as he got out his warrant card. "Here you go. DC Scott Cullen." Thumb to the right. "ADC Simon Buxton."

  "Look, pal, your colleagues visited us a few weeks ago and took all of Kenny's... paraphernalia."

  "Well, it's Mr Falconer we're interested in."

  "Ah."

  "Do you know where he is?"

  "I've not seen him for a while."

  "Heard from him?"

  The bookseller folded the paperback in front of him. Noam Chomsky, one of his linguistics works. "Nope."

  "What about hearing from any mutual acquaintances?"

  "Not quite."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "There are always rumours about Kenny."

  "And what are they?"

  He zipped up his lips. "Unless you're arresting me, I'm not saying anything."

  "Kenny's killed someone."

  The bookseller's eyes bulged. "Excuse me?"

  "Are you acquainted with an Andrew Smith?"

  "Andrew? Andrew's dead?"

  "We just found his body." Cullen sniffed, letting his eyes wander over the back of the shop, stacks of magazines in mylar bags, girls with few clothes on, mouths hanging open or biting their lips. "Fancy an accessory to murder charge?"

  The bookseller stood up, hands in the air. "Look, I've told you! I don't know where Kenny's gone."

  "Really?"

  "I've absolutely no idea."

  "Can you think of any possibilities?"

  "Well, there's one..."

  Chapter 54

  "Up here!" Buxton leaned across the banister. "Come on, you lazy fucker!"

  Cullen jogged up the last few steps, feeling every second of his thirty-one years. "Can't we just wait a bit?"

  "He'll get away. You're really unfit, aren't you?"

  "I usually rely on lifts out here." Cullen stopped at the seventh flight and leaned against the scarred black railings, the air stale. Wester fucking Hailes. The large window across the stairwell looked out over the railway line to a sprawling golf course, the red roofs of Clovenstone in the distance. "Falconer's not moved?"

  "Nope." Buxton shook his head. "Still got two units outside in case this goes to shit."

  "You almost sound like a proper cop there."

  "Cheers, DI Cullen."

  "Fuck off."

  "You caught your breath yet?"

  "Just about enough, I think." Cullen nodded before leading them through the fire doors into the long corridor, a waft of conflicting smells hitting him - cooking, smoking, heating. "Which one is it?"

  "Seven stroke ten." Buxton looked along the corridor, Airwave clamped to his head. "Just there on the right."

  Cullen got on the other side of the prison-standard steel security door. How the hell could they get past that? He leaned close to Buxton. "Where are Methven and Chantal?"

  "Still coming up the other stairwell, I think."

  Cullen clocked Methven jogging down the corridor, the fire door juddering shut behind him. "There he is." He held up his hands, forcing the DI back. He nodded at Buxton. "Stay here."

  "Sure."

  Cullen
met Methven fifteen strides away from the target flat.

  Methven patted his shoulder. "Good work, Constable."

  "We don't know if he's in there, sir."

  "All the same. You've made sure Falconer hasn't left, though?"

  "Aye. Got two units downstairs watching the exits."

  Jain caught up with them. "What's the drama?"

  Cullen nodded at Buxton. "There's a massive security door."

  "Ah." Methven folded his arms, eyes shut. "Any idea how we're getting in?"

  Cullen shrugged. "I'm thinking the old meter reader trick?"

  "I like it. We've got a warrant, so go for it." Methven waved at the door. "On you go."

  Cullen led back down to the flat. He hammered against the steel, the din reverberating around the long corridor. "Excuse me, pal, it's the gas man. Need to check your meter."

  "Aw, fuck's sake, man."

  Cullen carefully extended his baton - that was definitely Falconer.

  A bolt slid back, followed by another, then a third. The door opened a crack.

  Buxton barged in shoulder first, warrant card out. "Kenny Falconer, you're under arrest!"

  "Get to fuck!" Falconer ran back down the long hall, tugging a white door shut behind him at the far end.

  "He's in there. You follow him." Methven gripped the door surround. "Buxton, wait here with me."

  Cullen led Jain down the corridor, matching Falconer's retreat, passing another door on the way.

  Jain tried the door. "It's fucking locked."

  "Kick it down!"

  Jain nodded before raising her leg and stamping forward, the sole of her boot connecting with the door handle, the plywood collapsing under the weight.

  Cullen followed her in, eyes darting around the room. They were in a kitchen area, dishes and cutlery scattered across the granite worktop. The other half of the room was a lounge: TV, Xbox, laptop, settees, dining table.

  A door at the far end lay open.

  "Go back!" Cullen headed for the door.

  In the hall, Falconer stood over Methven and Buxton, lying by the front door, prodding a baseball bat at them. He saw them and bolted through the door.

  Cullen darted over, kneeling to check they were okay.