Windchill (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 6)

by Ed James

  "An oversight, sir."

  "So Kenny Falconer could very well have been with them?"

  "No way, sir. No way can he have been drinking with them."

  "Why?"

  Cullen looked around, reaching for some reason and coming up short. "He just can't. This is too much of a coincidence."

  "We don't have to like the alibis we receive, Constable, but if there is one then we can't hold the suspect without cause." Methven smoothed down his eyebrows.

  "Nobody's actually confirmed Falconer was there. Keogh, Vardy, Weir. We need to speak to Keogh again."

  Methven nodded. "Okay. Do it."

  Angela held up her hand. "Once you two have stopped butting heads, I've just got off with Lothian Buses. Falconer did get a bus into town that night."

  "You're serious?" Cullen frowned. "Where did he get off?"

  "CCTV shows he got off near Haymarket, start of Shandwick place."

  Cullen thought it through. "He could easily have walked to Fountainbridge from there and killed Andrew Smith."

  Angela shrugged. "Or he could've gone to William Street like he says."

  Methven got up and inspected the whiteboard, shaking the pen between two fingers. "Right, Cullen, go and speak to Keogh again." He held out a finger. "But go easy on him, okay?"

  "Will do." Cullen took his eyes off the dancing pen. "What about the fact he's lying?"

  "Find the holes in his story and tear it apart, okay? Then we'll discuss what to do with him. But not before. Am I making myself clear?"

  "Aye, you are." Cullen got up to leave. "Are you going to release Kenny Falconer?"

  "We'll keep him in for the time being." Methven glanced at his wrist. "We've got another seventeen hours or so."

  Cullen walked over to the door. "Fine."

  "I know this is frustrating, Constable, but we need to do this by the book, okay?"

  "Fine, sir. No cowboy antics from me this time."

  "That's what I like to hear."

  Chapter 63

  "I'll say it again, Mr Keogh, you're under no suspicion of any crime yet." Cullen stared at the digital recorder at the side of the interview room table, its red light winking. "The reason we're interviewing you is straightforward. We need to validate the statement you gave on the thirty-first of December in light of recent evidence."

  "Okay." Keogh gave a flicker of a smile, a deep frown etched on his forehead. "How can I help?"

  "Can you confirm whether you were in Teuchter's bar on William Street on the night of the thirtieth?"

  "We've been over this, haven't we?"

  Cullen gestured at the recorder. "Please, again for the record."

  Keogh scowled, eyes darting between Cullen and Buxton. "As stated before, I was there that night, aye."

  "Who were you with?"

  The frown deepened. "I was with Dean Vardy."

  "Dean Vardy?"

  "Aye." Keogh blinked a few times. "Look, shouldn't I have my lawyer in here?"

  "Not unless you're lying to us." Cullen sat back, hands clasped behind his head. "Are you?"

  "No, no it's the truth."

  "Good." Cullen rocked forward in his chair, leaning on his right fist. "So, let me get this straight. You were with Dean Vardy?"

  "Aye."

  "And not with Kenny Falconer?"

  "Oh, sorry. Yes. I was."

  Cullen sighed - what was he playing at? "So you weren't with Dean Vardy?"

  "No, I was."

  "So you were with both of them? Kenny Falconer and Dean Vardy?"

  "Aye. They're good pals of mine." Keogh swallowed, eyes locked on the table. "Good mates."

  "We've reason to believe Mr Falconer was elsewhere at the time."

  "Oh?"

  "Mr Falconer's our prime suspect in the murder of one Andrew Smith."

  "Kenneth was with me at the time."

  Cullen raised an eyebrow - Kenneth? "He was with you all night?"

  "Aye, well, till closing time. Back of eleven, I think."

  "Mr Keogh, can I just remind you that providing a false alibi is a serious offence?"

  "I'm well aware of that." Keogh wiped sweat from his brow. "This is the truth."

  "If it's the truth, why are you sweating?"

  "No reason."

  "People don't sweat for no reason, Mr Keogh."

  "It's hot in here."

  "It's the middle of January. It's not hot."

  "I'm not comfortable speaking to the police, that's all. That's why I want my lawyer."

  "Wouldn't be because you're lying about your whereabouts, would it?"

  "Look, I swear I was with both of them."

  "Let's see how this sounds then, shall we?" Cullen smoothed down the margin of his notebook. "On the thirtieth of December, two people were murdered. In both cases, alibis were given. In both cases, the alibi is they were drinking in Teuchter's with you."

  Keogh shrugged. "Aye."

  "We spoke to you on the thirty-first about Mr Vardy."

  "Aye, I remember."

  Cullen slammed a fist against the table, pain jolting up his arm. "When we spoke to you on Hogmanay, why didn't you tell us you were with Kenny Falconer as well?"

  "You didn't ask."

  Cullen snarled, tempted to reach across the table and grab Keogh by the throat. "How do they know each other?"

  Keogh frowned. "They don't."

  "Yet you were with both of them?"

  "I'm mates with Dean and I'm mates with Kenneth." Keogh shrugged. "I'm the common link. It does happen."

  "So who was first?"

  "Eh?"

  "Did you arrive at Teuchter's first?"

  "Aye. About half an hour before Dean."

  "I see. And when did Kenny turn up?"

  "A bit later."

  Cullen shut his eyes. "When?"

  "I don't know. I'd had a few pints by then. That Brewdog stuff's pretty strong."

  "What was Mr Vardy drinking?"

  "Same as me. He runs a pub, you know? Likes his beer."

  "Brewdog Punk IPA?"

  "Aye."

  "And Kenny?"

  "I can't remember what Kenneth was drinking."

  "Was it lager?"

  "Can't remember."

  "Ale?"

  "Maybe."

  "What kind?"

  "I. Can't. Remember."

  "So you never went to the bar?"

  "Dean knew the bar staff in there and we were getting table service. He just had to click his fingers and we got another round delivered."

  "Sounds delightful."

  Keogh scratched the back of his neck. "If I recall correctly, I was just going to the toilet when Kenneth turned up." He looked away, focusing on the far wall of the interview room.

  Cullen leaned forward, arms on the table. "You expect us to believe this, do you?"

  "I do. It's the truth." Keogh held up his hands. "Look, can I get back to work?"

  Cullen leaned forward. "Interview terminated at fifteen eighteen."

  Chapter 64

  Cullen stormed into the meeting room, making his way to the whiteboard, Buxton following. He slammed the door behind them. "Sir, Keogh just told us Kenny fucking Falconer was in Teuchter's with him and Vardy."

  "What?" Methven stood at the whiteboard, frowning. He huffed and looked over at Cullen, setting the pen down before digging his hand into his pocket, rummaging around for change. "And what do you think of that?"

  "I think it's a load of bollocks. There's no chance those three were there together."

  Methven marched over and put a hand on Cullen's shoulder. "Constable, can I ask you to calm down?"

  "Calm down?" Cullen pushed the hand away. "I can't just calm down, sir. We're being fed a pack of lies by that wanker."

  "You're absolutely sure there was no-one with them?"

  "Aye." Cullen rubbed his neck. "Well..."

  "You do have the statement from the thirty-first to back this up, though, correct?"

  Cullen looked away as he thumb
ed behind him. "When Simon and I spoke to the bar manager on Hogmanay, we didn't ask who was with Vardy and Keogh."

  "So you're saying there could be independent confirmation of Falconer being with them?"

  "I think that's what I'm trying to say, aye."

  Methven stood for a few seconds, lost in thought, hand jangling the keys. "Let's get that checked out then. We need someone to go over the bar manager's story with him, preferably in a darkened room."

  "Sorry about this, sir."

  "It's fine. This sort of thing happens. Just try to minimise the number of times it occurs."

  DC Chantal Jain entered, carrying a tray laden with coffees. "Sorry, Scott, I've not got you one."

  Cullen scowled at her. "Cheers for that."

  Jain distributed the drinks, Angela smiling as she accepted hers, still rapt on her phone call. Buxton took a sip through the lid as Jain handed Methven a coffee.

  "Thanks." Methven took the lid off the coffee, eyes on the wall clock. "Oh, sodding buggery, I'm late. Cullen, I'm leaving you in charge." He dashed out of the room, coffee swilling over the cup.

  "What a man." Jain sat down, crossing her legs and fussing with her hair. "So, what's the drama now, Scott?"

  "We've just re-interviewed Darren Keogh. He reckons he was with both Kenny Falconer and Dean Vardy on the night in question."

  "Bloody hell." Jain took a sip of coffee. "And they were definitely there?"

  "That's what we need to find out."

  "Take it you fucked up, then? I heard Crystal moaning. You didn't ask if there was anyone with them?"

  "No." Cullen tilted his head from side to side, eyes burning into Jain's coffee cup. "We know for certain Vardy was there."

  "Aren't you a superstar?"

  Buxton cleared his throat. "I just got checks done on Keogh. As we thought, he's clean as a whistle."

  "Seriously?" Cullen shook his head. "He's supposedly drinking buddies with a knife dealer and a guy who owns a bookies, a taxi company and a pub, and he's clean?"

  "Nothing on him." Buxton raised his hands. "It's like he's from another walk of life from those two."

  Cullen folded his arms. "It's because he is."

  "What do you mean by that?" Jain took a drink of coffee, peering over the rim of the cup.

  "Well, for starters, Keogh's something like fifteen years older than the guys he was allegedly drinking with. Keogh reckons he's Vardy's uncle, sort of."

  "Sort of?" Jain was frowning.

  "Used to go out with Vardy's aunt or some rubbish." Cullen scowled before checking the whiteboard. "Have we spoken to the aunt?"

  Buxton kept his focus on his notebook.

  Cullen cleared his throat. "Simon?"

  Buxton rubbed his neck as he looked up. "Yeah, having a bit of bother there, ain't I?"

  "How come?"

  "Can't get hold of her. Got a name, though. Alison Vardy. I'll keep trying."

  "This doesn't feel right." Cullen felt his stomach rumble from the smell of coffee. "With the Lyle case, we were under the assumption Vardy got a cab up there to kill him." He grabbed a pen and drew a line from six p.m. to midnight, marking the arrival and departure times. "Even if he got chips at half past, Vardy's still got an hour before Pauline gets home. Plenty of time to kill Lyle."

  Jain scowled at the board. "Assuming Ms Quigley's telling the truth."

  Buxton nodded. "She's Vardy's girlfriend. She might be an accessory to murder."

  "Precisely." Cullen added a note alongside Pauline. "Have we got anything to suggest she's lying to support Vardy?"

  "Nothing, really." Buxton shrugged. "Remember, our suspicions were in the opposite direction - that she was shagging Lyle."

  "Simon, fuck's sake. 'Shagging'? Really?" Jain scowled at Buxton, making Angela giggle. She looked at Cullen again. "What have you got on Falconer?"

  "His fingerprints are on the knife that killed Andrew Smith."

  "That's it?"

  "Aye. Why?"

  "I'm wondering if Keogh's lying to protect Falconer. It's like he's added Falconer to the alibi. It's gone from two men in a pub to three."

  Jain tilted an eyebrow. "Nothing to do with you pair not asking?"

  "No."

  Jain scowled. "So, what do you want us to do, sir?"

  Cullen bristled - cheeky sod. "Chantal, Angela, can you get back in with Keogh and go over his statement?"

  "Will do, sir."

  "Cut that out. I'm just trying to provide some leadership here."

  "Sure thing, boss." Jain scowled as she made a note. "I was going to ask who died and put you in charge, but I don't even get the pleasure of going to Crystal's funeral."

  Cullen frowned at Angela. "Once you've done that, can you get background checks done on everyone else?"

  "Aye, will do." Angela nodded as she patted her swollen belly.

  Jain nodded at Buxton. "What about you and your wee sidekick?"

  "Buxton and I are going to find Vardy and get him in a room."

  Chapter 65

  "Bastard." Buxton pulled the pool car up at the crossing, finger stabbing right across the street. "It's over there, isn't it?"

  "Corner of Viewforth and Montpelier." Cullen nodded as he looked around, the street they were after stuck behind a wide railing. He waved up ahead. "Pull in behind that bin."

  Buxton waited for the school kids to finish crossing before shooting off and parking on the single yellow. "Can't believe there's a street in Edinburgh called Montpelier."

  "There's a nice bar just round the corner named after it."

  "Really?"

  "It's a bit style bar for you, Simon."

  "Piss off. You're the one who always insists we drink in the Elm."

  "No, I don't."

  "Really? You're turning into Bain, mate."

  Cullen got out of the car and slammed the door. "I'm not turning into Bain."

  "You are."

  "I'm not."

  "Are, are, are." Buxton grinned as he locked the door, trying the handle. "Just accept it, mate."

  "No danger." Cullen crossed the side street then jogged over the main road at the crossing, before making his way between bollards and heading to Vardy's stairwell. "Top floor, right?"

  "Yes it is, Bain."

  "Fuck. Off."

  Buxton smirked. "Sorry, getting really angry about it isn't going to make me stop it now, is it?"

  "Whatever." Cullen held down the buzzer for a few seconds. No reply. He held it again, longer this time, eyes on the flat window. Curtains drawn, lights off. He took a step back. The others were all the same, apart from a flat on the first floor with lights on. He hit the buzzer. "This better work."

  "Hello?" Woman's voice, elderly, Morningside accent.

  "It's the police. We're looking for Dean Vardy."

  "Have you tried his buzzer, officer?"

  "We have. There's no response." Cullen stared at the flickering light of the intercom. "Have you seen him?"

  "I think I saw him leave early this morning."

  "In a car?"

  "No, on foot."

  "What time was this?"

  "Oh, it would've been about nine thirty."

  "Which way was he heading?"

  "Up towards Bruntsfield Links."

  Cullen looked back the way, Bruntsfield Place almost visible in the gap at the end of the street. "Okay, thanks for your help."

  "You are actually police, aren't you?"

  "Do you want my warrant card number?"

  "No, I can see you."

  Cullen looked up at the window. Nothing. The other one, an old lady waving down at them. "The name's DC Scott Cullen if you're concerned."

  "Very well." The curtains twitched and she was gone.

  Cullen headed back to the car. "Where the hell's Vardy?"

  "I've no idea, mate." Buxton zapped the car. "So - pub, bookies or taxi company?"

  "Bookies, I think." Cullen shook his head. "We seek him here, we seek him there but Dean Vardy's not fucking
anywhere."

  Chapter 66

  Cullen put his phone to his ear, dialling Vardy again. No answer. Voicemail. "Where the hell is he?"

  "Hopefully in there." Buxton pulled in on double yellows outside the YouBet shop on Dalkeith Road, orange and purple paint gleaming in the sun, the front door on a corner with a leafy side street.

  Buxton undid his seat belt and got out. "Still not answering his phone?"

  "Aye. Convenient." Cullen slammed his door. "You came up here last week?"

  "We did, aye. Me and Chantal. Copies of their books relating to Lyle are in the case file. It all checked out, backed up by their bank statement."

  "Good." Cullen pushed past two men in their forties leaning against the wall either side of the door and opened it, avoiding breathing too much of their smoke.

  The interior shared the same colour scheme, the walls a matte orange, with the woodwork and floor in purple. An array of large TVs filled most of one wall, a ten-strong crowd of men watching a greyhound race, dogs tearing around a track to a wall of cheering and swearing.

  Cullen went up to the counter, the tattooed brute behind the grille as intent on the screens as the punters. He got out his warrant card and waved it. "We're looking for Mr Vardy."

  Tattoos sniffed before checking the screen again. A dragon crawled up his neck, red flames reaching one ear, balanced by a saltire behind the other. "He's not been in the day, pal."

  "Are you expecting him?"

  "He's not that hands on."

  "Have you heard from him?"

  "I told you, he's not that hands on. If I hear from him, I know I'm in trouble. I don't hear from him, things are good."

  "Anyone in here know where he might be?"

  Tattoos folded his arms, tight muscles flexing. "No. If I was you, I'd head down to the taxis or the boozer. He's not here."

  Cullen took a final look around, the punters' attention diverted to fruit machines and form guides now the race was over - nobody queuing for winnings. "Fine."

  "You could say thank you."

  Cullen ignored him, leaving the door open for Buxton. "He was a lovely man."

  "Should see the woman who was on when Chantal and I visited last week. He'd not last two rounds with her." Buxton unlocked the car and they got in. "Where next?"