by Ed James
"What about his past in Ireland?" he asked. "Any angry spouses or children?"
"Paddy always told lovely stories about his past," said Strachan. "He had never married or anything like that. Certainly not that he'd told us."
"Was there anyone here that he'd been involved with?" asked Cullen.
"Just Elspeth."
"Elspeth McLeish?"
Strachan nodded. "You've heard then?"
"I'm afraid not," said Cullen. "I just asked to speak to the current receptionist's predecessor, that's all."
Strachan hesitated for a few moments. "Well, Paddy'd had a thing with her," he said. "They'd been seeing each other for a good few months. They both liked a drink, so I don't think it was a particularly healthy relationship."
"Was Ms McLeish involved with anyone else?" asked Cullen.
"She always had a few guys on the go," said Strachan. "She never made a secret of it. Whether any of them would have wanted to kill Paddy, well you'd need to ask them that. I just know that there were some, that's all."
Cullen could see this case just exploding - hunting down ex-flames of an ex-receptionist for months. He didn't know what else to ask about Paddy - he suspected that Strachan could win Mastermind with 'the life and times of Paddy Kavanagh' as his specialist subject, and yet there really wasn't much to go on. If it was Paddy in the barrel, then the mystery of who killed him would be next to impossible. Ghoulish as it was, Cullen hoped that it was Iain Crombie in there - they were not exactly drowning in leads and suspects, but for Iain they at least had something to go on.
"Tell me about your relationship with Iain Crombie," said Cullen.
Strachan flinched slightly. He took a few seconds to compose himself. "Iain was a good lad," he said. "I knew him since he was yay high." He held his hand out at the approximate height of a seven or eight year old child. "I taught him everything he knew about whisky."
"So you don't think it's him in the barrel?" asked Cullen.
"I do not," said Strachan. "I think he's still out there."
"Any reason why?"
"I just do." Strachan rubbed his nose. "Iain left in strange circumstances, I'll give you that, but it doesn't mean that he's been murdered. One thing I'll say as well is that the barrel downstairs was filled three weeks before young Iain went missing. That's my biggest objection to your theory."
"We don't actually know that," said Cullen.
Strachan shrugged. "That's for your CSI boys and girls to show the rest of us, I suppose," he said.
"How did you get on with Iain?" asked Cullen.
Strachan rubbed at his nose again, almost polishing the surface. "Fine," he said. "He was a good lad. He knew his whisky, as I say. He was passionate about the product here. He was a fine heir to his father's legacy."
Cullen smiled at Strachan. "Go with me on this one," he said, "but assume that it's Iain in there, who would want to kill him?"
"It's not Iain in there," said Strachan.
"If it was," repeated Cullen.
Strachan took a few moments to think things through. Cullen watched his red face, a fat finger tracing the scar tissue across his bulbous nose. He tried to picture Strachan as the killer as Fraser Crombie seemed to be suggesting - assuming it was Iain in the barrel. He was a big man, grossly overweight now - his belly had stretched below the bottom of his polo shirt as he sat down - but Cullen tried to take eighteen years off. He pictured a strong man, one that liked a drink, one that was good with his hands. He'd waffled through his answers, barely requiring an interjection from Cullen, yet he wasn't prone to flowery language or answers. Cullen thought that Strachan was a simple man with a vice.
"I honestly can't think of anyone who would want to kill Iain Crombie," said Strachan.
"Nobody at all?"
"Honestly, no."
"What about the arguments he'd had with his brother?" asked Cullen, watching Strachan's eyes, the whites of his eyes stained yellow and lined with red.
"That was nothing," said Strachan. "They were always teasing each other. It's what boys do. That argument was just them posturing, you know? One said sugar, so the other had to say shite. It could very easily have been the other way round. It could so easily have been Fraser that was siding with independence and Iain that was pushing for a sale."
"Did it ever get violent?" asked Cullen.
Strachan didn't reply.
"What was the relationship between the brothers like?" asked Cullen.
Strachan screwed his face up. "It's not really for me to say," he said. "I've already told you all I know."
"Mr Strachan," said Cullen, "I would like to know if the relationship ever got violent."
Strachan took a deep breath. "Boys will be boys," he said.
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Cullen.
"There were a couple of times where they got into heated arguments which turned into fights," said Strachan. "Usually when they'd been drinking."
"How bad are we talking here?" asked Cullen.
Strachan frowned. "Nothing too bad," he said. "Slaps and a bit of grappling. That's all."
Cullen jotted it down. He doubted that pressing Strachan any more on the matter would yield anything. He tossed a few ideas around his head. He decided to go for it. "Did Iain ever catch you stealing whisky?"
The yellowy eyes suddenly squinted at Cullen. "I beg your bloody pardon?"
"Mr Strachan," said Cullen, leaning forward, "I need to know if you had been caught stealing whisky from here."
Strachan closed his eyes. "Look, if you want to accuse me of murder, then I suggest that you do it in a police station, and make sure that I have a lawyer with me."
"Mr Strachan," said Cullen, smiling, "this isn't a formal interview, we're not officially on the record here. We're just gathering information."
"Aye, right," spat Strachan. His eyes swept between Cullen and Caldwell. "If you bloody think that I don't know that the two of you wouldn't use some comment by me against me, then you must think I'm a bloody fool."
"All we want to know is your relationship with Iain Crombie," said Cullen.
"And I've bloody told you," replied Strachan. "You're wanting to frame me, get some sort of easy conviction here if it turns out to be Iain. I've heard stories, you know, sonny, about what the police get up to. It's all targets and statistics with you lot now, and you'll be looking at this as a few easy points. Am I right?"
Cullen smiled at him, trying to disarm him. He was on shaky ground here and really needed to watch his step. "We don't know that it's Iain that's in the barrel," he said, holding his hands out, palms up. "It could be anyone. I just want to know what happened - as much as anything, so that I can eliminate you from our enquiries should it turn out to be him."
Strachan looked down at his shoes for a moment. "Fine," he said. He rubbed his face then looked up at Cullen. "He caught me taking some whisky one night. I'd got about 800 mils."
"What were you going to do with it?"
"I was blending it at home," said Strachan, "getting a personal supply of the good stuff."
"Why?"
Strachan took a few moments to himself before he answered. "Because I'm an alcoholic," he said. "It's an illness I can't escape. I've tried AA but I just can't give it up."
Cullen had seen a fair few functioning alcoholics in the force - guys who could tuck a fair few pints and whiskies away and then be fresh as a daisy the following morning. It was an occupational hazard and one that Cullen could feel the continual draw of, even in the modern police force.
"Do you still steal from here?" asked Cullen.
Strachan shook his head. "No."
"Did Iain threaten to relieve you of your duties here when he caught you?"
Strachan scowled at Cullen. "I'm sorry?" He laughed. "It would have been a bloody blessing. This place needs me far more than I need it!" He stabbed his finger in the air. "I've had offers from all over Scotland, sonny, I could have worked at any distillery I bloody wanted. They didn't rate Ia
in Crombie or his father, they knew who was really doing all the magic." He stabbed the finger on his chest. "Me."
"I see."
"Who told you about this?" asked Strachan.
"I'm not at liberty to divulge that information, I'm afraid."
"It figures," said Strachan, sighing.
Cullen looked over at Caldwell - she was looking slightly shell-shocked. "Anything else from you?" he asked.
"No, I'm good," said Caldwell.
"Thanks for your time," said Cullen.
"Aye, cheers," said Strachan, his eyes shut.
They got up and left the man looking destroyed.
seventeen
Cullen chewed on a meatballs and cheese sub. He'd been across the road from Garleton Police Station to the Subway. His initial anathema to the brand had given way recently - Sharon was a big fan and they'd sometimes find themselves in there at the weekend. He had a large Coke and a bag of Walkers crisps, but he doubted he'd get tucked into them until mid-afternoon. Caldwell had gone for a chicken pesto special edition and Diet Coke.
"Where is he?" she asked.
The Incident Room was empty, save for a few hundred toilet rolls, some old chairs and desks, and a whiteboard, only slightly punched - a previous incident involving Bain had rendered one of its legs non-functional, so it rested against a wall.
Cullen finished chewing. "No idea," he said. "I expected them to be here." He pointed to the whiteboard. "He's been busy."
The whiteboard was covered in lots of scribbles. He took the last mouthful of sub and started reading through it. There were four large boxes on the board - Paddy, Iain, a question mark and 96/97. Cullen didn't know what was wrong with 95.
Around the Paddy box was very little detail, just the leads that Murray was chasing - the Paisley and Ireland leads were already scored through, leaving just Aberdeen. Bain had scribbled 'next' beside Aberdeen - Cullen hoped that it was being handled remotely and that he didn't have a trip up the A90 to look forward to.
The Iain box had more boxes around it - Fraser and Alec Crombie, Doug Strachan, Glastonbury, Glastonbury Girl and Frank Stanhope.
"It's about time that he pulled his finger out on this case," said Caldwell. "As far as I can tell, he's done nothing."
"Don't let him hear you say that," said Cullen, hearing voices from the corridor.
Bain stormed into the room, eyes blazing, stopping at the board. Murray followed him, looking lost, dragging PC Watson in his wake.
"So that's fuckin' Grampian out as well," said Bain, scoring the third of the leads out on the board.
Cullen wasn't sure whether he was informing him and Caldwell, or using repetition to castigate Murray.
"We've got fuckin' nowhere with this Paddy boy," said Bain, "despite your best efforts, DC Murray. You'd better hope against fuckin' hope that it turns out to be Iain Crombie in there, cos we're fucked otherwise. And it's your fuckin' fault." He looked over at Cullen. "You thought to get yourselves sandwiches."
Cullen raised his eyebrows. "We're the ones that have been out doing your dirty work for you," he said. "There are three sandwich shops in a two minute walk of here."
"Still could have fuckin' got me one," said Bain. He went over to the desk by the window. He rustled about in a carrier bag and produced a can of Red Bull clone. He downed it in one then crushed the can and tossed it in the bin. "So what have Batman and Robin been up to?" he asked.
Cullen took a long drink of the Coke, biding his time. He pointed up at the board. "Got a few more extensions to Iain," he said. "Plus some on Paddy."
"Give us the Paddy first," said Bain. He walked over to the board. "Shoot."
"Used to drink in a pub called the Tanner's Arms in Garleton," said Cullen. "He was a barfly, used to go there most nights and get mortal. Fraser Crombie and Doug Strachan both witnessed him getting into fights. So there's one."
Bain wrote the name of the pub down, then drew an arrow pointing to Regulars 1994. He looked over at Murray.
"Are you serious?" asked Murray.
"Yes," said Bain. "Get a list."
"How?"
"Mine is not to worry about the 'how', just the what I fuckin' want," said Bain. He held Murray's look for a few seconds longer than Cullen would have, before looking over. "Right, Sundance, have you got any more on him?"
"Only other thing was that he was having a fling with the receptionist at the time," said Cullen, "woman called Elspeth McLeish. She subsequently married."
"Elspeth?" asked Bain.
"That's what the current receptionist told me," said Cullen.
"I don't want to know what you had to do to her to get that information," said Bain. "So she could be Elizabeth, could be Elspeth, could be fuckin' Liz, Beth or Betty or pretty much fuckin' anythin'."
"The receptionist was going to look through the files," said Cullen.
Bain chuckled. "This is a company that found two extra barrels of whisky," he said. "I don't fancy our fuckin' chances."
"Doug Strachan also mentioned that it was Paddy's landlady that reported him missing," said Caldwell.
"Strachan is going to try and find a name and address for her," said Cullen.
"Great, so a fuckin' lush is pretty much our only lead in this fuckin' case?" asked Bain.
"It might be in the case file," said Caldwell. "If she reported him missing…?"
Bain nodded. "Stuart, get onto it," he said. He grinned. "You need a proper nickname by the way."
"You seem to call me McLaren a lot," said Murray, referring to his colleague, DC Ewan McLaren.
"Less cheek," said Bain.
"How about I get out there looking for Tanner's Arms regulars," said Murray, "while PC Watson looks through the file?"
"Thought you were supposed to be the Detective?" asked Bain.
"Suit yourself," said Murray.
"So did you get anything more?" asked Bain, looking at Caldwell.
"Not on Paddy," said Cullen. "Other than that he was a drifter and he used to travel far and wide at the weekends."
"Great, fuckin' magic," said Bain. He drew on a few more boxes around Paddy.
Murray's phone went. He held it up to Bain. "Better take this," he said. "It's the gaffer." He left the room.
"Fuckin' gaffer my arse," said Bain. "I'm the only gaffer that matters just now."
Cullen grimaced. "We got a few things on Iain Crombie," he said.
"Go on," said Bain.
"Alec Crombie, Fraser Crombie and Doug Strachan were both adamant," said Cullen, "that the body in the barrel was Paddy Kavanagh."
"I hope that you were keeping an open fuckin' mind, Cullen," said Bain.
Cullen smiled at Bain, though he was grinding his teeth. "Of course," he said.
"So what do you think, Sundance?"
"They were all certain that it couldn't possibly be Iain," said Cullen, "but we should maybe consider it being someone else."
"If it's not this Paddy boy and it's not Iain, then who the fuck is it?" shouted Bain.
"Someone else on the list that Angela got," said Cullen, with a shrug. "Or maybe someone from earlier."
Bain drew another circle around the box with the question mark inside. "Right, what have you pair found out about Iain Crombie?" he asked. "It better be more than 'he was called Iain and he disappeared'."
"We spoke to Stanhope, the DS that investigated at the time," said Cullen. "As I explained earlier, there was a girl involved with Iain at Glastonbury and that was the reason he stayed on. Fraser Crombie didn't tell anyone, other than Stanhope."
"Why not?"
"Turns out he was married," said Cullen. "She's remarried and is now called Marion Parrott."
"Like the fuckin' bird?" asked Bain, grinning.
"An extra 'T'," said Cullen.
Cullen had worked with a Sergeant called Parrott out in West Lothian - he obviously took no end of stick, but the name had its roots in France and, more locally, the small Ayrshire town of Kilwinning. Cullen wondered if they were so
me distant relations.
"She lives in Gullane," added Cullen, "and I was thinking of going and speaking to her."
"Fine," said Bain. He scribbled Marion up on the board. Murray reappeared just then to a withering look from Bain.
"One thing we did find out, though," said Cullen, "was that Iain had fallen out with both Doug Strachan and his brother before he disappeared."
"You think those pair could be suspects?" asked Bain.
Cullen frowned. "If it is Iain in there, then maybe," he said. "According to Fraser and his father, the two brothers had made up before their trip to Glastonbury."
"What were they arguing about?" asked Bain.
"There was some talk of a takeover," said Cullen, flipping through his notebook. "Iain and Alec were against it, they wanted to stay independent. Fraser wanted to sell out and incorporate themselves in the bigger company."
"And they argued about this?"
"Yes," said Cullen. "It was quite notorious. They were close to cancelling the festival trip. They had some family meal and made up."
"Right, so this Fraser boy looks like a suspect?" asked Bain.
"I'd say so," said Cullen. "There was something with Strachan, though, as well."
"He looks like he drinks like a fuckin' fish," said Bain.
"Exactly that," said Cullen. "Iain Crombie caught him stealing unblended whisky."
"Isn't that like drinking fuckin' meths?" asked Bain.
"Wouldn't put it past him," said Caldwell.
The four officers shared a laugh. Cullen thought he saw the tension in Bain slacken slightly.
"He was going to blend it himself at home," said Cullen. "Remember, these are guys who do this for a living, year in, year out. He knows exactly what he's doing."
"So why wasn't he sacked?" asked Bain.
"Strachan reckons that they couldn't sack him," said Cullen. "He was too heavily embedded in the process. The whisky would be crap without him, he reckons."
"Oh, for the fuckin' love of goodness," said Bain. He turned back to the whiteboard, took the cap off the marker and started scribbling away on the board. He drew lines from Iain to Fraser and Strachan and scribbled 'Argument 1' and 'Argument 2' on the respective lines. He tapped his finger on Alec Crombie. "What about the old man?" he asked.