Fire in the Blood (Scott Cullen Mysteries) (16 page)

"Don't say anything to Bain," said Murray. "All right?"

"Wasn't planning to," said Cullen.

"Fine."

Murray got out of the car quickly and slammed the door. When Cullen got out, Murray was leaning across the roof, staring at him. "Do you want to show me how it's done?" he asked.

Cullen raised his hands up. "I was just saying," he said. "I know how Bain thinks - he'll be chipping away at you."

Murray closed his eyes. "Fine, then," he said, "I'll lead."

Ten minutes later, they were sitting in a TV lounge inside the sheltered housing. To Cullen, it was more like a retirement home - he'd expected individual flats rather than rooms - but the warden had explained that they liked to encourage them to be social, so they had a few TV lounges throughout the building. When they'd entered, the volume had been ridiculously loud, even though the room was empty. The warden quickly muted it before retrieving Catherine Wilsenham.

Wilsenham was a frail old woman, at least eighty in Cullen's estimation. Cullen was surprised that they still did blue rinses, but she had one. She struggled to walk any distance without a Zimmer frame and Cullen imagined that she wasn't too far away from going into a proper home. She would have been mid 60s when she had reported Paddy missing. She was sharp, though, and could recount minutiae from the distant past.

Murray questioned her, and they'd gleaned the same stuff they had from her as they had from Strachan, the Crombies and others. Paddy was a drifter, used to disappear for long weekends every so often and then magically reappear, ready and raring for a week's work. She took fifteen full minutes to describe the morning of her visit to Garleton police station - then a fully operational station - to report that Paddy Kavanagh had gone missing, even recalling the name of the officer who had taken her statement.

"He used to like a drink, you know," she said. "I'm teetotal, myself. I would have a sherry with Christmas dinner when my Gerald was still around, but I've abstained for the last fifteen years since he passed on." Her eyes darted between Cullen and Murray. "Paddy was another matter entirely, though. He was always up the high street at the Tanner's Arms." She bristled. "That was a bad place. It was full of rough sorts, you know, the sort that would sell anything for the price of the next drink."

"Was Paddy ever thrown out?" asked Murray.

Wilsenham frowned. "I believe that he was asked to leave on occasion," she said, "whenever he'd had a bit much to drink or one of the other patrons had said something unsavoury to him. Why?"

Murray smiled. "Just corroborating some information," he said. He looked at his notebook. "Could we go back to his travels?"

"Why, certainly," said Wilsenham, "though I'm not sure that I can add much information to what you may already know. I mean," and she laughed, "we weren't exactly travelling companions."

Murray pretended to laugh. "I understand that," he said. "What I was wondering was if there were people that Mr Kavanagh would be off to visit? Did he have any family up north, for instance?"

She lost herself for a few seconds deep in thought. "He did have some family," she said. "I can't remember where exactly, but he did occasionally go and meet some relatives."

Cullen shared a look with Murray. In the seemingly endless and pointless hunt for Paddy Kavanagh, the fact that he had some relatives possibly somewhere was a massive breakthrough.

Murray sat forward on the sofa and held his hands out, palms facing upwards in a gesture Cullen regularly used. "Mrs Wilsenham," he said, "Mr Kavanagh is either a potential murder victim, or he is a missing person. If you could try and remember where his family were, it could aid our investigation immeasurably."

Wilsenham turned to the side and looked out of the window, across the car park. It was still full daylight outside, though Cullen imagined that the early commuters would be heading home, some already in East Linton. She looked back at Murray, her swift movements in stark contrast to the drunken motion of Eric Knox. "I can't recall, I'm afraid."

Cullen cut in. "Was this mentioned to the original investigation?" he asked.

"You know, I don't think it was," said Wilsenham.

"We know that Mr Kavanagh used to travel," said Cullen. "Near Aberdeen, Aviemore, the western islands, down to Northumberland. Could they have been in any of these locations?"

A light suddenly went on in her eyes. "You know, I think he had family just outside Newcastle," she said. "For some reason, Morpeth springs to mind."

Cullen knew Morpeth - he'd visited there with Sharon a few months previously. It was an old market town, but it had been invaded by what could only be described as townies. They'd stopped off on a Sunday afternoon, but it felt like a Saturday night elsewhere, girls in micro skirts and boob tubes, lads in shirts and trousers.

"Morpeth?" asked Murray.

Wilsenham nodded. "Yes, Morpeth, for certain."

An hour later, and they were back at Garleton station. Murray was busy typing up the statement from Wilsenham - he'd get Watson to take it to her the following day and get it signed.

Cullen had spent the time looking through the reports that Watson and Caldwell had produced, putting off setting finger to keyboard for his own report. Of Bain - or any work he may have produced - there was no sign.

"How much should I put down?" asked Murray.

Cullen looked over from the desk he was sat at. "Just the salient facts," he said.

"So, what, he knew some people in Morpeth?" asked Murray.

Cullen grinned. "We were there for an hour and that was all we managed to get," he said.

"That woman could talk," muttered Murray.

Caldwell looked up from the far end of the room. "Any chance you love birds could give it a rest?" she asked. She held up the box of personal effects that they'd got from Marion Parrott pertaining to Iain Crombie. "I'm still not even half way through and our glorious leader will go mental if I haven't finished."

"Any idea where he is?" asked Cullen.

"He's not been here for the last hour or so," she said. "Before that, he was pissing about at the whiteboard and writing some stuff up."

Cullen's phone rang. He looked at the display - Bain. He answered it.

"Sundance, could you get back to the Incident Room?" asked Bain.
 

Cullen could hear his voice travelling down the corridor. "We're already here," he said, and ended the call.

Bain marched into the room with a puzzled look on his face, PC Watson following him. "Right, you lot, gather round," he called. He went over to the whiteboard and wrote some notes in the bottom right corner. Cullen and Murray slowly wandered over, Murray stopping halfway over to crack his spine. They pulled seats over and sat down in a very small semi-circle. Bain uncapped the black marker pen.

"That looks like a flip chart pen," said Caldwell. "You don't want to write on a whiteboard with one of them."

Bain checked the marker. A few seconds later he glared at her. "It's a fuckin' whiteboard pen," he said. "You cheeky little…" He trailed off to general laughter in the room.

Bain looked at his watch. "Right," he said. "It's half six now. I've got to head back to Leith Walk to update Turnbull and Cargill on this case." He said Cargill with a sneer, clearly resenting having to report progress to someone at the same level as him. "I need quick updates on what you lot have found out." He looked at Murray. "Stuart, can you start?"

Murray cleared his throat. "DC Cullen and I have spoken to two acquaintances of Paddy Kavanagh," he said. "Eric Knox was a co-worker at Dunpender Distillery and also a drinking buddy. He had clearly been drinking this afternoon and wasn't exactly holding himself together. The only useful information we managed to get from him was the name of Mr Kavanagh's landlady, Catherine Wilsenham. We went and spoke to her in East Linton and she's managed to back up a lot of the information we already have on him. She did mention that he had some family in Morpeth, just north of Newcastle."

"That's Northumbria Constabulary, right?" asked Bain.

"Yes," said Murray, "I believe so."

"Sounds like you've fuckin' bothered your arse for once, then," said Bain. "Got anything more on these Morpeth people?"

"I've run a search," said Murray, "and there are two Kavanaghs living in Morpeth. Also need to think about the possibility of it being a married female relative."

"Next steps?"

"I was going to get in touch with the local police," said Murray, "see if they have anything further before I approach the relatives directly."

"Why?" asked Bain.

Murray rolled his shoulders. "If Paddy is still alive then we need to speak to him," he said. "We don't want him running."

"What the fuck are you talkin' about?" asked Bain. "If it's not Paddy in the barrel, it's Iain. Right?"

"Ninety percent," said Cullen. Bain's eyes focused on Cullen, the ice blue almost freezing him. "We would still need to positively confirm that it's Iain Crombie in there, supposing that Paddy is still alive." He rubbed at his ear. "What DC Murray is referring to is that we think there is something funny going on. Iain and Paddy disappeared within three weeks of each other. We suspect that they might be involved in the other's murder."

"Fuck sake, Sundance," said Bain, "I have absolutely no idea where you get half this shite from." He shook his head. "Try and keep it simple for once, eh? Baby steps. We don't want to fuck this one up."

"Wasn't intending on fucking anything up," said Cullen.

"You never do," said Bain. "Doesn't fuckin' stop you."

Cullen bit his bottom lip, chewing some skin off and tasting some blood. He closed his eyes and tried to stop rising to Bain's bait. "We'd like to go and speak to the people in Morpeth, and then see where it takes us," he said.

Bain nodded. "Fine," he said, "but you're not going." He looked at Murray. "Turnbull has secured your partner in crime, DC Murray."

Murray grinned. "You mean McLaren?"

"Fuck sake!" shouted Bain. "Of course I fuckin' do." He pointed a finger at Murray. "Would you fuckin' stop correctin' me?" He put his hands back in his trouser pockets. "Pick up your buddy first thing tomorrow then you can head down the A1 and get stuck behind a fuckin' bread lorry on the single carriageway bits."

"Thanks," said Murray.

"Heard anything back from Ireland?" asked Bain.

Murray squirmed. "No," he said. "Still nothing."

"Which is what I've fuckin' been doing," said Bain. "Phoning your buddies in Ireland. None of those Paddy Kavanaghs that you found is our boy. Back to square one. Hopefully we can get fuckin' somewhere."

Bain looked at Caldwell next. "Right, Batgirl," he said, "hopefully you've got something more than this pair of clowns has."

"Wish I had," she said, looking down at her notebook. "I've been through the box of Iain Crombie's documentation, but I've not found anything even vaguely relating to a life insurance policy. There are still new letters coming in every year, but none relate to life insurance." She flicked the page. "Of course, that's half the battle. I need to get a search done with insurers to check that he didn't have one. That might be slightly tricky."

Bain grinned. "Well, I'm glad that one of my officers has been doing some proper work," he said, eyes on Cullen.

Cullen folded his arms. "And what great police work have you done while we've been wasting our time on activities allocated by you?" he asked.

Bain screwed his eyes up at him. "I've been fuckin' busy," he said. He pointed towards Murray. "Been on the phone to the Garda in Ireland. Seem to remember having to do that before cos one of you fuckin' lot couldn't be bothered doin' it properly." He counted off on his fingers. "Second, young Watson and I have been speaking to local officers who may or may not have dealt with Paddy back in the day. Got fuckin' nowhere, other than North Berwick, Haddington and Dunbar police stations. Fuckin' useless." He counted a third finger. "Young Watson has been speaking to a few of the workers at the Distillery, including Strachan and both Crombies. No telltale splashes of whisky were ever found between 1994 and 1997 that would point to the body having been put in the barrel outside a standard cycle." He took a deep breath. "Finally, we went to see your pal Stanhope at his fuckin' caravan. Senile old bastard told us nothin'. Waste of time."

"What do you want us to do, then?" asked Cullen.

Bain flared his nostrils out. "Right, Sundance, I want you lookin' into this bird that Iain was supposed to be off with," he said. "Anything you can find. If it's a dead end, it's a dead end."

"Fine," said Cullen.

"Murray, you and McLean head to Morpeth," said Bain.

"McLaren," corrected Murray.

Bain glowered at him. "I'm fuckin'
warnin
' you."

Murray held his hands up in protest. "I just want to make sure that we're being precise and there's not some other officer I'm supposed to take," he said.

Bain held his eye contact for a few seconds then looked over at Caldwell. "Batgirl, if you continue your search into Iain Crombie's policies and anything else," he said. "Actually, you might as well look for Paddy at the same time."

"Great," said Caldwell, "add a week on…"

"Right, you can all piss off home," said Bain.

"When and where do you want us tomorrow?" asked Cullen.

"I don't give a shit," said Bain. "If we can rendezvous here at 2pm then I'll be a happy man."

Cullen was going to head to Leith Walk first thing.

Cullen pulled up behind a sporty orange Ford Focus, not exactly subtle. He killed the engine and got out of his car, carrying a box. He walked over to the passenger side and tapped on the window. The door opened.

"How's your bollocks?" asked DC Chantal Jain.

Cullen grinned. "You never change do you?" he asked.

Chantal worked as part of the wider Turnbull team. Cullen had worked with her for over a year, but never particularly close to her.

Sharon got out of the driver side. "Would you pair stop flirting," she hissed. "We're supposed to be observing."