Windchill (11 page)

Cullen got to his feet, relieved to be getting back to something resembling proper work.

"Not you, Cullen."

Cullen sat, arms crossed, waiting for Buxton to leave the room. "What is it, sir?"

"I need you to maintain focus, Constable."

"I am."

"This isn't a jolly. You're not in here to get rich at the taxpayers' expense."

"I'm hardly going to get rich, sir. Twice nothing's nothing, right?"

"Don't give me that."

"Why are you in today? You gave me this big spiel about showing I can lead and yet you're here, taking charge."

"Yes, well, Superintendent Turnbull called me last night, just after I got home. He impressed on me how important it is to get a result. I'm taking it on myself to liaise with the press." Methven held his gaze. "I meant every word I said yesterday."

"So did I, sir." Cullen stared at the desk.

"And?"

"I'm thinking about it." Cullen left the room and cleared Methven's line of sight, his heart racing. He took a moment to compose himself. Failed. He punched the wall just by the stairwell.

"Good news then?"

Cullen looked at the door, Buxton grinning at him. "Can't believe that wanker. Micromanaging me yet again."

"You're being a princess again, mate."

"Am I? People keep saying that but I've had to deal with Bain, Irvine and Methven. It's a miracle I get anything done."

"You're being such a diva, mate. Quit it."

Cullen flared his nostrils. Was he? Really? Maybe... He nodded. "Fuck it, come on. We need to get somewhere with that taxi."

Chapter 24

"No, we're looking for any drop-offs to Woodhall Millbrae in Juniper Green between eight o'clock and nine on the twenty-third." Cullen sat at his desk in their office space, phone to his ear, feet up.

"With you now." The man on the other end of the phone yawned, taking a few seconds to complete it. "Sorry, pal, our system's going slower than a bi- Sorry, it's going slow."

"How slow?"

"I'll have to get back to you."

Cullen let out a sigh. "Okay. Can you call me on this number?"

"Will do, pal. Sorry about this."

"Just be quick." Cullen raised his pen over his notebook. "What's your name?"

"Dodie."

"Thanks, Dodie." Cullen scribbled it down. He put his phone down on the desk and plugged in the power cable. He glanced over at Buxton, still on a call, before looking down his list. Second last of the taxi firms on his half, unable to put a cross against it. He picked up his phone and dialled the last one, the cable stretching to the limit of its reach.

"Southside Cars, Denise speaking."

"Good morning, it's DC Scott Cullen from Police Scotland's Specialised Crime Division. I need to trace a taxi that dropped someone off in Woodhall Millbrae in Juniper Green on the twenty-third. Between eight and nine."

"Oh, my sister stays out that way. It's lovely." Furious tapping of keys. "Just a second."

Cullen looked across the deserted office - Buxton made eye contact, looking like he was just wrapping up his own call. He shrugged then made a gesture for a coffee.

Cullen shook his head as Denise came back on the line. "Sorry, sir. Thanks for waiting. We've no cars dropping off on that street until after one o'clock in the morning yesterday."

"Okay. Thanks for your time." Cullen ended the call and dumped his phone on the desk. Marked an 'X' against Southside Cars.

"Sorry, mate, did you want a coffee?"

Cullen looked up. "I thought you were asking if I wanted a pint."

"Too early for that, mate."

"True." Cullen scored out Southside Cars from his list. "That's me out of numbers. How are you getting on?"

"Same. Got one hit but the stupid twat was confused between Millbrae and Milton Road. Thank God he's not driving the motors."

"True." Cullen looked down his list, line by line. He jumped as his phone rang. Unknown number. "Cullen."

"Hi, pal, it's Dodie from Currie Cabs."

"Have you got anything for me?"

"Aye. Got two drop offs after eight. One at eight thirty-nine and one at nine fifty."

Cullen scribbled it in his notebook. "Where was the eight thirty-nine picked up from?"

"Eh, George Street. Hailed on the street."

"Do you know who hired the cab?"

"Sorry, pal. Cash transaction."

"Would we be able to speak to the driver?"

Chapter 25

Dougie Johnson sat in the interview room in St Leonard's, leaning back on the cracked plastic of the chair and resting an Adidas Samba on the shin of the other leg. "Aye, buddy, I think I picked the boy up on George Street."

Cullen stretched out his hands. "You think?"

"Aye." Johnson sniffed then swallowed. "You going to keep being arsey here? I came in out of my own volition and you're acting like I did something."

"Sorry, sir, that's not the case." Cullen stared hard at the man, pink shirt peeking out of the navy Adidas tracksuit top, bookie's pen resting behind an ear. "You say you picked up 'the boy'?"

"Aye."

"There was only one person?"

"No, buddy. The boy hailed me, but there were two of them. Bloke and a bird. All over each other, I can tell you. Had to tilt my rearview to get a loo-" A cough. "I mean, to avoid what was going on."

Cullen scratched the back of his neck. This didn't make any sense. "Tell us about the man who hailed the cab?"

"Big lad. Forties, I think. Looked like he played rugby. The bird he was with was mid-twenties maybe. Quite a fit lass."

Cullen got out his phone and flicked to a photo of McCoull, beaming, at a rugby club event. "Was this him?"

Johnson took hold of the phone and stared at it for a few seconds. "Afraid not."

Shite. "This definitely wasn't the man you saw?"

"Aye, buddy. Definitely not him. He was a slaphead." Johnson's eyes darted between Cullen and Buxton. "I mean he was bald. Plus this guy's more a back than a prop forward."

Cullen stared up at the ceiling. Not their man. "Mr Johnson, we're investigating a murder. Any information you can provide could be extremely useful. Did you see anything unusual in that street when you dropped him off?"

"Not really. Nice part of town, I suppose. Go there quite a lot, given I work in Currie. Wouldn't buy a house there, mind, global warming will knacker it. The Water Of Leith will burst its banks and where would you be? No thanks, Charlie, no thanks."

Cullen had half a mind to section the bugger. "Were there any other cars on the road?"

"Not really." Johnson screwed up his face, the stubble on his chin almost touching his eyelashes. "There was another cab, mind."

"You saw another taxi?"

"Aye. He flashed us on my way down the hill, just as he was coming up."

"So he was there first?"

"Aye. Be about twenty to nine, I reckon." Johnson reached down to tie a lace. "I know the boy, though."

Chapter 26

Cullen got out of the car and stormed off down Bath Street, stopping outside the taxi shop. Scowling, he stared back down the street, the cold air blasting from the beach to their right. The Chinese restaurant next door was already starting to fry up, the thick cooking smell spewing out of the vents high up on the shopfront.

The windows in the flats and houses revealed a mix of busy family occasions, empty rooms or - what he was missing at home - couples slumped in front of the TV, bottles already open. "Not been back here in a while."

"I'm sure someone will be organising an open-top bus tour to commemorate."

"Cheeky fucker." Cullen opened the door and entered the taxi office.

A fat man sat behind the counter. The only decoration was a plastic tree covered in a few strings of tinsel. He clicked his jaw and sucked his teeth. "Can I help you, pal?"

"Police Scotland." Cullen showed his warrant card. "I'm glad you're open today."

"Busiest day of the year for us, son. Except for New Year's Day, obviously." He cackled with laughter. "Keeps us away from our families, too. More of a blessing for them, I suppose."

"I can imagine."

"Anyway, how can I help? Take it you're not after a transfer to the airport, am I right?"

"Correct. We're looking to speak to one of your drivers, name of Billy Hogan."

"Aye, sure thing." The man got to his feet, stretching his shoulders back before thumbing behind him. "Billy's just through the back there on his break."

Cullen nodded at it. "Mind if we head through?"

"Be my guest, son."

Cullen pushed open the door behind him and entered the room. Two male telephone operators contended with the constant chirruping of incoming calls. The room stank of sweat, instant coffee and stale cigarette smoke. A waiting area lay off to the side of the office space, a skinny man with a moustache squinting at a golfing magazine, a mug of tea steaming in front of him.

Cullen walked up to him, standing over him. "Billy Hogan?"

"Aye." The thin man tossed the magazine on the coffee table in front of him. "Who's asking?"

"DC Scott Cullen." Cullen sat next to him, warrant card out. "We understand you had a fare to Juniper Green at about eight fifteen on the night of the twenty-third?"

"I did, aye." Billy coughed, his lungs rattling with the effort. "That Woodhall Millbrae."

"Where from?"

"George Street."

Cullen rummaged in his pocket for his phone. "Who was your passenger?"

"Boy in his forties, hailed the cab."

Cullen swiped to a photo of Steven McCoull. "Was this him?"

Billy took the photo and inspected it. "Could be, aye. Boy wasn't smiling, though, I can tell you that."

"The man's name is Steven McCoull. He died later that night." Cullen pocketed his phone, watching Billy for a reaction. Nothing. "Tell us about you picking him up."

Billy shrugged. "Like I said, I just picked the boy up on the street. George Street. Outside Tigerlily's."

Cullen frowned. That was a few doors down from where he expected. "Not from the Living Room?"

"No. Tigerlily's."

"What time was this?"

"Just a sec." Billy stabbed a finger at his phone, before swiping and prodding. "Eight twelve p.m. according to our system."

Cullen checked Buxton was making notes. "Was he alone?"

"Nope."

"Who was he with?"

"See, that's the thing. I didn't get a great look at the boy he was with."

"Boy?"

"Aye. It was definitely a bloke, like."

"An adult?"

"Aye."

"Did you speak to either of them before they got in?"

"For the third time, the lad in your photo flagged us down from across the road. I had to pull across the street to get them. Asked for Juniper Green, Woodhall Millbrae. Nice bit there, down by the river and that. Boy'd clearly had a few ales, shall we say."

"But you didn't speak to his companion?"

"No." Billy shook his head. "The boy he was with sat right behind us. This McCoull guy sat diagonal from him, so I got a good look at him."

"But not who he was with?"

"Right, aye."

"What
did
you see of him?"

"Just his back."

"Not his head?"

"Nope. Had one of them parka jackets on. Couldn't see anything, I'm afraid."

"Okay." Cullen took a moment to think it through - McCoull had left the bar in a hurry and got picked up just minutes later with company. What happened in that time? "Was the street busy?"

"Not bad. Usual. People milling about. Not like three a.m. busy, nothing like that."

"Okay." Cullen got to his feet, handing him a business card. "Give me a call the second you recall anything about this man, okay?"

"Sure thing, son."

Chapter 27

"That was a complete waste of time." Buxton slumped at the desk, the floor around them completely empty. "Total waste of time."

"Not really." Cullen hung his suit jacket on the back of his chair. "We found out McCoull definitely met someone on George Street."

"I suppose." Buxton nodded. "That CCTV still hasn't turned up yet."

"Shite." Cullen sat, hands clamping his legs. "Can you chase them up?"

"I'll see what I can do. It's Christmas Day, remember."

"You don't need to remind me. At least Crystal's not about." Cullen picked up Caldwell's report and started leafing through it - it pertained to McCoull's financial arrangements. He glanced over at Buxton. "Did you check on any crimes in McCoull's street?"

"Thought Angela was doing that?"

"Doesn't look like she got round to it."

"Fine, boss." Buxton jotted a note down. "Another on the long list of stupid tasks for me to do."

"Cheers."

Buxton held his gaze for a few seconds before glancing away. "You know you can talk about the drinking with me, right?"

Cullen sighed. Buxton was a good lad for drinking with but talking about anything other than football or the job? Fuck it. "Sharon reckons I should cut down."

"And?"

"Don't know if I can face this without drinking."

"There's a difference between cutting down and getting absolutely fucked every time you go for just the one. It's never just the one, though, is it?"

"You can talk."

"Lashing out there. Classy. It's true, mate."

Cullen scowled at him. "I'm not like that, am I?"

"Yeah, you are."

"Shite."

"Is this about the baby you guys lost?"

Cullen blinked. Grit in his eye. "It might be."

"You've never talked to anyone about it, have you?"

Cullen sighed. "Who's there to talk to?"

"You've got a counsellor."

"Yeah, I've not seen him for a while, though."

"Maybe you should."

"Do you honestly think I drink too much?"

"Maybe."

"Bloody hell." Cullen swallowed. Maybe there was something in it. "So, do you think I should cut down?"

"Probably."

"I'll think about it."

"Busy, are we?" Methven popped his head around the door. "Do either of you fancy a bacon roll?"

Cullen shook his head. "I'm fine."

Buxton nodded. "Brown sauce, cheers."

Methven left them to it, pacing off down the length of the office space, hand in his pocket.