Windchill (13 page)

"Was going to?"

"There was a fire." Evelyn sucked in breath. "Richard's house burnt down. It wasn't suspicious, or so they said." She leaned forward, tears welling in her eyes. "Richard's family were in it, his wife and two children. They all died."

"Where was the house?"

"It was on our street, two doors down. I think it's just been rebuilt."

"This was ten years ago, though?"

"I think so."

"So why did it take them so long to rebuild?"

"Richard disappeared. Nobody knew where he'd gone."

Cullen raised his eyebrows. "He just disappeared?"

"He did."

"Was it reported to the police?"

"It was but nobody knew what happened. Nobody's seen him since. That was one of the problems with Steven's discharge, that Richard had just disappeared like that."

"Why did he go?"

"I just don't think he could cope with the loss. Losing his wife and children like that..." Evelyn sniffed. "When the business fell apart, Richard was having a very hard time. The failing business was all on his head. Steven was much more on the sales side, I think; going and speaking to people. Richard was managing their money. His mother was on a ventilator at the same time. He wasn't allowed to turn it off. His mother and his business died just like that."

"So they thought Mr Airth committed suicide?"

"That was how they initially approached it, I think." She looked away. "They never found a body, though."

"Is he still alive?"

"I think so." Evelyn nodded her head. "I get a Christmas card from him every year. It turns up on Christmas Eve. Hand-delivered. I've never caught him yet."

"Did you get one this year?"

"Yes."

"Would we be able to see it?"

"Of course." Evelyn got up and wandered out of the room, Cullen clocking Buxton's eyes follow her.

Buxton switched his focus to Cullen. "What are you thinking here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I can see that glint in your eyes."

"We need look into this." Cullen recapped his pen. "Feels like we're finally onto something."

"She's still my favourite for it."

Cullen smirked. "I don't doubt she's your favourite."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

Evelyn walked back into the room, holding some papers. "Here, this is the only one I could find." She fanned it out. "I've got a couple of photos."

"Thanks." Cullen held up the photo so Buxton could see as well. Three men at a rugby function, bow ties let down, collars open. One of them was Steven McCoull, but the others looked like they could be brothers - large, round heads covered with beards and thick, curly hair. "Who are these with your ex-husband?"

"That's Donald Ingram and Richard Airth on the right."

Cullen scowled at the photo. Where did he recognise Airth from?

Chapter 31

"Constable." Methven stood in the meeting room, jangling the keys in his pocket. "Have you got a result yet?"

Cullen waited for Buxton to enter the room before shutting the door behind him. "Not yet."

"Well, what the sodding hell have you been doing?"

"We've just been speaking to Young and Evelyn McCoull. We might have something, sir."

"Go on."

"Couple of things. First, McCoull was being investigated by HMRC for tax fraud. Nothing major, just a ten grand golf club membership he'd been fiddling as expenses. It's a grey area, it might've been okay. I'm not an expert."

"Still, ten grand sounds reasonably major." Methven sucked his teeth. "What was the other thing?"

"Turns out McCoull was declared bankrupt ten years ago." Cullen tossed the photo on the table, tapping Airth's head. "His partner in the business, a guy called Richard Airth, disappeared after a house fire killed his family."

"And you think he could've killed McCoull?"

"It's possible."

"Find him."

"I've got a call out to the investigating officer, sir. Same guy did the fire and the disappearance."

"Very well." Methven glowered at Buxton. "I got you that bacon roll but you weren't here."

"Sorry, sir, we had a lead."

"I don't like having to eat two rolls, Constable, especially when one was supposed to be a gift. And when it's covered in brown sauce." Methven put his suit jacket on, pushing the meeting room chair back under the table. "Keep me apprised of your progress. I'm off to the
Scotsman
. Got to sodding do this one-to-one while the media office are eating turkey in front of the Queen."

Cullen watched him leave the room and march through the almost-empty office space. "What a guy."

Buxton creased his forehead. "He's not gay, is he?"

"I said
guy
."

"Right." Buxton went back to typing on his laptop.

Cullen picked up the photo and stared at it. It still looked familiar. Who was it?

His phone rang. Unknown number. "Hello?"

"Is that DS Scott Cullen?"

"It is. Who's this?"

"PC Johnny Stewart. I investigated the Richard Airth case back in the day."

"Thanks for calling me back. Surprised you're working today."

"Aye. I'm out in Wester Hailes now, sadly. Run off our bloody feet. I miss Colinton and Fairmilehead."

"The reason I wanted to speak to you was Mr Airth's business partner, a Steven McCoull, was murdered the other night."

"Christ."

"I want to know if there was anything suspicious surrounding Mr Airth's disappearance."

"The whole thing was suspicious, if you ask me." Stewart exhaled down the line. "We'd no idea what happened. He just fell off the map."

"I understand there was a house fire?"

"Aye. His whole family was killed. We took that as the reason Airth scarpered."

"Because of the trauma or because you suspected he caused it?"

"The trauma. He was in Glasgow at the time doing some business deal through there. We triple-checked the alibi. It was rock solid - no funny business like you get sometimes."

"Did you speak to Steven McCoull as part of your investigation?"

"We did, aye. Nothing jumped out at us about him, I'm afraid. Well, other than the whole business thing."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Ach, just the fact both houses were tied up in the business. We didn't really buy the fire being entirely innocent."

"You said both houses were tied up?"

"Well, only McCoull's was secured against it. They were trying to do something with Airth's. Just looked suspicious. Business teetering on the brink. House fire. Insurance job written all over it."

"Right. And was it?"

"Think the insurer eventually paid out, but the money went straight to the tax man."

"Okay. Any idea what happened to Airth?"

"No, sorry. We searched high and low for him. Had a team of four looking for him at one point. Notices went all across the country and down south. Not a sausage."

"Cheers." Cullen ended the call and stared across the meeting room. He picked up the photo of Airth.

Where are you, Richard Airth?

He looked up at the ceiling tiles, focusing on a dark brown mark in the corner of one then glanced over at Buxton, fingers tapping the laptop keys. "You got a second?"

Buxton didn't look up. "I'm trying to finish typing this report up."

"I want to run something by you."

"Fire away." Buxton shut the lid on the laptop.

"Let's start over again, okay? What do we know?"

Buxton folded his arms. "First, McCoull was in the Living Room on the twenty-third. Bolted out of there. Got a taxi home."

"Aye. Not alone, either."

Buxton scratched his right eyebrow. "According to that Gellatly geezer, McCoull was staring out the window for a while, most likely at his companion, the parka-wearing man."

Cullen looked at the photo again, tapping it a few times. "I'm thinking Richard Airth is our most likely suspect."

"You think he's parka man?"

"Aye. He's disappeared after a house fire killed his family. McCoull dies in a fire. Fight fire with fire."

"That's a bit of a stretch, mate."

"I know. It's what I do best." Cullen chucked the photo down on the desk. "Did you get a chance to look at the CCTV?"

Buxton lifted the laptop's lid again. "Think they're in here somewhere."

"I take it that means you didn't look at it?"

"Mm."

"Any idea where?"

"Sorry, I'm in the zone here, mate."

"I'll believe that when I see it." Cullen hauled himself to his feet and took in the heap of shit on the meeting room table, piles of papers and documents. Someone was going to have to tidy that lot up by the end of the day.

At the far side was a packet, brown parcel tape wrapped over it several times. He leaned over and inspected it - sent to DC Simon Buxton. He glanced at Buxton; the cheeky sod. He flipped it over, finding the address for the city council's CCTV unit stamped on the back. Sneaking a finger in a hole in the corner, he tore the tape off in a couple of goes. He popped the contents on top of a report. Three DVDs, all labelled with black marker.

"Come on, Simon, let's head downstairs."

Chapter 32

"Yeah, sorry. Nothing I can do. I'll let you know when I'm leaving. Love you. Bye." Cullen ended the call and dropped his phone on the table. "Where are we?"

"This is the last of the discs. This bit here." Buxton slowed the jog wheel right down. "There."

The camera was pointing west down George Street towards Charlotte Square. The grainy footage showed the front of the Living Room, a few brave smokers leaning against its modern extension, laughing and joking amongst themselves in freeze frame. In the background, the street was busy with foot traffic. Cars occupied almost every parking bay. Someone was in the solitary phone box. Two teenage girls squared up to each other outside Tigerlily.

Buxton tapped the screen. "Shame it doesn't show the inside of the ladies' toilets downstairs in there."

"Piss off."

Smirking, Buxton nudged the dial forward. "Here we go."

Steven McCoull burst out of the pub, the image frozen with his left leg in front of him, hands in pockets, looking back down George Street towards the camera but lower, at street level.

Cullen leaned forward. "What's he doing?"

"He's spotted someone, maybe?" Buxton nudged it forward again, McCoull darting across the street in ultra-slow motion. He stopped by the phone box, arms crossed.

"Bollocks." Cullen put his head up to the screen, almost touching the glass, each pixel distinguishable until it was just a white noise pattern. "Who the hell is he speaking to?"

Buxton sped it up to normal speed.

McCoull kept on talking, occasionally refolding his arms or stabbing a finger at someone. He took a few steps forward, almost disappearing off the left-hand edge, his companion still off screen. He shook his head then nodded before waving towards the camera.

A taxi pulled into the kerb and McCoull leaned down to speak to the driver.

Cullen checked his notebook. "This is Billy Hogan, right?"

Buxton nodded just as he freeze framed it. "Unless that fucker's lying to us."

"Don't start." Cullen managed to get the license number off the front of the cab. He flicked through his notebook; it matched Hogan's number. "Looks like it is him. Keep going."

"Sure thing, boss." Buxton sniffed before playing the film again.

McCoull held the back door open then scowled for a few seconds before getting in himself. The taxi drove off, executing a tight U-turn across the motorcycle parking space in the middle of the road.

"Bloody hell." Cullen slumped back in the chair. "So we don't see who gets in with him?"

Buxton sniffed. "Yeah, pain in the arse."

Cullen picked up the other DVDs from the packet. "And these were all from other vantage points along George Street?"

"Yeah."

"You've checked?"

"Of course I did. When you were getting a bollocking off the other half. No dice, mate."

"So what the hell are we going to do?"

"No idea."

Cullen stared at the screen, the throng on George Street milling around, the girls from earlier now separated by two bouncers. Who was McCoull speaking to?

Cullen scratched his scalp, hair in desperate need of a cut, and frowned. What if...? "Rewind it."

"To when McCoull leaves the boozer?"

"Before. Like ten minutes before."

"Sure." Buxton pulled the dial all the way to the left.

The figures on the screen started dancing backwards, the girls getting back into their fight then breaking off and going their separate ways. The clock went back to eight o'clock.

On screen, Cullen staggered out of the front of Tigerlily, shouting and pointing at the bouncer. Sharon tugged his arm and dragged him along the street.

Cullen grabbed Buxton's wrist. "Stop it there."

Buxton paused it, a grin on his face. "This what passes for a sex tape in the Cullen-McNeill household is it?"

"Very funny." Cullen leaned forward; the phone box was empty. "Put it back to just after he gets in the taxi."

"Right." Buxton pushed the dial to the right, the figures going through their motions again. "Here."

"The phone box is empty now." Cullen tapped the screen. "Go back."

Buxton looped it back, the girls at the squaring-up stage again, Cullen himself a few steps down George Street, turning back the way to stab a finger in the air at the bouncer, Sharon shaking her head. "You look absolutely fucked, mate."

"Don't I know it." Cullen took a deep breath. He looked like a fucking animal, the sort he'd expect to pick up on the average Saturday night for any number of violent crimes. "Roll it forward a bit."

Buxton nudged it to the right. "That enough for you, big boy?"

"Aye." Cullen leaned forward. The door to the phone box was still shut. "Keep playing it."

The Cullen on the screen jerked forward in big increments. Just after Cullen passed the phone box, the door opened and a figure went inside, leaving it open.

"Back a bit." Once the footage rolled back, Cullen stabbed at the screen. "There."