Fire in the Blood (Scott Cullen Mysteries) (22 page)

"Where was the cut?" asked Cullen.

"It was on the left arm," said Singh. He held up a black and white photograph. "Here." His finger traced the line across the arm, perpendicular to the vein. "I would describe as a deep laceration. It was not a clean separation of the flesh and there were signs of trauma and tearing."

"Do you know what caused it?" asked Cullen.

"It was some sort of sharp object, though not a knife," said Singh. "The cut was not clean."

"Do you mean hygiene clean?"

Singh smiled and rocked his head back and forth - Cullen thought it was a peculiar sight. "I mean both," said Singh. "The wound took much cleaning, but it was fairly rough. It was serrated around the edges. These wounds make it very difficult to get the sides to knit together. We were close to taking Mr Crombie to the old Royal Infirmary."

Cullen knew the place and had been in a couple of times in his student days - once for him when he fell across the car park at Appleton Tower and once for Tom getting the shit kicked out of him by a rugby team. The old Royal Infirmary was doing a slow march into a set of designer flats - the last time he'd been up there a swathe of new buildings had been erected, including a designer bakery, but the old hospital buildings were all still airing.

"We did manage, though," continued Singh. "I sewed the injury up, prescribed some painkillers, some antibiotics and some rest."

"Do you know who brought Mr Crombie in?"

Singh squinted for a moment. He leafed through the file. "No," he said, after almost a minute. "It doesn't seem to have been recorded. I only patched Mr Crombie up, I'm afraid. Admissions was another department entirely."

Cullen noted it down. "Okay," he said. "What would have caused it?"

Singh fiddled with the band on his wrist. "All I can say is that it was caused by a trauma," he said. "Whether it was a blow, a collision or a fall, I could not say, I'm afraid."

"Would I be able to have one of the photographs?" asked Cullen.

"I can arrange for a copy to be made," said Singh. "The quality of the copies is incredible these days."

Cullen smiled, feeling slightly relieved that his gamble was paying off. Unfortunately, he knew that the next hand he played would be with Bain.

Cullen returned to the Incident Room at eleven on the dot, clutching a copy of the picture in a paper file. Bain stood with his arms folded, staring at him. Murray, McLaren and Caldwell were keeping a safe distance. Cullen made a beeline for Bain, slightly out of breath.

"Here he fuckin' is," said Bain, "John Wayne comin' in from the sunset." He pointed a finger at Cullen. "I've told you so many fuckin' times that I've lost count, but don't you ever fuckin' hang up on me again." He prodded the finger into Cullen's chest. "If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred fuckin' times."

Cullen ignored him. "It's Iain Crombie in the barrel," he said.

"Cullen, it's fuckin' Paddy Kavanagh," said Bain. He pointed over at Murray. "We've already fuckin' ascertained that fact."

"Can I at least say my piece?" asked Cullen.

"Can you fuck," snapped Bain. "You're at it again, fuckin' about here. Off on your wee trips. I fuckin' wonder what you are up to half the time, Cullen. I've not seen you for four hours, but I've fuckin' seen DI Cargill. You're playin' us off against each other, aren't you?"

"If anyone's playing, it's you," said Cullen.

Bain pointed the finger again. "Less of that, Cullen," he said. "Now, where the fuck have you been?"

"As I explained to you earlier," said Cullen. "I have been out speaking to Alec Crombie and the doctor that sewed up Iain Crombie's arm."

"Eh?" snapped Bain.

Cullen held up the copy of the file. "Iain Crombie was admitted to the hospital in North Berwick a month before he was reported missing," he said. "He had a deep cut to his left arm."

Bain gestured for Murray to come over. "We've already spoken to Paddy Kavanagh's doctor," he said. "Tell him, Murray."

Murray nodded. "He had a cut to the arm," he said. "We are just away to confirm it with Deeley."

Cullen opened up the file he had and showed them the photograph. "This matches the injury on the body," he said.

Bain snatched it off him. He looked at it for a long time. "Fuckin' hell, Sundance," he said, finally. He handed the photograph to Murray, then undid his tie. "Why do you have to be right all the fuckin' time?"

"I'd rather be right and trusted," said Cullen.

"These little fuckin' games you keep playin' don't help, you know that?" said Bain.

"I'll keep playing them as long as you do," said Cullen.

Bain turned to face the others and folded his arms. "We need to get this confirmed," he said.

Cullen was stood there with his mouth hanging open - Bain should have been fazed for being so wrong, but here he was off on a tangent 180 degrees away from his previous thread.

"Has anyone seen Anderson?" asked Bain. "He's still not finished his fuckin' report."

"Saw him downstairs," said Caldwell.

"What's downstairs?" asked Murray.

"Deeley's lair is what," said Bain. "They're taking the body out of the barrel. And very fuckin' slowly."

"It must be like
Time Team
down there," said Caldwell.

Bain bellowed with laughter. "Aye, well, there's no fuckin' yokel in denim shorts in my police station, that's for sure."

"So you're in agreement that it's Iain Crombie?" asked Cullen, finally.

Bain fixed a stare on him. "I'm sayin' that I'm open to the possibility again," he said. "Need to get an expert to confirm it."

Bain barrelled into Deeley's office, leading Cullen, Murray and Caldwell behind him. Jimmy Deeley sat in his office chair, speaking into a dictaphone. He waited until he finished a particularly long and meandering section before stopping the machine.

"The body has proved difficult to identify for a number of reasons," he said into the machine. "The skull had been smashed in by a hammer and there are no teeth left in the skull. Now, I don't know under which assumptions our killer had been operating as to what the liquid would do to the body, but the corpse is reasonably well preserved. Not perfect, but good enough. The body was of a white male of five foot eleven. Whoever did this wasn't very good at it, as they left a distinguishing mark. This is compounded by the fact that the CID officers working on the case have two clear suspects with similar builds and distinguishing features who we have not yet been able to discriminate between."

Deeley was the Edinburgh Chief Pathologist, though his remit now extended to Midlothian and both East and West Lothian in these straitened times. His office was in the basement of the station, near the morgue, having been relocated from the Cowgate when they built the new Leith Walk station a few years previously. Cullen's nose told him that they'd managed to bring the stench of the old place with them.

"How can I help, Brian?" asked Deeley.

"Think that we've cracked it," said Bain.

Deeley smiled. "Chance would be a fine thing," he said. "Go on, then, Edinburgh's Finest, who is it in the barrel?"

"It's Iain Crombie," said Bain. He flashed the photograph up. "He had been admitted to hospital with an arm injury roughly six weeks before he was reported as missing."

Deeley took the photo and compared it with another. "Certainly a striking similarity," he said. "I'll need to speak to the doctor and check the medical records for veracity, of course. Wouldn't be the first time you've tried to pull a trick, Brian."

Bain screwed his eyes up. "You'll get yours," he said. Cullen was unsure if he was referring to the medical records or to something more sinister. "Where's your pal, Anderson?"

"He's in the barrel room," said Deeley, with a chuckle. "One of the investigation rooms has been repurposed for the time being. James has been collaborating with me today."

"And where is the room?" asked Bain.

"Just next door."

Bain nodded at Caldwell. "Be a good girl and get Anderson through here for Uncle Brian," he said.

Caldwell screwed her face up and headed off.

Bain rubbed his hands together. "Hopefully get some fuckin' answers out of that prick," he said.

"No love lost between you two, is there?" asked Deeley.

"Aye, well," said Bain. "He's a fuckin' liability."

"I'm sure the feeling's mutual."

A few seconds later Anderson, holding a wad of paper, followed Caldwell in. He headed over with a face like thunder. "What is it?" he asked.

"Could have sworn that somebody promised me a forensic report on this fuckin' barrel a week ago," said Bain, eyes wide and acting like a children's TV presenter. "I wonder who it could have been?" He looked around them, one by one, then finally pointed at Anderson. "Ah, yes, it was James Anderson." He glared at him. "Now give us a fuckin' update."

Anderson closed his eyes and exhaled. "The report is in your Inbox," he said.

"I'm not at my fuckin' desk," said Bain. "Summarise it."

"Fine," said Anderson. "I'll give you a summary, then, seeing as you're asking so very nicely."

"That would be fuckin' smashin'," said Bain.

"Couldn't get anything off the barrel," said Anderson, reading from his notes. "It's been contaminated and contaminated so many times. Christ knows how many times they move those things. We got two clear sets of prints matching Doug Strachan and Fraser Crombie."

"Fine," said Bain. "That narrows it down by exactly fuck all."

Anderson grinned at Bain. "The other thing that might actually interest you," he said, "is that the barrel has definitely not been opened since it was filled. We opened another one from the same batch and they were exactly the same, give or take very slightly different wear patterns to your barrel."

"Crombie let you do that?" asked Cullen.

Anderson smiled. "Just a case of asking nicely," he said. "One day you might get taught what that is on one of your jollies up to Tulliallan."

"So it's definitely from 1994 then?" asked Bain.

"I'm not saying that," said Anderson with a smirk. "That barrel has not been tampered with since it was filled and it's consistent with the barrels that were filled in 1994. I'll let you Detectives draw the conclusions and conjure that as evidence into your case. Happy to present that in court."

Bain's eyes homed in on Cullen. "Right, so given that they had enough missing whisky that year to fill the two barrels, we can deduce that it was filled in 1994," said Bain. He stood there, stroking his moustache for a few seconds. He quickly turned to face Deeley. "Is the body in a fit state to show to people?" he asked.

"Like who?" asked Deeley.

"The family," said Bain.

Deeley exhaled. "Why?"

"Alec Crombie's son has been missing for eighteen years, Jimmy," said Bain. "I think he's allowed to see the body, don't you?"

Deeley nodded slowly. "Give me an hour to get it ship-shape," he said. Cullen imagined that he'd learned to just run with Bain's flights of fantasy rather than bother arguing, unlike his own behaviour.

"It'll take that fuckin' long to get the buggers found and over here," said Bain.

"I'll be off, then," said Deeley. He spun around and marched off out of the room. Anderson followed.

"Where do you think you're fuckin' goin'?" asked Bain.

Anderson turned around in the doorway. "I need to prep with Jimmy," he said. "I'll leave all the Sherlock Holmes magic to you boys, I'm merely a Doctor Watson."

He left the room, leaving Bain looking like he was going to kick some inanimate object.

"Right," said Bain, rubbing his hands together. "Let's fuckin' get back upstairs. This place gives me the fuckin' creeps."

Deeley had set the investigation room up tastefully. The body lay on the slab in the middle of the room, ready to be put into the mortuary next door.

Cullen lifted the sheet off the face of the body. As Deeley had said, the face had been smashed in. Whoever had done it had really gone to town on it - the skull was totally collapsed in, the teeth all removed. He was surprised that parts of it hadn't floated off in the whisky and were all pretty much still attached. The body was well-preserved - there looked to be some blood underneath the skin and there was bruising on the skull. The scar was on the left arm - Cullen was surprised that the skin hadn't been sliced off with a knife, given that the killer had gone to the effort of smashing the head in. Then again, a hammer was much easier to come by in a distillery than a knife sharp enough to cut flesh.

There were voices from the corridor. Deeley quickly covered the body over. Cullen and Caldwell moved away from the body and stood in the corner.

Bain was first through the door, followed by Alec Crombie and his son. Doug Strachan came into the room some seconds later, his fat face flushed red from the walk from the car park.

Bain gestured for them to stand by the table. Crombie slowly moved over, his face set in a deep scowl. "Pointless charade," he muttered. "There is no
way
that it could be Iain."

Fraser Crombie and Doug Strachan shuffled over to the opposite side of the body from him.

"You'll be wondering why you're here," said Bain, standing at the foot of the table. "We've managed to identify the body found in the barrel by matching it against missing persons reports from the time. We will, of course, have to finally confirm the identification by means of some secondary checks, though our options are somewhat limited in this case." He paused and stroked his moustache down. "The bad news, I'm afraid, is that it looks like the body is that of your son, Iain."

Crombie closed his eyes for a few seconds. When they opened, they were glaring at Bain. "We've been over this before," he said. "
Many times
. The body in that barrel
cannot
be that of my son." Cullen noticed for the first time that an amount of self-doubt was creeping into Crombie's deep voice.

Bain looked like he was prepared to get into an argument with him, but then took a deep breath and looked over at Deeley. "Dr Deeley here is the City of Edinburgh Chief Pathologist," he said. "He will be leading a detailed autopsy of the victim following the preliminary postmortem that he carried out yesterday, now that we have identified the victim. We wanted to give you the opportunity to confirm the identification before anything further happened."