Fire in the Blood (Scott Cullen Mysteries) (15 page)

They were parked on the street perpendicular to the high street that ran up into the hills, not far from the police station - Queen Street, as Murray had told Cullen, between what Cullen would know as Subway Street and Greggs Street.

"Something funny going on there," said Cullen. "Why does he keep saying it's not his son in the barrel?"

"It's beyond me," said Murray. "What's with all this mystical 'I just know' bollocks?"

"I'm fed up of that," said Cullen, thinking back to January and a father's insistence that his child had been possessed by the devil. Cullen's blood was still boiling, almost bubbling over - he took a deep breath and tried to think of other things as he undid his seatbelt. "Let's go see this Knox boy, then," he said.

They got out of the car and headed across the high street, having to stop by the Mercat Cross while a sudden surge of traffic passed.

"Just put a one-way system in," said Murray.

Cullen hadn't really noticed earlier, but now that Murray mentioned it, he realised that he hadn't come in from the North Berwick side, so hadn't been caught up in it. "Any idea why?" he asked. "It's not exactly bustling."

"They're supposed to be refurbishing a few old buildings," said Murray, "so it's just temporary. The police station is getting turned into flats from the first floor up."

"So Bain will have to strategise elsewhere?" asked Cullen, grinning.

Murray laughed. "If we're ever unlucky enough to get him ever again," he said. "Twice in one year has been bad enough…"

They chanced across at a gap in the traffic.

"Joking aside, do you think there's something in what Alec Crombie's saying?" asked Murray.

Cullen mulled it over as they headed round the corner onto Queen Street, the steep street that led away from the high street. He'd been thinking of nothing but as they'd driven up from the distillery. "There are a few things that spring to mind," he said. "He could have been involved in his son's disappearance for one. Similarly, he could have been involved in Paddy's disappearance and is trying to throw us off the scent."

"Think this Marion could be involved?" asked Murray.

"Could be," said Cullen. "She's lost out as a result of Iain's disappearance, though, hasn't she?"

"If it is Paddy in there," said Murray, "it looks like somebody's killed him and shoved him in a barrel."

Cullen squeezed his eyes shut - he'd been wondering why Iain and Paddy disappeared at approximately the same time. "Are you suggesting that Iain Crombie killed Paddy and ran away?" he asked.

Murray stopped in his tracks. "No," he said, "but that's fucking good, Sundance."

Cullen scowled at him. "Don't," he said.

Murray held his arms up. "Fine, fine," he said. "Just calm it."

"Scott's more than fine," said Cullen.

"So Iain could have killed Paddy?" asked Murray. "That explains the disappearance. Reckon his old man's in on it?"

Cullen started walking up the street again. "I don't know," he said. "If he knew that Paddy was in that barrel, then he wouldn't tell us that it couldn't be his son, would he? I mean, he's not lying, but surely he'd just say 'I know nothing', and move on."

Cullen thought Murray nodded his head almost too enthusiastically.

"The other option is that Paddy killed Iain and scarpered," said Cullen.

Murray's eyes widened. "We'd better add that to Bain's Strategising Board when we get back," he said.

"He's certainly someone we need to find, one way or the other," said Cullen.

Murray pointed just ahead of them. "The flat's here," he said.

After a minute or so of conversation over a distorted entry-com system - the only successfully conveyed word seemed to be police - they were climbing the stairs to Eric Knox's flat.

"You lead," said Cullen.

Murray grinned. "We're the same rank, you know," he said.

"It's your turn," said Cullen, "and I was suggesting, not ordering."

Eric Knox stood in his doorway, a big barrel of a man set on spindly little legs. Murray held up his warrant card. "DC Stuart Murray," he said, "and this is DC Scott Cullen."

"What do you want, lads?" asked Knox.

As Cullen approached, he could see that Knox looked old. He'd only retired two years previously, but he looked a broken man. His hair was almost white and he carried a few days of salt and pepper stubble, mostly salt. His rheumy eyes appeared to struggle to focus on them. The closer Cullen got to him, the stronger the smell of second-hand booze.

"We want to ask you a few questions about a Padraig Kavanagh," said Murray.

Knox's movements were slow and uncontrolled. He tilted his head back slowly, then it settled forward again. "Paddy?" he asked, voice sounding somewhat confused.

Murray gave a look in Cullen's direction, raised eyebrows. Cullen hoped that Knox was sober enough to give them anything useful.

"Can we go inside?" asked Murray.

Knox's bottom lip protruded. "Certainly, boys," he said, "in youse come."

He led them through to the living room, a sparsely decorated room that overlooked Queen Street and gave a view down to the Forth if you stood in the corner, which Cullen did. Knox sat on an armchair, with a distressed coffee table in front of it, a mostly drunk bottle of Likely Laddie sitting on top alongside a glass that clearly hadn't been cleaned in days if not weeks. Knox offered them both a seat, but Cullen preferred to stand. Murray sat on the chair nearest to the door, a whicker seat that Cullen recognised from Ikea.

"So, boys," said Knox. "What do you want to ken aboot old Paddy, then?"

"We believe that you worked with him at Dunpender Distillery," said Murray.

"Aye," said Knox.

Murray blinked, his eyes staying shut almost two seconds. Cullen almost laughed. "Did you know him well?" he asked.

"Aye," said Knox again. "He was a good lad, was Paddy. Ah kent him weel."

"Were you close?"

Knox mulled it over. "Aye, I'd say we were as close as you'd get being workmates, ken?" he said. "We'd go out drinkin' in the toon most nights after we got back up here. Both used to cycle doon to the distillery, ken? It was a right bugger in winter, likes."

"Where would you go drinking?" asked Murray.

"The Tanner's Arms," said Knox. "We both had a tab there, ken? Not sure how much was on Paddy's when he… y'know."

"Know what?" asked Murray. It was clear to Cullen that he was playing the daft laddie.

"He disappeared," said Knox.

"Indeed," said Murray. "Do you know what happened to him?"

Knox shook his head, exaggerated. "No idea," he said. "It was a bloody mystery. Disappeared round the time Iain Crombie did."

"Eleventh of June, 1994," said Murray.

"Was it?" asked Knox.

"So we believe," said Murray. "Did you ever hear from him after that date?"

Knox frowned. "I can't mind when he went, ken?" he said. "That sounds about richt, though. Maybe a bit later. I can mind goin' for a few scoops wi' him in the Tanner's, must be the night afore he went. He was a bit worried aboot somethin', no idea what."

"No idea at all?" asked Murray.

"None at all," said Knox. He laughed. "Paddy always had a wee trick up his sleeve, though, always had somethin' on."

"Did you know Iain Crombie well?" asked Cullen, changing the tack.

Knox's head slowly wheeled round. "Didn't give me the time of day, that one," he said. "Head up his own airse."

"You never socialised with him or anything?" asked Cullen.

"No," said Knox. "Didn't like to fraternise with the likes of me." He rubbed the stubble on his top lip. "He did go out for a pint with Doug Strachan and Paddy on a few occasions, though, if I remember it richt."

"Did you ever go?"

Knox shrugged. "I wasn't invited into their inner circle, ken?" he said. "Couple of times I was in there by coincidence, likes."

"Did anything ever get out of hand?"

"Paddy occasionally had a bit too much and got chucked out," said Knox. "Water off a duck's back to the barman in there, ken? He was back in the next night as if nothing had happened."

"What can you tell us about Mr Kavanagh?" asked Murray.

"What is there to tell?" said Knox. "He was always on his travels, ken? Up to the highlands and islands, up to Aberdeenshire, down to Northumberland. Always put in a good shift with us. I kept telling him to slow down, ken, he was showing the rest of us up!"

Murray smiled. "What about before he came to Dunpender?" he asked. "Did he ever speak of that?"

Knox's head lolled from side to side. "Not really, no," he said. "Got the occasional wee snippet, ken? He was based all over the place. Ireland's like Scotland, ken, it's reasonable-sized but there's no bugger there for much of it."

"Was his background in whisky?" asked Murray.

"Whisky with a 'e'," said Knox, giving a wide smile. Cullen noticed that a few of his teeth had turned into black stumps. "Irish whisky. He was mainly a carpenter, ken? Used to help out with the barrels and that, but he soon got stuck in elsewhere. A good learner was Paddy."

Murray leaned forward. "Mr Knox," he said, then licked his lips, "we have reason to believe that Mr Kavanagh may have been murdered."

Knox scowled. "Murdered?"

Murray nodded again. "Yes," he said. "Yesterday morning, a body was found in a barrel of whisky at the distillery. We have reason to believe that it could be Mr Kavanagh."

Knox gave a deep breath. "That would explain his disappearance all right," he said.

"Would anyone wish to cause him harm?" asked Murray.

Knox thought it through for almost a minute. "Nothing springs to mind," he said. "Paddy was weel liked, ken? Got into a few scrapes in the Tanner's, but didn't we all?"

"So there's nobody that springs to mind?"

"Not that I can think of," said Knox.

"Did Mr Kavanagh ever have any particular enemies, either at work or otherwise?" asked Murray.

Knox rubbed at his top lip again. When he took his hand away, Cullen noticed a red blotch - he wondered if it might be cancerous. "Can't think of anybody, really," he said.

"What about Iain Crombie?" asked Murray. "How was their relationship?"

"As I say, I don't really know," said Knox. "They were drinking buddies on a few occasions, ken, but that's it."

Murray scribbled a few things down in his notebook. "You mentioned that he lived here in Garleton?" he asked.

"Aye," said Knox.

"Do you have an address?"

"Well, yes and no," said Knox.

Murray rolled his eyes. "Start with the 'no', please."

"Well, he used to have a bedsit in an old house on John Knox Road," he said. He laughed. "No relation, by the way."

"And the house…?" asked Murray.

"Excuse me," said Knox. He reached a trembling hand over for the whisky bottle, pouring a good few fingers into the glass. He took a deep drink of the spirit. "That's better." He blinked his eyes a few times.

"So this bedsit?" repeated Murray, after a few seconds of silence.

"Aye, the house," said Knox. "It fell into disrepair, ken, as they say, about ten year ago. Got sold off and it's now proper flats."

"And Mr Kavanagh had previously rented a room there?" asked Murray.

"He did, aye."

"Do you know anyone else who lived there?"

Knox stumbled to his feet. He staggered across the room towards a large sideboard beside where Cullen was stood. He reached into a drawer and retrieved a notebook. "Even better, son," he said. "I ken the address ay the landlady, Catherine Wilsenham."

"Told you the other way would have been quicker," said Cullen.

They were in Murray's car, driving down a back road to East Linton. On the map it looked shorter than the more main road that ran through East Fortune, but the way Murray had taken them had quickly turned into a single track road. They passed through a small hamlet called Markle and then started a long climb - Cullen recalled from many trips to the town to visit Sharon's sister that the far end had a big hill, and he hoped that they were nearing it.

"What do you make of that old boy then?" asked Murray.

Cullen looked out of the window, across the green fields. He spotted a quarry blasted away in one of the hills, long since overgrown. "It was like speaking to Charlie Kidd," he said, "with all those 'kens'."

"Charlie who?"

"Works in Technical Investigations," said Cullen. "Take it you've never had to take a laptop in to get forensic analysis performed?"

"They've barely got broadband out here," said Murray, turning right onto what Cullen hoped was the main road again.

"Is that true?"

Murray laughed. "Only joking," he said. "We've got one Technical Investigation analyst that we use, based in Fettes."

"Okay," said Cullen. "Anyway, I don't think we got much out of speaking to Knox."

Murray looked round as they turned a tight bend. "Is that because of me?" he asked.

Cullen laughed. "I'm not Bain, you know," he said. "You did okay in there. Trouble is, he was a fair few sheets to the wind."

They drove on down the hill into East Linton. Sharon's sister, Debbie, lived in the town, just off the main drag. They hadn't seen them in a couple of months, which was perfectly fine with Cullen.

"Reckon this Wilsenham woman will be any use?" asked Murray, as he pulled in to let a few cars pass on the tight high street.

"I think the only use will be in covering your arse," said Cullen.

Murray looked over. "How?"

"You should have spoken to her by now," said Cullen.

"Fuck sake," said Murray, "you're starting to sound like Bain."

Cullen almost laughed. "Stuart, you've had the file for over a day," he said. "She made the initial report of his disappearance. Don't you think that you should have tried to track her down?"

"I thought she'd be dead," said Murray.

Cullen raised his eyebrows. "Well, good luck with that defence when you try it with Bain," he said.

Murray turned left off the high street into a large car park. The town's library - a grand old building - sat to one side, while a sprawling sheltered housing complex sat at the far end.