Fire in the Blood (Scott Cullen Mysteries) (21 page)

North Berwick was a small fishing town a few miles east of Gullane. It reminded Cullen of a slightly smaller version of St Andrews - one fewer main street, no university, no major golf course. It made up for it by being umbilically connected to Edinburgh by a train line, which meant that lawyers, accountants, advocates, managers and actuaries could all base themselves out there with a short train trip home, while their children went to better schools and they were out in the countryside at the weekend and nearer the better golf courses.

It was quite a pretty place, thought Cullen as he drove through - big Victorian mansions sat on a long tree-lined road into the town. He cut up past the railway station and avoided the town centre - the road he took to the health centre was one of the seemingly infinite main roads that sliced through the town, constantly criss-crossing.
 

Cullen had been slightly late getting out of Edinburgh - some guerrilla roadworks appearing on the A1 just south of Portobello - and was fifteen minutes late for his appointment for Dr Berry. The health centre sat next to the Edington Hospital on a tree-lined avenue with the same sort of post-war houses that would be in any number of Edinburgh suburbs - Corstorphine, Lochend, Queensferry Road and others.

They sat in Berry's office, the large man's face disapproving of everything Cullen said.
 

"Can I just remind you, Constable," said Berry, "that I am doing you a favour? It is entirely at my discretion how much - or how little - help I give you, without you having the decency to provide a warrant."

"I understand," said Cullen. "I appreciate your help with this. We are in the difficult situation of not having a confirmed identification of the body, so we are unable to get a warrant for the information. However, the information that you provide could help us in that identification."

"So be it," said Berry. He licked a finger and turned through the pages in the file. "I had a look through this while I was waiting for your somewhat delayed arrival. There was a mark you were looking for, wasn't there?"

"There was," said Cullen. "A scar on the left arm, probably a month or less before death."

"I see," said Berry. He flicked quicker than before. "Well, we have a potential match - Mr Crombie was indeed treated at the Edington hospital A&E six weeks prior to his disappearance."

Cullen's heart raced. He leaned across the desk. "Can I have a look?"

"I wish that you could," said Berry. "Sadly, I've not got the full report here, just a note."

"Where would the report be?" asked Cullen.

"Edington might have a copy," said Berry. "It's just next door." He closed his eyes briefly. "No, I'm forgetting. The records across the Lothians were all centralised when they built the Royal Infirmary at Little France." He scanned through the stub record for the arm injury. "There's the name of a doctor here, an Amardeep Singh." He turned to his computer and typed in a reference number. "Here we go," he said, after a few seconds of clicking. "You're in luck. He's still active - now based at Little France, as it happens."

Back outside, Cullen quickly got on the phone to Dr Singh. He sat on a wooden bench outside the small hospital next to the Health Centre. A steady stream of traffic passed on the main road in the early morning sunshine, mostly SUVs on the school run.

"But
I
insist," said Singh. His voice was upper crust Edinburgh with slight traces of Indian ancestry.

"This would really help me out," said Cullen.

"Mr Cullen," said Singh, "the General Medical Council guidance explicitly states that it is my duty to protect patient confidentiality. Only in cases where there are proven and direct links to a crime should I hand any information over to the police."

"So what do I need to show you?" asked Cullen.

"I'm sorry?"

"If I want any more information," said Cullen, "what do I need to give you?"

"I need written permission from the next of kin," said Singh. "No particular form, just signed and witnessed." He paused. "And that's witnessed by someone other than yourself."

Cullen was aware of his leash being slightly slackened and needed to get a confirmed result quickly. "Thanks," he said. "Can I arrange an appointment for ten, please?"

"I suggest that you get the permission first," said Singh.

"Are you free at ten?"

Singh sounded exasperated - the pitch of his voice went up a few tones. "Very well," he said. "I can rearrange my schedule, but if you can't make it then I would appreciate some prior warning."

"Of course," said Cullen. He got the address in the hospital from Singh and then ended the call.

He leaned back in the bench. His next step was to go to Alec Crombie. He took a deep breath, knowing how much fun that was going to be.

"I really do not have any time for you and your wild goose chase," said Crombie.

They were in his office. Cullen had managed to gain access, blagging his way past the receptionist and into Crombie's inner sanctum. The desk was covered in papers.

"I've got a board meeting on Friday," continued Crombie, "and I really need to focus on it."

"This is a police matter," said Cullen. "You'll know that we are still actively investigating both your son and Paddy Kavanagh as potential victims. I could very easily call up my DI and get a court order in place. As I've told you before, that would not reflect well on you and your business."

Cullen knew he was pushing it - his DI didn't even know that he was there, let alone approve of the wild antics he was getting up to. He was a gambler, and he knew that he was onto a winner with this - he just needed approval from Crombie and then he would show Bain.

"You can't come in here with your constant innuendo and expect me to comply with your outrageous behaviour," said Crombie. "Perhaps it is I who should be having a word with your superior."

Cullen tried to stare him out, but found a formidable adversary in Crombie. He decided to try another tack. "You are convinced that it isn't your son in the barrel," said Cullen. "This is your opportunity to prove me wrong."

Crombie narrowed his eyes and thought it through for almost a minute. Cullen was beginning to wonder if his gambit had paid off - or if Bain was getting a call from the distillery owner.

"I know that it's not Iain in there," said Crombie.
 

Cullen felt shellacked - he was failing. Bain would give him a doing. Cargill and Turnbull wouldn't be too enamoured with his behaviour either.

He opened his mouth to start pleading when Crombie cut him off. "But very well," he said. "I will approve your access to my son's medical records. I would stress that a vital condition would be that this is the end of the matter. Any further suggestions that you have about my son we will not discuss. You don't go to Fraser with it, you don't go to anyone else. Do I have your agreement?"

"You do," said Cullen.

Crombie reached across his desk and pressed an intercom button on the phone. "Amanda, can you come up, please?" he asked.

"On my way," came the voice from the phone.

Crombie leaned back in his chair. He crossed his legs and adjusted the kilt between his thighs. "You're taking your time with this one," he said, his voice booming. "That was over a week ago that you first came in. I'm surprised that you haven't got it all wrapped up by now. Edinburgh's finest and all that."

"We've had our challenges," said Cullen, alluding to Crombie and his obstreperous behaviour. "There have been some higher profile incidents hit us. There were two separate RTAs on the bypass and the M8, and a murder in Bathgate."

"What's an RTA?" asked Crombie.

"A Road Traffic Accident," said Cullen. "It's been all over the news. There's talk of upgrades to both roads again."

Crombie laughed. "That'll go away again soon enough," he said. "I'm as much a patriot as the next man, but some of the decisions that have been made in terms of transport infrastructure over the last few decades beggar belief. That the main trunk road between Glasgow and Edinburgh is a dual carriageway is a joke."

Cullen was surprised to find such common ground with the man.

Crombie took out his fountain pen from an open drawer in his desk and dabbed it in an inkwell on his desk. He produced a printed letterhead from another drawer. Cullen noticed that it didn't have a 1 in the dialling code. He couldn't remember when they'd changed, must have been the late 80s.

"So what is it you require again?" asked Crombie. "A letter expressing my permission to look at Iain's medical records?"

Cullen had been through this earlier, at least a couple of times. "That would be sufficient," he said. "I will pass it in for evidence in the case file when I get back to the station."

"Very well," said Crombie. He started scribbling on the paper - the way the ink appeared, it looked like high quality paper. Crombie wrote his name at the bottom.

The receptionist appeared just then.

"I need you to witness this," said Crombie. He signed and dated beside his name and wrote 'witness' below.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Come here," ordered Crombie, his deep baritone sounding even more resonant with her in the room.

Amanda went round to the other side of the desk and signed the letter. Cullen thought he saw Crombie letching at her as she bent over the desk.

"Thank you," said Crombie. "That will be all."

Amanda nodded and then left the room, closing the door behind her.

Crombie held the note out for Cullen. He reached for it but Crombie pulled it back. "Not so fast," he said. "You will desist when this proves fruitless?"

"Of course," said Cullen.

"Very well," said Crombie, handing the paper to him.

Cullen walked across the car park at the new Royal Infirmary, fuming. He couldn't believe how much the parking cost - he was glad he wasn't visiting someone who was ill. That said, he doubted that he would be able to expense the ticket given that he wasn't exactly officially on police business.

His phone rang as he approached the main entrance to the huge white building - he wasn't even sure it was the correct entrance. He checked the display - his mood got worse. Bain. His earlier calculations had been on the optimistic side.

"Cullen, where the fuck are you?" asked Bain.

"I've got to run an errand," said Cullen.

"Have you fuck," snapped Bain. "I've checked with Wilko and that fuckin' witch that Turnbull's got in and you're working for neither of them. What are you up to?"

"I'm just away to speak to a doctor who operated on Iain Crombie just before he disappeared," said Cullen.

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?" asked Bain.

"I'm serious," said Cullen. "I don't know exactly what-"

"Why are you off doin' that, rather than what I fuckin' told you to do?" shouted Bain.

"I wanted to rule Iain Crombie out entirely," said Cullen.

"And I wanted you to do the paperwork on this," said Bain. "Murray's been in with Paddy's doctor. The boy definitely had a scar on his arm."

"Which one?" asked Cullen.

"I don't fuckin' know," said Bain.

"Well, I'll call you back in half an hour and let you know if Iain Crombie had one on the left arm," said Cullen. "In the meantime, I'd suggest you get Murray to check it matches."

He ended the call, turned the iPhone off and headed inside.

Mr Amardeep Singh was actually now a consultant, as Cullen discovered, and he had lost the title of mere Dr, though Cullen suspected it still applied when he was booking tables in restaurants - judging by the big man's gut, it was probably fairly often. Singh was a Sikh and had a dark turban and a long beard - Cullen had to admit that he was largely ignorant of the religion and had forgotten everything that multiple diversity seminars were supposed to have presented. He vaguely recalled that they weren't allowed to cut their hair - he didn't know why - and that the turban contained really long hair. There was something about the beard, he recalled, that they weren't allowed to shave, and were only allowed to cut the hair with a knife. He had dark skin, though it showed a slight pallor as though it had been bleached - no doubt the doctor's Scottish upbringing sucking all the colour out of him like the rest of the bastard nation.

His office was in the far end of the building and it had taken Cullen a good fifteen minutes to get there, getting lost several times over and ending up on the wrong floor at least once. For a new building, ease of navigation hadn't been one of the key drivers for the architects. Singh's room itself was full of many papers and filing cabinets, some chest x-rays adorning the walls. It looked out onto the section of the car park where Cullen's car was parked, but had a good view across the trees to Craigmillar Castle, perched atop a hill near the feral housing estate of Niddrie.

"This is not something that I am particularly happy with," said Singh, shaking his head as he looked again at Crombie's permission letter.

"Mr Singh," said Cullen, "this is a very serious matter. We have a body in a barrel in the distillery owned by Mr Crombie's father. Both Iain Crombie and another potential victim disappeared around the same time. We need to be able to identify the body. Unfortunately, it's in a minor state of decay and the face is completely unrecognisable. The teeth have all been removed from the skull so we can't even check the dental records. We could run a family trace on the DNA but that will take weeks and meanwhile we are burning taxpayers' money."

Cullen's sob story obviously had some effect - Singh nodded. "Very well," he said. He reached over and picked up a paper file, the red cover bleached around the edges from sunlight. "We have a document retention facility just near here. I went to the trouble of retrieving the file for you." He flicked through it. "As you know, I was working at the Edington Hospital in North Berwick. I'm from there originally, so it was a pleasant experience working there and seeing so many familiar faces. Mr Crombie was admitted in the May of 1994. He had a cut which required a number of stitches."