Windchill (20 page)

Buxton clenched his jaw. "Sure thing, sir."

"And I want CCTV of all likely routes home. And get onto the taxi firms, see if Mr Vardy was picked up in the vicinity of William Street."

"Sure." Buxton got to his feet and hurried out of the meeting room.

Methven watched him through the glass window as he trotted down the corridor. "He's a rough diamond, isn't he?"

"I think he's good."

"Well, you're doing a halfway decent job of polishing his rough edges off, Cullen."

"Really?"

"I think so. We'll have to look at making his tenure permanent, assuming we can find the head count from somewhere."

Cullen slumped back in a chair. "This is going down the toilet, sir. I'm sorry."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, I'd hoped to close this off before going on holiday."

"No need to beat yourself up. We've got a few leads. Once I get my full team back on Thursday, we'll hopefully make some inroads. I'm relatively philosophical about this." Methven collapsed into a chair. "We'll get there. You've done well getting to this sort of state so quickly."

Cullen leaned forward in the chair, arms hugging his torso. "I don't think we're anywhere, sir."

"Well, it feels fairly healthy. I may shout and bawl a lot but I can recognise how well we're doing."

"Cheers."

Methven scratched the back of his head. "Tell me your working hypothesis."

Cullen thought it through for a few seconds. "Vardy's got a window of opportunity between leaving the pub and Pauline Quigley returning to the flat." He shrugged. "Chips or no chips, Vardy gets a taxi, heads up there, gets inside, kills him, then heads home. It's not far - Polwarth Gardens to Viewforth is about five minutes' walk."

"How do you explain the microwave ready meal and the empty beer bottles?"

"The bottles... Vardy and Keogh could've gone there for a nightcap with Lyle. The SOCOs might find something on them."

"Or they might not."

Cullen sniffed. "The other thing is Pauline Quigley could be lying, sir. She might be complicit in this."

"Feels like we're onto something here, Constable." Methven got to his feet and paced back to the whiteboard. "I'm not quite buying this Vardy's story."

"Is there anything else can we do?"

"We've got a lot of investigation we can do. While you're on holiday."

"Right."

"You can go home now."

"But it's half three."

"Don't make me change my mind. You've been on nine days straight, Constable. You've done a great job so far. You deserve your break."

Cullen stood up. "Thanks, sir."

Chapter 48

"What did Methven want?" Cullen pushed open the door, stepping out into the lane at the back of the station, dark in the late afternoon winter gloom, the bitter cold hitting them.

"Methven?" Sharon pulled on her gloves.

"Aye, Crystal asked if I'd seen you."

"Right."

Cullen tucked his scarf into his jacket, the way he knew Sharon liked it, as he turned the corner onto MacDonald Road. "Was it about Bain?"

She frowned as they started up Leith Walk. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, he's been hanging around the last couple of weeks. And there are all those rumours as well."

"Right."

"That's all I get? Another 'right'?"

"I don't know anything about those rumours, Scott."

Cullen pressed the button at the crossing for the side street. "It's going to be a nightmare getting home, isn't it?"

"How do you mean?"

Cullen crossed the road, eyes on the long row of idling cars on Leith Walk. "The street party. It's blocked off at Leith Street and North Bridge, I think."

"Shit. It is." Sharon quickened the pace as they headed up Leith Walk. "What do you want to do about it?"

"Don't know." Cullen smirked. "Never got round to getting those budgie smugglers."

"You could at least wait until Buxton's here before you make a joke like that."

"Good one." Cullen looked away. "What time's the flight tomorrow?"

"Half six." She glanced at him. "Scott, tell me you've finished your packing."

"That's the problem with you getting me that 3DS."

"Scott, we're flying tomorrow morning!"

"I just need to get some budgie smugglers. That's it."

"Can't you just wear those shorts you wore last year?"

"You don't like me in trunks?"

Sharon giggled. "I don't like anyone in trunks."

"Even Daniel Craig?"

"With that face? No way." She walked past a hi-fi shop set back from the road. "John Lewis will still be open."

"Fine. Let's go there."

She sighed. "One more day then we'll be away from the pissing rain and the bloody wind, lying on the beach."

"You're in a great mood."

"Yeah, wonder why. I need a tan." She stopped by Gayfield Square, the grass in the park sodden with rain. "I had a meeting with Turnbull."

"So did Crystal. What about?"

Sharon exhaled, her breath misting in the air. "He's moving me to the Rape Unit in Bathgate."

"Same grade?"

"It's an Acting DI gig."

"Seriously?"

Sharon smiled. "That's how he sold it to me. Good experience and everything."

Cullen grinned. "He'd have had me at Acting DI."

"I told him I didn't want to go."

"What?"

"He's forcing my hand, Scott. Apparently, I'm pissing Bill Lamb off."

"Really?" Cullen frowned. "Bill doesn't seem the type to be so petty."

"That's what Jim told me." She prodded a finger on the crossing. "It was, like, 'I mean it, Sharon, this is your big break'." She shook her head, looking around the busy street. "Patronising git."

Cullen nodded, but he didn't make eye contact with her. "I don't think he really means you were pissing him off, though. Bill got the job you went for in March, remember?"

"Mm."

"Are you going to take it?"

"I've got no choice."

Cullen felt his mouth go dry. "You're serious?"

Sharon shrugged. "Aye. No option."

"Congratulations." Cullen wrapped his arms around her, kissing her on the forehead. "This is brilliant."

"Maybe."

"There's no maybe. This is great for you." Cullen felt a sting in his guts. "Who's getting your job?"

"He didn't mention it."

"Shite." Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. "You're sure it's not Bain?"

"No idea."

"Well, Bain was really cagey when I asked him what he was doing here last week."

"That's his way."

"I suppose." Cullen walked up the street, thinking it through. "I don't want to work for that idiot again."

"That's all rumour, remember?"

"Maybe." He grabbed her hand, swinging it in the air. "Moving on will be good for you, I think."

"Seriously?" She was frowning.

"Of course. You've not been happy working for Lamb and I can't see you working for Methven or Davenport."

Sharon smirked. "It's made me think about having a baby."

Cullen coughed and spluttered. "Really?"

She reached across and held his hand. "Relax, I'm joking."

"Right." He let out a deep breath, pain stabbing his guts.
Becky
. He held his eyes shut for a few seconds before wiping the tear away. "Had me going for a bit there."

"Sorry. I shouldn't have done that." She closed her eyes. "It was in bad taste."

"It's okay." Cullen rubbed the back of his hand against his cheek, trying to get all of the moisture away. "It still hurts."

Sharon put her arms around him. "Come on, let's get your budgie smugglers."

Thursday

8th January 2014

(Eight days later)

Chapter 49

"Sure you don't want to come up?" Cullen released his seat belt, letting it ride up, looking across the dark car park. "For old time's sake?"

Sharon shook her head. "At this rate, I'll not get any reading done before I meet my new DCI."

"I'll miss you."

"Me too. When do you think you'll be home tonight?"

"Early, I hope." Cullen shrugged. "Can't be arsed being in here till all hours first day back after holiday."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

He chuckled. "I had a great time."

"Aye, me too." Her smile quickly lost its lustre. "The holiday glow will be gone by lunchtime no doubt."

"I know." Cullen opened the door before leaning over to kiss her. "Love you." He got out and watched the orange Focus trundle across the underground car park, wishing he was still lying on a beach with his 3DS. He stabbed a reminder into his phone to head along Rose Street and get some more games.

"Morning, Constable." Methven clapped his shoulder as he walked past.

Cullen pocketed his phone, grimacing as he caught up with the DI. "Morning, sir."

"I've actually sodding missed you." Methven held out his hand. "Good holiday?"

Cullen shook it. "The best."

Methven opened the door to the stairwell and stopped. "Well, you'll be straight back into it today, that's for certain. I'm giving you DS McNeill's caseload."

Cullen scowled. "But I'm just a DC."

"And you keep on insisting you're at Sergeant level. Prove it to me." Methven checked his watch before he started up the stairs. "Come on, we've got a catch-up briefing. DCI Cargill's instituted an eight o'clock meeting with the DIs every sodding morning, hence me needing an update first."

"Great." Cullen held the stair door open. "Nothing big's happened, though, right?"

"Not really. I've lost DS Rarity to DI Lamb for the time being." Methven paused outside the meeting room, looking Cullen up and down. "Relax, I've got DC Jain as a replacement."

Cullen followed him inside. Set up to do a DS role without the money. He nodded at Jain, wondering if the same carrot was being dangled. "Morning all."

Buxton sat at the head of the table, fiddling with his phone. "Good day to you, sir."

Angela Caldwell sat next to him, shifting uneasily on her seat, a pile of papers in front of her. She smirked. "Nice tan."

Cullen put a hand to his face. "I'll be back to my usual shade of pink any time soon, don't worry."

Methven clapped his hands together. "Come on, let's get this over with."

"Right." Cullen sat down, reaching into his suit pocket for his notebook and pen. He caught a whiff from the material - he needed to get to the dry cleaners and swap it for the other one.

Methven stood by the whiteboard, not much more populated than just over a week ago. "Let's recap the Keith Lyle case for DC Cullen's benefit, shall we?"

Cullen shrugged. "Suits me."

Methven pointed at
PM
. "Deeley completed the post mortem last week." He clicked his fingers at Angela. "Pass Cullen a copy, would you?"

Angela tossed him a report up from the pile. "Bit of bedtime reading for you, Scott."

"I'll have no trouble sleeping now." Cullen flicked through the report, before focusing on the executive summary at the front. "So it's pretty much the same as we had last Tuesday morning?"

"Indeed. Angle of entry. Cuts through his jersey. Yadda yadda yadda. All point to murder. Deeley's able to prove the defensive cuts on the wrists were made by the knife in his abdomen." Methven held up a photo of a ferocious knife, curved metal blade and smooth wooden handle, and pinned it to the board. "The knife in question being a ShivWorks Disciple."

Cullen pointed at the photo. "That's not something you just pick up in B&Q, is it?"

"Quite."

"Any prints on it?"

"Just the victim's." Methven swallowed. "Mr Anderson detected traces of nitrile on the shaft, which would indicate our killer used gloves."

"So why are the victim's prints on it?"

"We believe he owned the weapon. Hoist by his own petard, if you will." Methven held up a hand again. "Okay, moving on. The SOCOs downstairs also obtained prints in the room for Mr Lyle along with those of Pauline Quigley and Dean Vardy."

"So why would Vardy use gloves to kill him if his prints were there?"

"DC Jain and I spoke to him about this on Tuesday." Methven tapped
Vardy
on the board. "He admitted to owning the property and collects the rent in cash from a radiator in Mr Lyle's room. It's all done through the books, though."

"And you believe him?"

"We're acknowledging it for the moment, shall we say."

"What about the beer bottles?"

Methven tapped on
Lager
. "All three were drunk by Lyle, according to the DNA in the saliva. Additionally, his blood toxicology showed what we'd expect for three bottles of beer given the time of death."

Cullen nodded slowly, eyes narrowed. "So Vardy got a cab round there before killing him, right?"

"And therein lies the rub." Methven stabbed a finger at
Chip Shop. "
He did buy chips from a kebab shop near to the Debonair. Place called
D'Monte's
."

"And you believe him?"

"You know how many takeaways there are on Lothian Road or just off it?" Buxton rolled his eyes. "Thirty-eight. I know because I visited them all on New Year's Eve. Vardy went to the bloody last one."

"What time?"

"Half past."

Cullen totted it up in his head. "Still fits the timeframe for him killing Lyle. Assuming Pauline Quigley's telling the truth."

"Agreed, but there's one small problem." Methven leaned across the table, his ID badge dangling from its lanyard. "We can't find any taxi firm that picked him up."

"So he walked?"

"It takes twenty minutes to walk from
D'Monte's
to Mr Lyle's flat."

"How long to run?"

Methven snorted. "We've had street teams out speaking to residents and shops on the likely routes - nobody was spotted running on the evening of the thirtieth. It's a busy area as you well know."

Cullen glanced at Buxton. "You were going to look into phones and CCTV, weren't you?"

Buxton nodded. "Yeah. Cheers for that. Got nowhere with either. No CCTV cameras outside the kebab shop and Vardy conveniently left his mobile at the Debonair."

"Did you check Pauline's statement?"

"In Club Tropicana? Yeah, I did. Chantal and I. It checked out."