Windchill (29 page)

"Do you know where he is?"

"Think he was going out drinking."

"On a Thursday?"

"Aye. Him and his flatmates are all off tomorrow. They all worked Hogmanay, so they were going out tonight. They arranged it months ago."

"Do his flatmates work in pubs?"

"Aye. The Debonair, I believe."

"All of them?"

"Aye, except Dave himself."

"Did Mr Weir ever work there?"

"Aye. Before he was brought in here."

"Do you have his number?"

"Aye. Give me a second, my mobile's just through the back."

"An address would be helpful."

"Right. I'll see what I can do." He set off.

Jain grabbed his shirt at the back. "What's your name?"

"John. John Owenson."
 

"Thanks, John." Chantal tilted her head at him. "Were you working on the thirtieth of December?"

"Day off. Sorry."

"Anyone on today who was?"

"Let me check." Owenson pulled his shirt free and wandered off, finding a channel through the crowded bar area and going through a dark wood door to the side.

Jain ran her hands through her hair, pulling the knot tight at the back. "Weir's out on the lash. We'll never find him."

"He might've gone home. Shit, shower, shag, shave."

"You sound more like Bain by the day."

"Not you as well."

"Ha, Buxton said you're getting sensitive to it."

"Because it's total bollocks."

"Mm, just wait till we're all working for him again."

"Eh?"

"Just something I heard." Jain checked her watch. "It's just after six. That's early to be going out."

"Eh? Tell me you've never been out this early?"

"On a proper night out? With my moustache? That's a good hour of trimming, Scott. And my arms. It's not easy being an Asian girl."

Cullen shut his eyes. "I don't want to hear this."

Jain grinned, her eyes going to the top of her trousers. "Don't get me started on my pubes."

Cullen held up a hand. "That's enough!"

Jain giggled then pointed back to the bar area. "Here he comes."

John Owenson handed a sheet of paper to Jain. "Mobile number's on there."

"Where does he stay?"

"Hart Street, just off Broughton Street. And I checked - no-one on tonight was working on the thirtieth. Sorry. Want me to get you their numbers?"

"Thanks. I'll leave it for now." Jain made to walk off.

Cullen raised a finger. "Just one more thing." He smiled at Owenson. "Would you be able to print us off a till receipt for the orders placed by Mr Dean Vardy on the night of the thirtieth of December?"

Owenson swallowed. "Mr Vardy?"

"Is that going to be a problem?"

"No. That's fine."

Chapter 74

Cullen took a step back onto the road on Hart Street, looking up at the top-floor flat then up and down the quiet street. He glanced at Jain. "Call him again."

"Your funeral." Jain tapped the screen then put the phone to her ear. "Still just ringing out."

Cullen sighed. "Dave Weir, where are you?"

Jain pocketed her phone. "Why do you want to speak to him again?"

"Because some fucker's lying here. Kenny Falconer either was or wasn't in the bar. Weir will know either way."

"You sound more like Bain every day."

"I told you, stop it."

Jain laughed, smug grin on her face. "Right, so what are we going to do?"

"I've no idea." Cullen reached over and pressed the buzzer to the next highest numbered flat. No response. He tried the one below.

"Hello?"

"It's the police. We need access to the stairwell."

"What for?"

"We just need to speak to Dave Weir."

"Oh, right. In you come." The buzzer sounded and the door clicked open. "Second flat on the first floor."

Cullen opened the door, leading them inside. "Jesus Christ, look at this place."

Light from a chandelier bounced off cream walls, pastoral paintings of horses and cows. The staircase was carpeted, the balustrade the same colour as the walls, the wooden handrail varnished a deep brown.

"What's a barman doing in a flat like this?"

"I know." Jain nodded, eyes full of wonder. "This is just like where Budgie lives."

Cullen frowned. "You've been there?"

"Shite."

Cullen laughed. "Oh, ho ho!"

Jain prodded him in the chest. "Keep that to yourself."

"Don't know if I can." Cullen skipped up the stairs, trying to put distance between them. He got out his warrant card as he reached the landing.

A table sat in the centre of the far wall, a mail pigeonhole resting behind a large bowl of potpourri. A man in his forties fiddled with the post, swapping some letters about. He smiled at their approach. "Can I see some credentials?"

Cullen held up his warrant card. "I'm DC Cullen. This is DC Jain."

"Right, that all looks in order." He held out a hand. "James Court. How can I help?"

"You're a neighbour of Mr Weir, is that correct?"

"Aye." Court pointed up the stairs. "He shares a flat on the second floor."

Cullen was bored with him already. "How well do you know him?"

"Reasonably well. We've had some parties in the whole place. Makes it feel like a townhouse. I'm an architect and I was behind all of this."

"I see. Do you have any idea where he is?"

"I heard them all trudging out earlier."

"Them?"

"His flatmates."

"How many of them are there?"

"Five, I think."

"And Mr Weir was with them, correct?"

"He was, yes."

"You actually saw him?"

"I did. I was just finishing off painting the walls downstairs. I finally got a tin of Farrow and Ball I'd been after since before Christmas. Needed another coat and I ran out."

"Any idea where they were going?"

"Not at all. I much prefer a bottle of wine inside my four walls. Besides, I don't like to mingle too closely."

Cullen waved a hand around. "This seems a bit opulent for a bar manager."

"It is but that's a shared flat he's in"

"Do you know who owns it?"

"I had some dealings with the factors when we got this place done up. Can't quite recall the name - Dean Bridge or something?"

Cullen noted it. "Okay, thanks for your time, sir."

Court smiled. "No problem."

Cullen handed him a card. "Give me a call if anyone from that flat turns up, okay?"

"Will do." Court pocketed the card and headed inside his flat.

Jain started down the stairs. "I'm tempted to trek dog shite all over his lovely carpet."

"Classy."

"This is getting us nowhere. We need to speak to that Weir guy."

"Agreed."

"Okay, so what now?"

"I'm going to get back to the station. Can you try and find Weir?"

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

Cullen shrugged as he held open the street door. "You're a DC, right? Use your skills."

Chapter 75

Cullen stared at the whiteboard then drew a ring around
Weir
. "Have you heard from Chantal?"

"Nope."

"Bollocks." Cullen focused on
Falconer
. "What have we got on Kenny Falconer's movements that night?"

"Nothing concrete." Buxton flicked through his notebook before running his finger down a page. "Other than his and Vardy's statements, we've got nothing confirming his presence in the pub. He might've been there or he might not. It's just their word for it."

"But Vardy started off saying he wasn't there."

"Hang on." Buxton frowned. "I'm getting myself confused here."

"Okay. I'll go slowly for you." Cullen rubbed out a corner of the whiteboard, writing
Keogh
. "First, Keogh told us both Vardy and Falconer were with him."

"Agreed."

Cullen wrote
Falconer
. "When we spoke to Falconer, after he finished fucking us about, he said it was him, Keogh and Vardy."

"Little wanker."

Cullen wrote
Vardy
. "Dean Vardy initially said Falconer wasn't there then he changed his mind and said he was." He took a step back. "So their statements match. Keogh, Vardy and Falconer."

"Other than this fuckery with Vardy's lawyer." Buxton pointed at
Weir
. "Weir told us Vardy was there, but he wasn't sure who with."

"Correct." Cullen screwed up his eyes. He scribbled on the whiteboard, linking
Vardy
and
Falconer
. "Parker's at it, though, I swear."

"In what way?"

"Just the way he grabbed Vardy and got him to change his story, insisting Falconer was there."

Buxton frowned. "What's that all about?"

"No idea." Cullen looked over the whiteboard. "Did you get anything on Vardy's aunt?"

Buxton nodded. "Got a hold of her when you and Crystal were in with Vardy earlier."

"So how cougarish is she?"

"Shut up,
Bain
. Fuck's sake, mate." Buxton snorted. "I spoke to her on the phone."

Cullen struggled to stop grinning. "Did you confirm the story?"

"Not yet. Lives in Northern Ireland now. Somewhere in Antrim." Buxton added three boxes to the board to cover it.

Cullen smirked. "By the way, you never told me Chantal Jain went round to your flat?"

"Oh for fu-"

"Who's been at my sodding whiteboard?" Methven stormed into the room, hands flapping around as he looked up and down the white expanse. "There's another six boxes on here!"

Buxton raised a hand. "That was me, sir."

"And what's the meaning of it?"

"Just adding the latest on the case." Buxton shrugged. "I did it in green so you'd see."

Methven scowled at him. "But
green
is for confirmed evidence, Constable!"

Buxton traced his pen all over the board. "But everything's red or orange on here."

"Precisely." Methven narrowed his eyes. "It's all sodding nonsense."

Cullen put a hand to his chin. "You were philosophical about it last week."

"That was before DS McNeill's caseload got thrust at me." Methven snatched the pen from Buxton and started rewriting everything in red. "Care to run me through the latest thinking?"

Cullen rubbed his chin. "Well, Falconer and Vardy knew each other of old but neither were particularly forthcoming about them both being in Teuchter's that night."

"Sodding hell."

"We think they could just be playing us, sir."

"In what way?"

"Well, if they were discussing a deal to buy and sell knives, for instance."

"Sodding, sodding hell."

"Aye, we were maybe lucky he didn't stab me or Simon." Cullen shrugged. "Everything goes back to Dave Weir, sir. If we confirm his statement, we're sorted."

"Agreed." Methven tapped on the board. "Where are we with finding this barman?"

Cullen took a couple of steps away from the whiteboard. "I've left DC Jain looking for him, sir. Not had an update."

"I expect you to be on top of this, Constable."

"Speak of the devil." Buxton waved at the glass wall.

Jain entered the room, face like thunder. She slumped against the wall. "Evening, gents."

Methven scratched his forehead with the pen. "Where have you been?"

"Looking for Weir. He's disappeared. Cullen and I went to his flat and spoke to a neighbour. Then I was up at Teuchter's again and about ten pubs."

"And he's not there?"

"No. The neighbour reckons he left with his flatmates a couple of hours ago. I've been back to the bar to see if I could get any leads. Went to a few usual haunts of theirs."

"Then where the sodding hell is he?"

"I've no idea." She shrugged. "I've got a search out for him."

"You've been away a while. What else have you done?"

Jain kicked a heel back against the skirting. "I spoke to the other bar staff who worked the thirtieth. Two of them. Neither saw Vardy or Keogh or Falconer. They were just pulling pints."

"This is going nowhere." Methven collapsed into a chair and checked his watch. "Right, clear off home, the lot of you. I expect you in at seven thirty tomorrow."

Chapter 76

Cullen trudged down the Royal Mile, past the rows of darkened tat shops and the World's End pub. He craned his neck round the corner, spotting Sharon's orange Focus parked in the residents' bay on Jeffrey Street. He took a deep breath as he walked past the two pubs at the end of the street, sorely tempted to go inside either.

Instead, he crossed at the lights and walked up the close.

"This is getting away early, is it?" Sharon was dumping a bag in the outside bin.

"Aye, sorry. Ended up getting wrapped up in Crystal's shite. Well, it's your shite we've been dealing with." Cullen held open the door. "What was in the bag?"

"Just had to empty Fluffy's litter tray again." She started up the stairs. "It's like he's not been to the toilet all holiday."

"Poor wee bugger."

"You've changed your tune." Sharon smiled as they entered the flat. "Last time I'm getting that cat sitter. She was rubbish. Never changed the litter once. My mum would be better."

Cullen hung up his coat and scarf before slumping on the sofa in the living room. "I miss my bloody car."

"You've only had eight months to replace it."

"I just can't be arsed with the hassle of getting a new one. And the parking's shite round here."

"Thought you liked living here."

"It's got its downsides, I suppose."

Sharon sat next to him on the settee. "I saw a nice new build in Bathgate on the way home. Checked it out when I got back. Three bedrooms for a hundred and fifty."

"I'm not moving to Bathgate. End of."

"Scott-"

"Seriously. Linlithgow at a push."

"Right."

"Don't be like that."

"We need to get out of this place, Scott. I'm fed up with it."

"Let me get my feet back under the table at work. I've not got time to think about this."

"We've been talking about it all holiday. You'll just forget again, won't you?" She put a hand on her hip. "More late nights, more Crystal, more moaning about your lack of promotion. We need to strike while the iron's hot."