Windchill (3 page)

"So he wasn't that badly burnt?"

"Quite. I've seen the corpse and I'm thinking the cause of death was smoke inhalation rather than fire." Methven finally reopened his eyes, little slits beneath his thick eyebrows, little strands escaping up. "We found what looks very much like a toolbox in the living room. The metal's charred rather than melted."

"So, you're saying it looks like he was tortured before he died?"

"That's my working hypothesis, Constable." Methven smoothed down his eyebrows, a couple of strands still escaping. "People in Juniper Green don't tend to pull out their teeth before setting fire to their own house."

"You live here, don't you, sir?"

"Currie."

"Right." Cullen waved around, his arms taking in the entirety of the house. "What else's been happening here?"

"We've now got street teams going door-to-door around the neighbours under Catriona Rarity's command."

Bollocks. Cullen winced. "And you want us on that?"

"I do." Methven focused on Cullen as he thumbed behind them. "Make yourselves useful and go and speak to an Alistair Walker. Lives two doors down in number fourteen. He called the fire in last night." He sighed. "Too late, obviously."

Chapter 5

Cullen stopped outside the house - more a set of garages with attached living quarters than the other way round - to look back at Methven and scowl. "Still can't believe they made that wanker a DI."

Buxton shook his head as he pressed the buzzer. "You're
still
going on about that nine months on?"

"Maybe it's because they busted me back to a DC at the same time."

"At least you're a full DC, mate." Buxton took a step back and peered in the living room window. "I'm still acting. Been going on too long."

"Aye, sorry." Cullen nodded. "If I had my way, that'd be sorted out long ago."

"Cheers." Buxton brushed his hair back. "You know he hated you calling him Acting DI all the time, right?"

"I like to find an angle." Cullen shrugged as he rested against the frozen garden gate, feeling the burn in his fingers. "He shouldn't have been such a pompous git about it."

"Speak for yourself. Always moaning about how you're not a sergeant."

Moaning? Bloody hell. Cullen stepped forward and stabbed his finger against the buzzer, holding it for a few seconds. "It's reporting to Rarity that's a bloody nightmare."

"And Methven would be better?"

"Maybe."

The door opened. The man Cullen had seen earlier stood there, the collar of his polo shirt now turned up, a large Nokia in his piggy fingers. "Can I help you?"

Cullen flashed his warrant card. "Police Scotland. We're looking to speak to Alistair Walker."

"That's me." Walker frowned. "Is this about the fire?"

"It is." Cullen cleared his throat. "We need to ask you a few questions."

"Sure." Walker led them inside, his shoulders hunched and arms wagging at his sides. He led them into a sitting room, the din of small children coming from down the hall, accompanied by the acrid smell of fried food - pancakes done with too much oil. "Sorry about the noise, officers. Kids are off school for Christmas. Can't get a moment's peace."

"No problem." Cullen sat on an armchair before getting out his notebook and clicking his pen. "We understand you called to report the fire at Mr McCoull's house last night?"

"Aye, that's true." Walker clicked his fingers and a white Scotty dog raced across the room. It sat on its hind legs in front of him, ears pricked up and left paw raised. "I took Benji here out for his constitutional last thing. Be about half eleven. I smelt smoke. It clearly wasn't Eric next door doing some winter barbecuing, didn't smell anything like that."

"Winter barbecuing?"

"Aye." Walker chuckled. "He likes to cook steaks on his gas barbecue."

"Even in winter?"

"Aye. And at half eleven sometimes." Walker reached down to stroke the dog's fur, smoothing out some dirt. "It's been known to happen. Big Australian thing he's got. Picked it up from a garden centre sale."

"But you didn't think it was him cooking steaks?"

"As I say, the smell was different. It wasn't meat. It was like a fire, you know, in a blazer or something."

"So you went over to inspect?"

"I did, aye. I put Benji inside and hurried over. There were flames leaping out of one of the windows that had burst open. I could feel the heat on my skin, you know?" Walker held up his phone. "So I dialled 999."

"And what did you do after you phoned us?"

"I made sure Benji was in his bed and told the wife. We both went back over. There were a few people out by then. The fire had really taken off. There were flames in the windows and stuff."

"Did you recognise these people?"

"Aye. Most of the neighbours."

"Did you see anyone you didn't recognise?"

Walker sat forward, clasping his fingers and staring into space for a few seconds. "Not that I can think of, no."

Cullen noted it down. Something to check with Rarity later.

Walker frowned, though he avoided eye contact. "Listen, what's this about? Are you investigating it as an insurance job?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Two detectives pitching up at my door asking questions about a house fire, seems a bit strange to me."

"It wouldn't be a Major Investigation Team working an insurance fraud case, Mr Walker." Cullen clicked his pen shut. "Mr McCoull's body was found inside the building."

Walker swallowed before blinking a few times. "Steven's dead?"

"He is."

"And you think he was murdered?"

"It's a possibility."

Walker frowned. "Could it've been a chip pan fire?"

"We don't believe so." Cullen noted it as something to check in the fire service report. "Do you know if Mr McCoull was partial to late night chips?"

"No idea, really. Just knew the boy to speak to, in all honesty. At barbecues, in the street and that. He doesn't have kids so I've never had the opportunity to get to know the punter, you know?"

"Were you in all night?"

"No, I was at the pub."

"Locally?"

"No, in town. I work at Alba Bank. Few of us finished up for the break at three o'clock yesterday so we went for a few pints. Finished up about eight and got the bus home." Walker frowned, the lines on his forehead deepening. "When I got back last night, just as I was coming down the hill there, I saw a taxi come out of our lane."

Cullen clicked his pen again and made a note. "What kind of taxi was it?"

"Just a standard black cab."

"And what time was this?"

"Be about eight forty, something like that?" Walker stretched out, putting his hands behind his head, staring out of the window. "There was something else. It's probably nothing..."

"What was it?"

Walker focused on Cullen. "Just when I got back in Sheila - my wife - was moaning at me to take Benji out to the toilet. I'm not a hundred per cent sure on this, but I think I saw Steven outside his house."

"Was he alone?"

"See, that's the thing. He might not've been."

Cullen sat forward on his seat. "Can you describe who he was with?"

"I didn't quite see." Walker locked eyes with his dog, his forehead creased. "It was really dark and the streetlights aren't the best round here."

Cullen held up a hand. "Please, take your time."

"Sorry." Walker shook his head. "I think they went inside with Steven but that's it."

"Male or female?"

"Male, I think, but it was dark, as I say."

"What were they wearing?"

"A jacket."

"Heavy? Light?"

"No idea. Light, maybe."

"Okay. What style of hair?"

"Didn't see, sorry."

"What time was this?"

"Be about quarter to nine, I think."

"Thanks." Cullen made a few notes. Be lucky to get anything out of that. "Did you see anyone leave the house later on?"

"Afraid not. Sorry." Walker rubbed his hand across his nose. "When I got in, I read a story to my girls then came down to watch the second half of
Die Hard
on the telly."

"What about when you were on the street last night after the fire engine arrived?"

"Nothing, sorry."

"You didn't see this person?"

"Don't think so." Walker massaged his temples for a few seconds. "Sorry, I just can't think."

"That's okay." Cullen got to his feet before handing him a business card. "Give me a call if you think of anything that might help us, okay?"

Chapter 6

"Sodding hell." Methven gave an almighty sigh before shaking his head. "And this neighbour has no idea who McCoull entered the house with last night?"

"Afraid not, sir." Buxton shrugged, eyes avoiding Cullen and Methven. "Plus, he never saw him leave either."

Cullen looked back down the street at Walker's house, his frazzled brain thinking things through. "Was there another body in the house?"

"We've been over this already, Constable. It was Steven McCoull."

"That's not what I mean." Cullen snorted, trying to kick his brain into gear. "We know McCoull wasn't alone last night. Could this other person have died inside?"

"I see what you're getting at now." Methven clicked his fingers, distracting a firefighter. "Mr Simpson, can we have a word?"

He put down the hose he was in the middle of coiling and walked over. "Aye, what is it?"

"We have a report of a figure entering the house at about quarter to nine last night." Methven crossed his arms, the fingers of one hand stroking his chin. "Is it possible there are two bodies?"

"No way." Simpson shook his head before clearing his throat. "We've had a fair amount of time to scour that place. Your SOCOs have been in there, too. We found only one body, the one we called you lot out for. We got here before the fire was too far gone. You can see for yourself, the house isn't too badly burnt. It's not like it had a chance to devour another body."

"Absolutely none?"

"None. At. All."

Methven narrowed his eyes. "So there's no way this additional body could've been hidden with what was used to start the fire?"

Simpson scowled at Methven for a few seconds. "There was an accelerant used. However, we'd still have traces of a body if it was near the accelerant. No matter how hot a house fire gets, it's nothing like cremating someone."

Methven nodded. "Okay."

Simpson smiled, the top half of his face not moving. "Now, do you mind if I get back to packing this stuff away? Got a big night of chip pan fires ahead of us."

Chip pan fires. Cullen frowned. "Do you know what caused this?"

Simpson turned to face him. "I said there was an accelerant used. If you're thinking there's a chip pan involved here, think again. There wasn't one. Could even dust the thing off and use it."

"Okay, thanks for your help." Methven avoided eye contact with him.

"Cheers." Simpson trudged back over the road, shaking his head as he went.

Methven let his arms go, one hand going for the pocket with its familiar keys and change. "Nobody else in the sodding street team has mentioned a sighting yet."

"Maybe we lucked out, sir." Cullen looked down the long street, spotting a couple of paired officers heading away from them on either side. "Have they turned anything up yet?"

"No. Nobody's seen or heard anything."

Cullen scowled. "So you're telling me McCoull had his teeth pulled out and arms broken and nobody heard him screaming?"

"It would appear that way."

"This bloody city." Cullen gave a bitter laugh. "So, basically, someone went inside with McCoull. A man, but not definitely. And the next thing we know, the house is on fire. And we don't have anyone leaving?"

"That's correct."

"Well, we've got our arsonist then."

"Or rather we don't, Constable. We need to find him. Or her." Methven made a note in his notebook. "I'll get Catriona's team onto it."

Cullen stared back at Walker's house. He'd better come up with a proper description soon.

"Oh my God!"

Cullen spun around in the direction of the shout.

A tall woman with blonde hair and red lipstick wrestled with the uniform guarding access to the McCoull house. "You need to let me in there!"

Cullen followed Methven and Buxton as they jogged over.

Methven managed to separate her from the uniform. "I'm asking you to get back, madam!"

"Get away from me!" She lashed out with a hand, catching Methven on the cheek and clawing out a chunk of skin.

"You sodding witch!" Methven slammed her against a police car. He reached into his suit jacket and retrieved his cuffs, slapping them on her. He dabbed his cheek, blood already weeping down to his shirt collar. He spun her around. "Tell us your name!"

"I'm not giving you it!"

The uniform raised a hand. "Sir?"

Methven glared at him. "What is it?"

"She gave me her name." The PC held up the clipboard. "It's Evelyn McCoull."

"Sodding hell. Is she his wife?"

"No idea, sir."

"In that case, Constable, I want you to read her sodding rights, chuck her in a car and take her to Leith Walk station for me."

The uniform nodded and led her over to another car.

Watching them, Methven reached into his pocket for a white handkerchief before glaring at Cullen. "Can you get down to the station and interview her?"

"You think she's a suspect?"

"I want you to find out whether she is or not."

"Walker could've seen Evelyn entering the house with McCoull."

"It was dark, Constable. He could've seen anything."

"Right. We'll see what she's got to say."

Methven held the tissue out for a few seconds before dabbing his cheek. "She's sodding paying for this, though."

"I'll pass that on to her."

"Good." Methven got out his Blackberry, his wrinkled thumbs tapping the buttons. "Right, well, I've got to go to the post mortem now. After I've had this sodding cut tidied up."

"Sure." Cullen ground his teeth as he watched his superior retreat down the road towards his car, phone clasped to his ear. "What a wanker."