Fire in the Blood (Scott Cullen Mysteries) (23 page)

Before Crombie could chip in, Deeley started. "I'm afraid that the identification was that much harder," he said, eyes darting around the room, "because there had been significant physical damage made to the skull. It isn't, however, the actual cause of death by the looks of things. The postmortem revealed that the victim would still have been breathing when he was put in the barrel and drowning is the verdict that I will record, along with the additional injuries."

"That's all very good," said Crombie, his voice a thick rumble, "but what makes you think this is my son?"

Deeley held up a finger, like some third-rate magician away to perform the last-minute reveal of the trick. He lifted the sheet up slightly, revealing the left arm and part of the torso, but kept the face covered. He pointed at the scar. "Somebody took great care to attack the head of the victim and smash the skull," he said, "but they neglected to remove a key distinguishing mark."

Crombie closed his eyes. He reopened them shortly after, eyes locked on Bain. "Inspector," he snarled. "This is not evidence."

Deeley held up the photo that Cullen had acquired from Dr Singh. "This photo is from the records of one Iain Crombie," he said. "You gave permission to DC Cullen earlier and we now have a copy of the medical file."

Deeley had spent some of the ninety minutes it had taken to get the Crombies and Strachan in perusing the copy of the file that Singh had sent through and had confirmed that the photograph was of Iain's body.

"Does Iain have a scar like that?" asked Deeley.

"Not that I know of," said Crombie, shaking his head. He looked over at his son. "Did you know anything about this?"

Fraser Crombie shrugged. "Afraid not," he said. "Maybe Marion would know?"

Cullen closed his eyes - if he'd thought of that earlier, he wouldn't have had to piss about with doctors and permission forms.

"Mr Crombie," said Bain. "This is your son. We have confirmation from a medical practitioner that this injury related to your son and it has been independently matched against the body by Dr Deeley here."

Crombie closed his eyes. The room was silent, just the drone of the electricity in the room. After thirty seconds or so, he reopened them. "Let me see him," he said, staring at Deeley.

"I would advise against it," said Deeley. "The body has been heavily damaged, as I said earlier."

"
Please
."

Deeley raised his eyebrows and complied with Crombie's request. He pulled the sheet away from the face.

Cullen watched the three men for their reaction.

Alec Crombie started crying openly. He began moaning, muttering "Oh, Iain" over and over again, his deep voice making the whole affair feel almost surreal to Cullen.

Fraser closed his eyes and gave a slight nod. Cullen wondered if it was acknowledging his brother's death.

Strachan looked away, back at the body on the table.

"Can you please confirm that the scars match?" asked Bain, looking at Fraser.

"Aye, it does," said Fraser Crombie, biting his lip, the same resonant voice as his father. "It looks like it is Iain."

Strachan looked at Bain. "Please cover him up, for goodness sake."

Deeley pulled the sheet over.

"I'm sorry to have to do it this way," said Bain.

"No, I understand," said Crombie. He looked at Cullen. "I owe you an apology. You were right."

He looked like a shadow of his former self as he slumped back against the wall of the room - his muscles seemed to have lost their tension.

"Believe me," said Cullen, "it gives me no pleasure to be right."

"We will have to formally interview all of you at some point today," said Bain.

"I understand," said Crombie. "I want you to find out whoever did this to my boy."

"We will," said Bain.

Crombie looked at his son and Strachan. "Someone's going to have to tell Marion," he said.

Cullen locked eyes with Bain. Bain gave a nod.

"I'll do it," said Cullen.

An hour later and they were in the Incident Room upstairs, having broken to throw some food down their throats. Bain had spent half an hour with Turnbull, sharing the news and agreeing next steps. Cullen hoped that some of the credit was heading his way.

Bain had obtained a booking on a room with Turnbull's approval. The whiteboard contained an exact replica of what Bain had populated onto the flip chart. Iain Crombie had been underlined three times, and Paddy Kavanagh scored out along with the mystery box.

"Right," said Bain, "I think we've made some progress today. We've confirmed who the body is." He stroked his moustache. "DC Cullen has been his usual sneaky bastard self and come up with a result out of nowhere, so top marks, Sundance. Zero out of ten for team play, mind." He looked back at the whiteboard. "I want us to focus on our activities for the next day. We have a list of suspects here and we need to close that down. DCI Turnbull wants us to use the momentum we've got and get a result as quickly as possible. This can be a good news story, proof that we focus on closing out cold cases and we don't let them fester like some other parts of the police service."

Cullen wondered if the last comment was a reference to the impending restructures and if the brownie points for this case would count towards some magic score that Turnbull and Bain would use to climb the greasy pole in the new Police Service of Scotland.

Bain tapped on Iain's name on the whiteboard. "Sundance, you've been haverin' some shite for ages about what if it was Iain in the barrel," he said. "Start with a list of suspects."

"Fraser Crombie has pointed the finger at Strachan," said Cullen. "He got caught stealing whisky. Strachan himself confirmed the story. It's a bit far-fetched that he'd kill to save his job, but then, if it was him that did it, he has got away with it so far."

Bain looked around the room. "Are there any other suspects here?"

"The only other obvious possibility is Fraser Crombie," said Cullen. "They'd had a big argument about the future of the company."

"Right, hang on a second," said Bain. "This Fraser boy told us he was off to Glastonbury with his brother. Iain pulls some bird and stays down there, never to be seen again until he shows up in a barrel eighteen years later."

"That's correct."

"How the fuck did he get himself into a barrel that was filled ten days before this fuckin' festival started?" asked Bain.

"Anderson said that they're consistent with being batched up in 1994," said Cullen. "A couple of weeks wouldn't be easily identifiable."

"So basically, we know fuck all," said Bain. "This Iain boy could have turned up at the distillery, met someone without anyone knowing he was back and got his pan done in. Whoever did it stamped the barrels with three weeks earlier."

"Seems like science fiction," said Caldwell.

"Eh?" said Bain, scowling.

"Well, he's not likely to just turn up there, is he?" she said. "He's been at a festival. I've no idea what the weather was like that year, but he's been sleeping in tents for three weeks. Wouldn't he have gone home and got cleaned up first?"

Bain nodded his head slowly. "Aye, good point."

"Don't think you should exclude it, though," said Cullen. "How many times have you been away on holiday and remembered you had to do something when you were halfway down the road and then done it when you got back before you got home?"

"Eh, never?" laughed Bain.

"Whatever," said Cullen, feeling irritated. "I just think that it's not something we should exclude."

"So who's our biggest suspect?" asked Bain.

"Strachan," said Cullen.

"You reckon?"

"It just fits," said Cullen. "He's got a motive and he's benefited from Iain Crombie disappearing."

"Right," said Bain. "So who else? His old man?"

"Why?" asked Cullen.

Bain shrugged. "No idea," he said. "Maybe this argument they had."

"They were on the same side," said Cullen.

"Aye, whatever," said Bain.

"What about this reticence at acknowledging that it could be Iain in the barrel?" asked Caldwell.

"Agreed," said Cullen. "He was going mental at me earlier."

"You've got something, though," said Bain. "Kept pointing us at it being Paddy. He's been a right fanjo about even acknowledging that it could be his son in there."

"What's a fanjo?" asked Caldwell.

"What you've got and I don't," said Bain.

"A functioning brain?"

Bain scowled. "No, a fuckin' fanny!" he shouted.

Caldwell grinned over Bain's silence, which only made him worse. Bain turned to the whiteboard. "So I'm putting Alec Crombie up as a suspect," he said. He scribbled Alec down then turned back around. "Anyone else?"

Murray got a call on his mobile at that point, heading out of the room.

"Paddy Kavanagh," said Caldwell.

Bain grinned. "I like it," he said. "Because he disappears just before Iain Crombie did?"

"That's it," said Caldwell, nodding.

"Good, good," said Bain. "Anything else pointing towards Paddy?"

"He used to drink with Iain Crombie up in Garleton," said Cullen. "The Tanner's Arms on the high street, a really rough bar."

McLaren cleared his throat. "It was notorious," he said.

Bain looked at him. "So you fuckin'
can
speak, McLean," he said.

"It's McLaren."

Bain's eyes bored into him. Murray appeared in the doorway. "Got a minute, Ewan?" he asked, looking at McLaren.

McLaren shuffled off out of the room.

"Fuckin' liability, those pair," said Bain. He looked back at the whiteboard. "Anything else about Paddy?"

"Not that I can think," said Cullen.

Bain looked at Caldwell. "Batgirl?"

"Nope."

"Right," said Bain. "Anyone else?"

"Marion Parrott," said Cullen.

"The ex-wife?" asked Bain.

"Yep," confirmed Cullen. "Her son could stand to inherit the distillery. Iain was sleeping around at Glastonbury. She might have killed him when he got back."

"Wouldn't she need help?" asked Bain.

"What, cos she's a feeble woman?" asked Caldwell, rolling her eyes.

"That's not quite what I mean," said Bain.

"No, it is what you mean," she said. "You think she couldn't do it cos she's a woman."

"I'm not sayin' that," said Bain. "I'm sayin' that the other suspects are all big guys. How tall is she?"

Caldwell screwed her face up in concentration. "Five six, five seven."

"And how heavy?"

"Not very."

"Right, well, Iain Crombie was a pretty big lad," said Bain. "I can't see her getting him in the barrel. Plus, does she know how to use the machinery."

"Okay, so for once you're not being a sexist pig," said Caldwell.

"Hey, I'm an equal opportunities bastard," said Bain.

"Are we done with Marion, then?" asked Cullen.

"Think so," said Bain. He drew a line to a new box, which he wrote 'ACCOMPLICE' in. "Anyone else?"

Neither Cullen nor Caldwell could think of anyone.

"Okay," said Cullen, "so now that we know it's Iain, can I go to Harrogate?"

"Fine," said Bain. "Just you. Cheapest train down and up. No overnight stay and not takin' the fuckin' piss." He stroked his moustache. "And I haven't forgotten that you're going to speak to Marion about Iain being dead, either."

"Okay," said Cullen.

"First, though," said Bain, "you need to head back to that surveillance obbo with Irvine."

"You're joking, right?"

"Wish I was, Sundance," said Bain. "Got collared by Jim and that fuckin' witch, Cargill. She was bustin' my balls about grabbing you off to do 'non-core activities'. I'll fuckin' show her some non-core activities."

"So that's it?" asked Cullen. "The rest of the afternoon I'm with DS Irvine?"

"Afraid so."

"Fine," said Cullen, "I'll do it when I'm finished with this."

"And me?" asked Caldwell.

"This fuckin' report isn't goin' to write itself," said Bain. "Can you get started, log everythin' onto the PNC, HOLMES, all the other shite. Get typin' everythin' up. Be a good development opportunity for you, Princess."

"When was the last time you did any of that?" she asked.

"The privilege of rank," said Bain.

"I could think of a word that rhymes," said Caldwell under her breath.

Murray and McLaren reappeared just then. "The fuckin' wanderers return," said Bain.

"Problem brewing back at the ranch," said Murray. "That was Bill Lamb. Our DI has got wind of us both being seconded to this investigation."

Bain screwed his eyes up. "Wonder how she got fuckin' wind of it," he snarled. "I'll sort her out, don't worry."

"Assuming we're still on this," said Murray, "what do you want us to do?"

"While you were out grassin' me up," said Bain, "we came up with a couple more suspects. Can you go back to lookin' into Paddy Kavanagh, this time as a possible suspect."

"Are you serious?" asked Murray.

"Of course I fuckin' am," said Bain. "He disappeared when this Iain boy went missin'. Now we know which fucker is in the barrel, he's a suspect."

"Will do," said Murray, sounding dejected.

"What do you want the rest of us to do?" asked Caldwell.

"Get me a fuckin' sandwich," said Bain, "I'm fuckin' starvin'."

Faced with the prospect of a surveillance with Irvine, Cullen had slowly typed up his report so far. When he'd finished - two hours later - Cullen decided that
finished
should actually include having spoken to Marion Parrott, and he'd be back to see Irvine after that.

He looked around the Incident Room - it was mostly empty. Caldwell sat swearing at a combination of the HOLMES system and the absent Bain. Murray was on a call, slumping back in the office chair, his feet up on the desk. McLaren had headed back to Haddington to keep their DI sweet - Bain's efforts hadn't exactly come to anything so far.

Cullen decided that he needed some corroboration when he spoke to Marion Parrott - she was going to be at a disadvantage when he broke the news to her, and she might slip something useful. She wasn't beyond suspicion in the case and catching her off-guard might prove to be a breakthrough.