Fire in the Blood (Scott Cullen Mysteries) (6 page)

"I was a T in the Park boy in my youth," said Murray.

"Well, anyway," said Crombie, ignoring Murray, "my boys had talked about going there for years, ever since Iain was 18. They were both into music in a big way and they decided that they would go that year. A band that they both enjoyed were playing."

"When did they decide to go?" asked Cullen. He knew from experience that it wasn't just something you turned up at - it had taken him a good few weeks of organisation and interaction with a wide network of friends and acquaintances, and then he'd had to stay on a phone call for an hour in a queue to get their tickets. That said, Cullen knew that the security had been lax until the late 90s.

Crombie rubbed his forehead. "They'd been planning it a good few months beforehand," he said. "They had to clear the time off with me first before they could buy their tickets. I took some persuading, I can tell you."

"For what reason?" asked Murray.

"Well, there was the money, of course," said Crombie. "It wasn't just travel to the festival, it was their spending money." He took a deep breath. "And, of course, I wanted to make sure that they would both be focused on finishing the batch for the year, and not just leave us in the lurch, or be daydreaming about it while they made the whisky."

"So when did they set off?" asked Cullen. He knew that Glastonbury was usually in late June, usually around the twenty something-th of the month. If he could ascertain that it was later that year, then they could confirm that the body had definitely been put in the barrel on the twelfth, then they could seriously start to think about eliminating Iain from the investigation and instead focus their attentions on Paddy Kavanagh.

"They left on the thirteenth, in the morning," said Crombie.

"That's fairly precise," said Cullen. He was usually suspicious of precision in dates.

"I remember that for two reasons," said Crombie, nodding his head quickly and leaning forward. "We had just finished the distilling for the year, pretty much that morning. The boys had been working hard, thanks to my insistence that they focus on the task at hand and not some festival, so I let them go early - Doug and myself could handle supervising the men for the most part." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, showing the wiry grey hairs on them, though the kilt mercifully stayed in the same place. "The second reason that I remember it was that it was the day after they had finally made up again. It was touch and go about whether they actually went."

"That's a bit of a gap between them leaving here and going to the Festival," said Cullen. "It's usually the twenty-third or twenty-fourth of June something like that."

"Aye," said Crombie. "They went on a long pilgrimage to the festival site," he said. "The idea was to go down the West coast of the country, through the Lake District and Wales. The boys were big on their hillwalking and their real ale." He smiled. "As well as their whisky."

Cullen was satisfied with the answer - he'd had the idea to do something similar when they went to the festival, but hadn't bothered in the end. "Can I ask what had they been arguing about?"

"I don't see how that can be pertinent to your investigation," said Crombie, glowering at Cullen.

Cullen leaned back on the sofa and crossed his left leg over the right, trying to appear more relaxed. "Let us be the judge of that," he said.

"We'd had a big disagreement - me and my boys - about the future of the company," said Crombie, with a snort. "Fraser wanted to sell up, Iain and I wanted to continue as we were and stay independent."

Cullen scribbled it down in his notebook. "Was there an offer on the table?" he asked.

"There was," said Crombie. "Scottish Distillers."

"Was that the last takeover bid you've had?" asked Cullen.

"Almost," said Crombie. "Diageo have been sniffing around recently. We've got a board meeting next week to discuss strategy."

"How had Iain been before the trip?" asked Cullen.

"He'd found it difficult being at war with Fraser," said Crombie. "They were so close, you know."

"But they managed to resolve their disagreement?"

"They did," said Crombie. "I was the peace-broker in this. We had a family meal - myself, the boys, and my late wife." He looked away. "Iain disappearing broke her heart, you know." He stared at Cullen. "She passed away in 1998. Cancer."

"When did you report Iain as missing?" asked Cullen.

"It was about a week after Fraser had returned from Glastonbury," said Crombie, frowning. "Iain never came back, so we went to the police."

"Did they not return together?" asked Cullen.

"No," said Crombie. "They had both stayed on for a few days after the festival. They fell in with some crowd and they stayed on at the site for a few days. Fraser had to come back to start on the next batch of barrels. As soon as we've distilled one lot, we're blending the next and we need to sort out the barrels. He'd been lucky to get three weeks off because we desperately needed him."

Cullen scribbled some notes down. "So Fraser is key to the process here?" he asked.

"He is, aye," said Crombie. "Wish that weren't the case, but he makes a decent fist of it."

"Do you not get on well with your son?" asked Cullen.

"Ach, I don't mean it that way," said Crombie. "Anyone who's studied business knows how bad it is if you've got a key man dependency."

"Okay, so you're saying that Iain didn't return at the same time as Fraser?" asked Murray.

Crombie looked at him and nodded. "Aye," he said. "Iain stayed for a few days more, and then..."

"You reported Iain as missing a week after Fraser returned?" asked Cullen.

"Correct," said Crombie, fixing his eyes on Cullen. "The body in the barrel is not my son, Detective."

Cullen held his gaze but eventually had to look down at his notebook. He didn't think that they could get anything more from Crombie until they had a positive ID on the body, which he sincerely hoped would be soon, but he knew now not to hope for a quick closure when it came to these things. "Can I ask you a few questions about the barrels?" he asked.

Crombie shrugged. "I doubt that I can help," he said, "but by all means."

"Doug Strachan said that they found the barrels when they did a stock take in 1997," said Cullen. "They thought that the whisky might have been for you or Iain."

Crombie spluttered. "Neither of us bothered with private malts for a few years," he said. "We were trying to expand at the time - we didn't have the whisky to spare. We were fighting tooth and nail to be an independent company."

"Did Fraser or Strachan ever have a private malt?" asked Murray.

"Douglas Strachan is not a director of the company," said Crombie. "He would have been asked to pay for it, and he never would. Fraser has had just the one over the years, but I only allowed it when he was thirty and, even then, half of the bottles are stored here."

Cullen looked at Crombie for a few seconds before speaking. "Do you have any idea what happened with these barrels?" he asked.

"Those barrels are nothing to do with me or my son," said Crombie, shaking his head.

"And the barrels only appeared on the inventory in 1997, is that right?"

"There is that, yes," said Crombie.

"Can I just ask one thing?" asked Cullen. "Why did you earmark these two barrels for a special edition if you didn't know how or when they were made?"

"That's none of your business," said Crombie.

Cullen stared at him. He decided to press the point - Crombie was proving slightly truculent and he wanted to show who was in charge here. "It is very much our business, Mr Crombie," said Cullen. "May I remind you that this is a murder investigation? Whoever is in that cask was murdered, so I would appreciate if you gave us as much information as possible."

"Very well," said Crombie. He was lost in thought for a few moments. "The reason why I selected those particular barrels for a special edition was twofold. First, the types of wood that we have used in the barrels will give us a unique blend. The second reason was that 1994 was a very good malt and if we promoted any old fourteen year old to such an exalted position in the history of this company, then it would be a gamble, and one that I am not willing to take. I had strong hopes for those casks that they would prove worthy of commemorating such a momentous occasion."

Cullen hadn't learned anything of particular note, but it at least put Crombie in his place. "If it is Paddy that's in there," he said, "do you have any idea of who would want to kill him?"

Crombie closed his eyes. Cullen thought that Alec Crombie realised that
somebody
was in the cask and had been murdered on his watch.

Crombie finally looked up at Cullen. "I have no idea, I'm afraid," he said. "I barely knew the man. I only saw him to give him his weekly pay packet."

"Can I just remind you that this is a serious matter we are investigating," said Cullen, handing Crombie a business card. "Someone has been murdered here and it happened on your watch. I want you to think through exactly what could have happened here and call me if anything comes up."

Crombie's eyes narrowed until they were tiny slits. "Very well," he said.

Cullen picked up the bundle of ledgers and got to his feet. "We'll show ourselves out."

Cullen stretched back in his chair and let out a deep breath. He glanced at the display on his iPhone - 8pm already.

He'd headed back to Leith Walk after finishing with Crombie, returning to the distillery to pick Caldwell and his car up and get away from Bain. There had been radio silence for the last few hours, allowing Cullen to get on with looking through the ledgers.

He looked over at Caldwell - she had a pair of glasses on, the first time he'd seen them, and was looking through the stack of MisPer reports, having received the actual case files early. He was about to start speaking to Caldwell, but he caught Bain heading their way, quickly walking through the floor, hands in his trouser pockets, grinning away, chewing on gum.

"Incoming," said Cullen.

Caldwell glanced up and hurriedly tore her glasses off. "Thanks," she said.

Bain sat down at his desk, just across from Cullen, and put his feet up. He slyly grinned at Caldwell. "Hope you don't think I didn't see the glasses, Batgirl," he said. "Right little Lois Lane with them on, aren't you?"

Caldwell rolled her eyes at him. "I'm hardly a little anything," she said.

"There is that," said Bain. He looked over at Cullen. "Hope you two have been busy out here while the rest of us have been doing some proper police work."

"Have you actually been doing some?" asked Cullen. "I thought you'd just been irritating the Desk Sergeant in Garleton until he gave you his whiteboard."

"Shut it, Sundance," said Bain, looking amused. "He gave me it, though."

"I take it from the gum that you've been speaking to Irvine?" asked Cullen.

Bain nodded. Cullen knew that Bain would always steal some gum from the seemingly endless supply that Irvine had. He would get through pots and pots of Wrigley's Extra every week. "Pissed off that I've nicked you off his little skive. Had to remind him who he works for."

"Cargill?" asked Caldwell.

"Less of that," said Bain.

"He's getting nowhere with that case," said Cullen. He didn't want to dwell on the subject too long, or at least didn't want Bain to dwell on it too long, in case he got thrown back into Irvine's Astra for another fruitless week. "How's it going back at the Distillery?"

"Need to get a warrant if I want to crowbar open the other barrels," said Bain.

"We may need to at some point, maybe," said Cullen, frowning.

"The PF knocked me back," said Bain. "I was asking to X-ray them if I couldn't open them."

"Are you serious?"

"Of course I am," said Bain. "It's essential. Could be a fuckin' treasure trove of bodies down there. Fuckin' PF said I need probable cause that there's more than one body down there."

"There's two disappearances," said Caldwell.

"Don't get me wrong," said Bain, "I did bring that up. She wasn't havin' it."

Cullen had been involved in some dealings with the Procurator Fiscal over the previous eighteen months and knew that she wasn't the sort to support Bain's nonsense, especially as it didn't appear to be sanctioned by Turnbull in this instance.

"How's Deeley getting on?" asked Cullen.

"Don't fuckin' start me on that work shy bastard," said Bain. He picked the gum out of his mouth and threw it in the general direction of the nearest bin - Cullen watched it stick to the side. "Earliest he can get out to look at the body is Monday. Had a house fire in Dalkeith, in case you hadn't heard - some Polish boy got turned into a crisp. Another body in Linlithgow and one in Queensferry." He screwed up his nose. "This fuckin' summer is a fuckin' nightmare."

"There's no hurry with ours, though, is there?" asked Caldwell.

"We are goin' to fuckin' solve this, Batgirl, believe you me," said Bain. "How's the detailed forensic analysis of those case files goin'?"

"Slow," she said, "like any detailed forensic analysis."

"Aye, very good," said Bain. "Summary, now."

She held up a white A4 notepad, at least ten sheets already written and folded over. "I've been focusing on Paddy Kavanagh," she said. "His file turned up early. Everyone is pointing at him being the likely victim. I've got ten pages of notes already. I can give them to Murray tomorrow."

"Do it," said Bain. "And Iain Crombie?"

"Still waiting on the file," she said. "I was going to get a couple of hours in on the Edinburgh disappearances before I headed home."

"So you'll have somethin' for me at tomorrow's briefing?" asked Bain.

"Don't expect much," said Caldwell.

Cullen thought that she looked a bit nervous - he remembered back ten months on the Schoolbook case and the hours he was putting in. He hadn't had to put in a stint like that - at the time, Caldwell had matched him hour for hour. He was beginning to think that she was pushing hard for the full DC position and that she thought that putting in long shifts was the way to get there. He doubted that Bain would see it that way, but if she had it documented then she had some hard evidence at least.