Fire in the Blood (Scott Cullen Mysteries) (8 page)

The door swung open. Bain stood in the doorway, glowering at them. "What the fuck are you pair up to?" he asked. He tapped at his watch. "It's five fuckin' past."

"We're just getting our stories straight," said Cullen.

"I fuckin' know you, Cullen," said Bain, "and it's never as simple as that."

Just then, Caldwell waltzed past them into the Incident Room.
 

"Looks like the fuckin' gang's all here," said Bain, "so let's get started."

He turned around and marched into the room. They followed him in. It was large and dusty, and reflected a time when Garleton had been one of the major stations in the area, but was now just a neglected storage room. Cullen was thankful that it was June - it had been absolutely freezing in January. The room stank of mould and rotten plaster.

Bain stood by the whiteboard clapped his hands together. "Right, come on," he shouted, "let's be havin' you."

To Cullen, it was as if Bain thought he had the forty officers he was used to on a large murder investigation. What Cullen saw in the room demonstrated how far the mighty had fallen. Bain's behaviour over the previous year or so had got him in hot water with the top brass - while the team had a solid conviction rate, Bain had made some major blunders in the process. Not many DIs survived the death of an Acting DC, an official complaint and a lawsuit from a suspect.

Aside from Cullen, Murray and Caldwell, there was PC Johnny Watson and two more uniformed officers that Cullen didn't recognise. Turnbull clearly still hadn't seen fit to allocate a DS to the case, effectively demoting Bain to the level of Sergeant from Inspector. Cullen would rather have been stepping into the role of Acting DS, but he knew that the truth was different and Bain was acting down, if anything.

"Right," said Bain. "I've got three avenues of investigation ongoing with you lot and I want updates. First, we're in the process of transferring the barrel and the body to sit in Jimmy Deeley's office waiting for him to bother his arse to perform the postmortem. James Anderson is, as per fuckin' usual, taking his time with the Forensic Report but it's looking like the barrel has been intact since 1994." Bain cracked open a can of Red Bull and took a deep drink. "I'd hoped that we could get an easy result here, but it seems from what Batgirl has been looking into that both potential victims match the description of the corpse in the barrel. Both Iain Crombie and Paddy Kavanagh were just under six foot, medium build and with dark hair. This isn't going to be easy." He took another drink. "Sundance, you're first up - give us an update."

Cullen went through the progress they'd made out at Alec Crombie's house - his insistence that it was not his son in the barrel, an equally strong insistence that it had to be Paddy Kavanagh - and the analysis completed the previous evening identifying that 780 litres of distilled spirit were missing from the batch in the summer of '94.

"So we think it's most likely Paddy Kavanagh in there," said Bain, "second possibility is Iain Crombie."

"Or someone from later," said Cullen.

"Or someone from later," echoed Bain in a whiny tone. His expression was close to a snarl.

"They don't have records of the barrels for 1994," said Cullen. "They first noticed that barrel and its pair in 1997."

"So it's possible that the barrel could be anythin' up to two years after what's stamped on the bottom of it?" asked Bain.

Cullen thought about the ledgers. "There was 780 litres of whisky missing in 1994," he said.

Bain closed his eyes. "So this thing can't have been done in 1997," he spat, "is that what you're telling me?"

"It's got to be," said Cullen.

Bain stroked his moustache for a few seconds once Cullen had finished. "Okay, so we know that whoever is behind this stole a load of whisky and two barrels to cover someone with," said Bain. "In 1994."

"That's a fair assessment," said Cullen. "We've not found any trace of missing barrels, but that could be covered over more easily, I would suggest."

"So we can rule out the possibility of it being someone else in there?" asked Bain.

"I think so," said Cullen.

"Well, stop fuckin' raisin' things you're goin' to eliminate two minutes later," said Bain.

Cullen shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever," he said.

Bain stroked his moustache again. "Interesting how Crombie doesn't think it's his son in there," he said. "Why is that?"

"I'd suggest that he's not got over the disappearance," said Cullen. "You've spoken to him, is that your assessment?"

Bain scratched the stubble on his head. "Aye," he said. "He was insistent that it wasn't his son in there."

"Could he have killed him?" asked Murray.

"We don't have an identified victim yet," said Bain, "so it's going to be a bit tricky catching a murderer, don't you think?"

"Fair enough," said Murray, looking irritated.

Bain held his focus on Murray. "How is the hunt for Kavanagh going?" he asked.

"Not had anything from Aberdeen or Paisley," said Murray. "I'll give them a chaser just after this."

"You do that," said Bain. He looked at Caldwell. "What have you got, princess?"

"I've been through the case files for Paddy Kavanagh and Iain Crombie that were shipped to Leith Walk," she said. She held a report up. "Had a potential break. Turns out this Iain Crombie was a bit of a lad back in the day. He got done for fighting in Gullane in 1989."

"So Iain's file turned up?" asked Bain.

She nodded. "Just after you left last night."

"Did they charge the fucker for his fightin'?" asked Bain.

"Went to the Sheriff Court in Haddington," she said. "He got a fine. Breach of the peace."

Bain grinned. "You fuckin' beauty," he said. He looked at Caldwell. "Not you, you understand?"

She smiled. "Never knew you cared," she said.

"She only does Sergeants not Inspectors," said Murray.

Caldwell hit his arm.

"Was a DNA sample taken?" asked Bain.

"Aye," she said. "Well, there should be, according to the file."

"So we can definitively identify one way or another whether the body is Iain Crombie?" asked Bain.

"I'd say so," said Caldwell.

"Magic," said Bain, smiling.

"One final thing," she said. "I have the name of the officers who led the investigation into both disappearances. The guy who looked into Iain Crombie's is a retired DS called Frank Stanhope. Lives in a static caravan by Haddington."

Bain looked over at Cullen. "Guess who I want to go speak to him?"

Cullen glanced at Caldwell and noted down the address.

"What about me?" asked Murray.

"Get the road atlas out," said Bain, "you're going to Paisley." He looked at the three PCs in the room, Watson among them. "You three, I want to get a photofit done of Paddy Kavanagh and Iain Crombie, and do some of that fake ageing shite. Can you get over to the distillery and get one made up?"

Watson nodded quickly.

"Right," said Bain, stretching his spine. "I want this case fuckin' solved."

"I remember the case well," said Frank Stanhope.

Stanhope was the retired DS who had originally investigated Iain Crombie's disappearance. He had been based in Haddington - he would be some distant ancestor of Bill Lamb in the family tree of Lothian and Borders. In Cullen's eyes, he could only be described as gnarled - he was fat and red-faced, though he had a wide grin on his face, as if the ghosts of his career had finally been laid to rest in the five years since his retirement.

Cullen, Caldwell and Stanhope sat outside his caravan as the mid-morning sunshine crept around the caravan, mugs of tea in their hands. Stanhope lived in a static caravan park just outside Haddington, where the A199 skirted the bottom of the Garleton hills, set back from the road amongst some rapidly growing evergreen trees. Stanhope had submerged an old whisky barrel in the earth and he used it as a table, with four non-matching chairs around it. The area around his caravan had been marked out with a tiny white picket fence, barely a foot tall. Stanhope's collie, a bitch called Welshy, sat at his feet, head bowed between her front paws, her ears and eyes ever alert. Cullen had frowned at the name - there was a notorious Tranent drug dealer called Peter Welsh who had been put away a few years ago. He wondered if the dog was named after a career highlight.

Caldwell had the case file from 1994 in front of her, but Stanhope appeared to remember every little detail of the case from memory. The few details that he couldn't were in one of his many notebooks that he'd kept, and typically hadn't been captured in the formal case files. He had a pile of matching notebooks on the top of the barrel, each with a sticker indicating active periods and cases - Cullen knew that he should really implement a similar system and get his notes organised, but he just hadn't bothered. It was one of the key objectives in his annual performance review.

"I can tell you with all honesty that I was bitterly disappointed that I never solved this case in my time in the Force," said Stanhope. He took a drink of tea and laughed, though his eyes betrayed the darkness of the humour. He held a notebook up. "You know, I've dreamt of this happening someday. A young copper would come along and tell me that they've solved the case. This case was the one that got away - I mean, not the only one, of course - but the one that really burned at me. I always felt so close to solving it but at the same time being a million miles away from it."

"We've spoken to quite a few of the main players in this," said Cullen. He listed the names - both Crombies, Strachan. "You know this much more intimately than we hopefully ever will, so could you take us through what happened?"

Stanhope took out a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket. Cullen wondered if he had rehearsed any of what he said over the years, based on his dream of the young copper appearing. "The boys had been away at Glastonbury festival," he said. "They'd finished all of the whisky processing and what have you for the year and then went down the West coast through the Lake District and Wales, hillwalking and drinking in small country pubs." He flicked over a page then screwed his eyes up, trying to read something. "They got to the festival a few days before it started, according to Fraser. We've got some of the ticket stubs in evidence somewhere - they were stamped with the dates. After the festival, they stayed on partying with some crowd they'd hooked up with. Fraser returned home on the second of July to make a start on the barrels for the next batch. His brother stayed on at the festival." He blew on his tea and took a sip. "Iain was reported missing a week after Fraser had returned, on the ninth. And that's when I started investigating. Though the case had initially been logged in Haddington, much of my investigation was carried out down south. I was based out of Glastonbury for a few days, working with cops from the Avon and Somerset force. That's a weird town, I can tell you. We didn't manage to get much, in all honesty."

Cullen listened carefully, but all he heard was the same information that was in the statement they'd collected from Alec Crombie. He suddenly realised that the reasoning for Iain's staying on was wooly and vague, and that Alec hadn't elaborated or told them much. "Any idea why Iain stayed on?" he asked.

"He had met a girl," said Stanhope.

Cullen raised his eyebrows. This was the first they'd heard of it - surely it should have come out earlier? "Did you ever find the girl?" he asked.

"No," replied Stanhope. He looked in a second notebook. "We had a description from Fraser, she sounded like a real pretty sort, the kind you would stay behind for." He chuckled. "We had posters up all throughout the West country. At one point, we had it nationwide - I remember being on holiday in London for the weekend and seeing a poster in King's Cross, with Iain's photo and the artist's impression of this girl."

"And you got nothing?" asked Cullen. "No sightings?"

Stanhope went through another notebook. "If memory serves," he said, "a few months after, there was a flurry of sightings in Yorkshire. It was mostly the Avon and Somerset boys that led it at that point, though. I think I spoke to some guys in the Yorkshire Constabulary who did most of the shoe leather work, but the sightings just seemed very tenuous, I'm afraid. They never found the girl, so I guess we'll never know."

"What was Fraser's side of this?" asked Cullen.

"As far as I recall, Fraser last saw Iain at Glastonbury," said Stanhope. "First of July. Just after the festival - as I said, they'd stayed on partying. Fraser came home that night, got an overnight coach up from Bristol to Edinburgh."

"Did you have any clear suspects at the time?" asked Cullen.

"Afraid not," said Stanhope. "We were split across two jurisdictions and pretty much just had posters and press releases to rely on. At the time, it was a missing persons case, not a murder. We didn't have a body." He laughed again. "In some ways, you're lucky - you've got the body, and it's eighteen years on. The advances in forensics in that time. In some ways I envy you."

"If you knew my DI, you wouldn't," said Cullen.

Stanhope snorted with laughter.

"Besides," said Cullen, "at the moment, we don't know who the body is. We're just checking out possibilities and it turns out that we've got two."

"I understand that," said Stanhope. "But I hope to goodness that you find out what happened to Iain Crombie."

Caldwell had been quiet throughout, but her expression was getting darker as Stanhope ploughed on. Cullen decided to give her the opportunity, and motioned for her to take over.

"Was Fraser Crombie the last person to see him?" asked Caldwell.

"That we know of," said Stanhope.

"What about before that?"

"Before that," said Stanhope. He broke off and stroked his chin for a few moments. He picked up the original notebook and casually flicked through it. "Before that, it would be their father who saw Iain last." He frowned, and turned to a particular page in the notebook. Cullen gave him time. "On the twelfth of June it would be. They were in the pub in Gullane after a family meal, the day before they set off. If I remember it correctly, they'd had a big bust-up and Alec had taken them out to try and resolve it. The way both Alec and Fraser tell it, the boys were not going to go on their trip. The intention of the meal was to come to an agreement about the company, which I think they did, given that Dunpender is still independent eighteen years later. The boys made up that night, put their differences behind them. As I say, from what I could tell, prior to that, their trip was effectively cancelled and Iain had an advert in the Courier trying to flog their tickets. Nobody took them up - imagine if they had…" Stanhope broke off, lost to some strand of what-if.