Windchill (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 6)

by Ed James

  "Bollocks." Cullen put his head up to the screen, almost touching the glass, each pixel distinguishable until it was just a white noise pattern. "Who the hell is he speaking to?"

  Buxton sped it up to normal speed.

  McCoull kept on talking, occasionally refolding his arms or stabbing a finger at someone. He took a few steps forward, almost disappearing off the left-hand edge, his companion still off screen. He shook his head then nodded before waving towards the camera.

  A taxi pulled into the kerb and McCoull leaned down to speak to the driver.

  Cullen checked his notebook. "This is Billy Hogan, right?"

  Buxton nodded just as he freeze framed it. "Unless that fucker's lying to us."

  "Don't start." Cullen managed to get the license number off the front of the cab. He flicked through his notebook; it matched Hogan's number. "Looks like it is him. Keep going."

  "Sure thing, boss." Buxton sniffed before playing the film again.

  McCoull held the back door open then scowled for a few seconds before getting in himself. The taxi drove off, executing a tight U-turn across the motorcycle parking space in the middle of the road.

  "Bloody hell." Cullen slumped back in the chair. "So we don't see who gets in with him?"

  Buxton sniffed. "Yeah, pain in the arse."

  Cullen picked up the other DVDs from the packet. "And these were all from other vantage points along George Street?"

  "Yeah."

  "You've checked?"

  "Of course I did. When you were getting a bollocking off the other half. No dice, mate."

  "So what the hell are we going to do?"

  "No idea."

  Cullen stared at the screen, the throng on George Street milling around, the girls from earlier now separated by two bouncers. Who was McCoull speaking to?

  Cullen scratched his scalp, hair in desperate need of a cut, and frowned. What if...? "Rewind it."

  "To when McCoull leaves the boozer?"

  "Before. Like ten minutes before."

  "Sure." Buxton pulled the dial all the way to the left.

  The figures on the screen started dancing backwards, the girls getting back into their fight then breaking off and going their separate ways. The clock went back to eight o'clock.

  On screen, Cullen staggered out of the front of Tigerlily, shouting and pointing at the bouncer. Sharon tugged his arm and dragged him along the street.

  Cullen grabbed Buxton's wrist. "Stop it there."

  Buxton paused it, a grin on his face. "This what passes for a sex tape in the Cullen-McNeill household is it?"

  "Very funny." Cullen leaned forward; the phone box was empty. "Put it back to just after he gets in the taxi."

  "Right." Buxton pushed the dial to the right, the figures going through their motions again. "Here."

  "The phone box is empty now." Cullen tapped the screen. "Go back."

  Buxton looped it back, the girls at the squaring-up stage again, Cullen himself a few steps down George Street, turning back the way to stab a finger in the air at the bouncer, Sharon shaking her head. "You look absolutely fucked, mate."

  "Don't I know it." Cullen took a deep breath. He looked like a fucking animal, the sort he'd expect to pick up on the average Saturday night for any number of violent crimes. "Roll it forward a bit."

  Buxton nudged it to the right. "That enough for you, big boy?"

  "Aye." Cullen leaned forward. The door to the phone box was still shut. "Keep playing it."

  The Cullen on the screen jerked forward in big increments. Just after Cullen passed the phone box, the door opened and a figure went inside, leaving it open.

  "Back a bit." Once the footage rolled back, Cullen stabbed at the screen. "There."

  Buxton laughed. "Wish we could do that 'enhance that region' shit."

  "Remind me to tell you about Bain thinking we could actually do that one day." Cullen held up the photo to the figure on the screen. "Richard Airth, we've got you."

  Buxton scowled at him. "Come again?"

  "Phonebox Jimmy is Richard Airth."

  Chapter 33

  "I've seen him twice in the last two days." Cullen pulled onto Queen Street, trying to remember if the Castle Street entrance was blocked up or not. "How come when I want to find him I don't see him? For fuck's sake."

  Buxton sighed. "This is a total waste of time, mate."

  "We might find him this way."

  "I doubt it."

  "Come on. We've got half the uniform on today out searching. He's got to be somewhere."

  "So you think he's killed McCoull?"

  "He's top of the list, aye." Cullen pulled onto George Street, hanging a left past Tigerlily and the Living Room, the Christmas lights hanging above their heads, glinting in the low winter sun. "Come on, come on, come on. Where are you?"

  "We've talked about this. There aren't many payphones left."

  "There." Cullen pulled in at the side of the road by a call box, the one in the CCTV. It was occupied. "Come on."

  They jogged down the street, he and Buxton surrounding the door. A yellow puddle trickled out of the bottom. He hauled it open.

  The occupant tucked himself away, eyes almost rolling back in his head. "Excuse me, pal, have you got the time?"

  Not Phonebox Jimmy. Cullen left him standing before trotting back to the car. "Fucking hell. Where can he be?"

  Buxton smirked as he got in. "Not fancy busting that guy?"

  "It's not worth it."

  "Phone boxes, sinks, it's all the same to you, isn't it?"

  "Drop it, cougar boy." Cullen pulled out and drove along the quiet street, the chains of lights coiling around the Dome's Greek pillars, and onto St Andrew Square, the gardens now a field of glowing toadstools. He turned left, rejoining Queen Street, the northern sky darkening. He checked the clock on the dashboard. 14.07. He turned right onto the street, back towards the station.

  Buxton sighed. "Scott, where you heading now?"

  "I've no idea, to be honest. Leith? I've seen him at the foot of the Walk a couple of times."

  "Going to try the docks while we're down there?"

  "Maybe."

  "Now you're getting desperate. It's all empty yuppy flats now, mate. They definitely don't have phone boxes."

  "We can't just sit around doing nothing." Cullen passed through the traffic lights at the end of York Place, heading to the roundabout by John Lewis. What about Juniper Green? "Wait a minute."

  Buxton rolled his eyes. "Oh, here we go."

  "We saw Phonebox Jimmy up at Juniper Green yesterday morning."

  "Yeah, you're right."

  "Think he could've gone back to his old house?"

  Chapter 34

  "Where are you?" Cullen tightened his grip on the phone.

  PC Johnny Stewart paused. "Sorry, we're about ten minutes away."

  "Please hurry." Cullen pocketed his phone and got out first, leading down Woodhall Millbrae towards the rebuilt house. Lights burned in the windows of half of the street, the remainder lying dark and empty. The vague waft of barbecuing hit Cullen's nose.

  Buxton refastened his leather gloves. "This is a bit of a gamble, mate."

  "You first." Cullen followed him down the path to the front door, looking up at the building, half a tiled roof, the remainder just sheeting flapping in the breeze. "How can-"

  A light flickered on and off in the living room.

  Cullen got out his baton. "There's somebody in there."

  "You think?"

  "I saw a light." Cullen inspected the front door, the wood covered in plastic sheeting. He tried the handle. It opened. "Let's go."

  He entered the building, dark as the sun started setting, the rooms marked out by bare partition wood awaiting plasterboard. A set of stairs led up to the first floor, the wood uncarpeted. "What do you think?"

  "You're leading here."

  Cullen nodded and headed through the gap in the wall, a future door. He looked around, long shadows cast across the concrete floor
.

  "What's this?" Buxton darted off into the room, bending down to pick something up. "There's a letter here."

  "Give me that." Cullen snatched it off him and inspected it. Inland Revenue letterhead. Dated in May 2003 and heavily weathered. It informed Richard Airth of a pending investigation into JG Financial Services.

  He flipped it over and read, the page covered in a looping scrawl:

  To whom it may concern -

  I am deeply sorry that you have found me like this.

  The alternative would be to jump in front of a train, but it's Christmas Day and there are no trains. Besides, I've never been a fan of that sort of thing, disrupting people's days like that.

  I suspect you're probably a police officer.

  If not, I'm deeply sorry for you finding me like this.

  If you are, I wish you'd been able to bring Mr McCoull to justice for what he did.

  My life has been hell.

  All that kept me going is watching Steven McCoull struggle.

  All that kept me going these last few weeks was the thought of killing him.

  He murdered my family.

  They built this place up in the stead of my family home. I will add a fourth ghost to its young shell.

  Have a very miserable Christmas.

  Regards,

  Richard Airth

  "Shite." Cullen handed the letter back to Buxton. "He's fucking killed himself."

  Buxton took the letter back. "Okay, so where's the body?"

  The front door slammed shut behind them.

  Buxton shot off through the house. "Not so dead, is he?"

  Cullen followed, bursting out onto the darkening street. He looked around. No sign of Airth. "Where the fuck has he gone?"

  "Give me a second." Buxton held up his Airwave. "This is Simon Buxton for Johnny Stewart."

  "Receiving." Stewart sounded out of breath.

  "We've lost the suspect. Are you here yet?"

  "Aye. Just got here. We've spotted him, son. He's heading to the Water of Leith walkway."

  Cullen let out a sigh. "Thank Christ for that."

  Buxton grinned. "Where?"

  "Heading into Edinburgh."

  Buxton pocketed the Airwave and set off, heading back up the hill. "This way."

  "You sure?"

  "Trust me." Buxton cut right past a block of flats then took another right. The Water of Leith lay in front of them, Buxton vaulting down a set of steps to the walkway before sprinting to the left.

  Cullen followed him along the path, the metal guardrail between them and the river. He ran harder but Buxton was outstripping him as he crossed the shadow the City Bypass cast. He caught a glimpse of torchlight ahead.

  "Got you!" Under a street light, Buxton tripped and stumbled, rolling forward on the concrete. "You fucker!"

  A figure came out of the gloom towards Cullen, wearing black clothes and a dark grey parka, eyes darting back towards Buxton.

  Cullen slowed to a halt and waited. He swept forward with his forearm, catching the man beneath the throat and slamming him to the ground. He sucked in deep breaths. Almost vomited from the smell. "Jesus Christ."

  He reached around for his handcuffs, slapping them on his quarry's wrists. "Richard Airth, I'm arresting you for the murder of Steven McCoull."

  Chapter 35

  "For the record, the suspect has declined the offer of legal counsel." Cullen leaned back, trying to push himself further from Airth and the rancid stench emanating from his body. "Additionally, Mr Airth has been cleared by the duty doctor as being fit to be interviewed." His eyes watered as he held up the sheet of paper found in the house, now bagged and tagged. "Mr Airth, can you confirm this is your handwriting?"

  Phonebox Jimmy - Airth - kept on as he'd done all along, staring at the tabletop, his mouth silently twitching. His hair was matted into a thick shell hanging down his back. His beard hid his face, though acne and scars were visible underneath. A bald patch ran from his left ear to his mouth, a purple scratch in the middle. His eyes flicked up to make brief contact with Cullen's and he gave a slight nod.

  "For the record, the suspect has confirmed the note is his." Cullen set the note down on the table and rubbed his hands together, feeling dirty in his presence. "Mr Airth, this note confesses to murdering Steven McCoull. Did you kill him?"

  Another nod.

  "Mr Airth, can you please confirm you killed him?"

  A heavy sigh. "Aye." Airth's voice was brittle and hoarse. The few remaining teeth inside his mouth were black stumps.

  "Why did you do it?"

  "Ruining his life was the only thing I had left to live for. He ruined mine."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "I mean he killed my wife and children." Airth shut his eyes briefly.

  Cullen held up the sheet of paper. "How did you intend to ruin his life?"

  "For starters, I told him his wife was having an affair with his neighbour."

  "How did you find out?"

  "I've been watching the house for a few years now." Airth twitched his mouth. "Seeing what he was up to. Keeping an eye on the lizard. I saw his wife with that neighbour of his whenever Steven left the house."

  "So you sent him a note?"

  "It's the honest thing to do." A dark smile formed on Airth's face, eyes still locked on the tabletop.

  "That wasn't it, though, was it?"

  "No. I sent a note to the Inland Revenue about him repeating his old tricks."

  "You mean tax avoidance?"

  "Aye. Mr McCoull should've shredded the documentation while he still had the chance."

  "So you broke into his house?"

  "Just the once."

  "What did you take?"

  "Copies of his accounts. Some receipts. Didn't have to look too hard."

  "Why did you do it?"

  "To see what I could find. That's all." Airth snorted. "When I saw him the other night, drinking with his mates, I just couldn't take it any more."

  "What did you do?"

  "I stood outside that pub. People walked past me, you know, as if I wasn't there. I'm kind of used to it. It took him a while but Steven noticed me."

  "And he left the pub to speak to you?"

  "Aye. Tried to buy me. Can you believe it?"

  "What do you mean by buy you?"

  "He offered me a few grand to fuck off."

  "So what did you do?"

  "I said I just wanted to talk." Airth flicked his gaze up briefly, focusing on Cullen before looking at the table again. "We got a cab back to his house."

  "Where you killed him?"

  Airth nodded. "Aye." He bared his teeth, his tongue pale and wilted. "You might think me barbaric to pull a man's teeth and nails out." He held up his hands and grinned wide. "You'll notice I've got none of those left myself after what I had to do."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I had to run away. I couldn't take it any more. The only choice I had was to take to the streets. If the banks couldn't find me, Steven couldn't get the money; if he couldn't get the money, he couldn't save the business. That animal got us into the shit."

  "You mean the business?"

  "Aye. I was the one trying to get us out of the mess."

  "How?"

  "Speaking to banks, trying to extend our overdraft. You name it, I tried it. Anything to get us out of the mess he got us into."

  "What mess is that?"

  "He'd invested heavily in a property deal in Glasgow which never happened. We lost two hundred grand just like that." Airth clicked his fingers. "Our clients were hammering on the door asking for their money back. Steven was promising to repay them. He never could, of course." He sighed. "Of course, I didn't know he was trying something different."

  "You mean setting fire to your house?"

  "Aye."

  "Why did he do that?"

  "Because my house wasn't security against the business. His was."

  "I don't follow."

  "It was reflected in how
the shares were divvied up. Him and Evelyn owned seventy percent of the company. They took seventy per cent of the profit."

  Cullen frowned. "Why wasn't your house secured?"

  "My wife wasn't keen on it. So we just put his in, working capital to get us started. Steven's idea - it saved him tax."

  "And he wanted to secure your property against the business?"

  "He did. My wife was against it. Said I should just walk away from the whole thing." Airth slammed a fist against the desk. "My mother was dying at the time. I didn't have time for that shit."

  "So what happened?"

  "Steven wanted to free up some cash, claw the money back into the business." Airth almost snarled, his mouth wide open. "So he burnt my house down. Once the insurer paid out, he could grab the money and put it in the business. But the house wasn't empty, was it? He killed my family." He prodded his chest. "He killed me."

  "Did he discuss his plan with you beforehand?"

  "No way."

  "What about after?"

  "Aye." Airth smudged the tear on his cheek, a line now cut out of the dirt. "He confessed, told me what happened. Said it was all a mistake. He was deadly sorry."

  "Why didn't you go to the police about it?"

  "I had no evidence. I had nothing. There was nothing I could do. My house burnt down. I'd lost my wife, my boys. I had to get away and make that fucker pay."

  Chapter 36

  Methven frowned as he leant against the meeting room's glass wall. "So how did you find him?"

  "We knew he used to live in this house." Cullen shrugged. "We saw a light on inside, so we went in. He must have been on the stairs, waiting for us."

  "Well, I just spoke to James Anderson." Methven jangled his keys. "He's got some of his SOCOs going around the place. Looks like Mr McCoull has been living here for a wee while. Must've been waiting for the workmen to head home every night to sneak in."

  Buxton let out a sigh. "That's no life, is it?"

  "No. It's not."