by Ed James
Unlike the alibi. Keogh and Vardy just didn't seem like they belonged in the same city, let alone each other's company.
He took a step forward as a wiry man carried three pints in triangle formation away from the bar, and glanced at Buxton. "Reckon the alibi's a lie?"
"I think so." Buxton nodded. "Chalk and cheese, them pair."
"Agreed." Cullen pocketed his notebook, retrieving his mobile. He searched through his missed calls - still nothing from Methven.
"What can I get you?"
"Police." Cullen smiled at the barman as he produced his warrant card. "DC Scott Cullen and ADC Simon Buxton."
The barman's eyes darted between them. "How can I help?"
Cullen rested his hands on the bar top, drinking in the smell of fresh beer and frying meat. "What's your name?"
"Dave Weir."
"Like the footballer?"
"Like it. He's David, I'm Dave."
"Well, Mr Weir, we're validating an alibi for last night. Someone reckons they were drinking in here."
"Oh aye?"
"Were you on?"
"Aye, I was. Till closing time. Just after eleven."
"From what time?"
"Noon."
"Do you know Dean Vardy?"
Weir shut his eyes for a few seconds, letting out a deep breath. He draped the bar towel on his shoulder. "I know Dean, aye."
"Did you see him here last night?"
"He was in."
Cullen showed him the photo of Darren Keogh. "Was he with this guy?"
Weir took a few seconds to examine the photo. "Could be."
"Could be or was?"
"Think it was him. Ninety percent sure, like."
Cullen still didn't believe it. "Okay. When did they arrive?"
"Be about seven. Maybe half six. Can't remember, really. That one on your phone was hovering about for a bit, though." Weir leaned in close, resting on a beer tap. "Look, pal, what's this about?"
"Mr Vardy's a suspect in a murder."
"Jesus Christ." The barman looked down at the bar top and started fiddling with a tub of wasabi peas. "Who's he supposed to have killed?"
"You know a Keith Lyle?"
Weir shook his head without looking up. "Sorry, mate."
"Where were they sitting?"
Weir gestured behind them, directing Cullen's gaze into the seating area through the archway. "They were through the back. On the sofas, you know? Dean and his mate were facing through here. I was just collecting glasses and dropping off pints for them."
Cullen frowned. "Didn't know you did table service?"
"We don't."
"But you did for Mr Vardy?"
"Oh aye."
"What were they drinking?"
"Brewdog Punk IPA. Same every round."
Cullen noted it - Brewdog was an edgy brand Vardy would associate with, but Keogh? He pinned him as a Deuchars IPA kind of guy, weaker and more traditional. "What time did they leave?"
"Closing time."
"What, five past eleven?"
"Nearer quarter past."
"No argy-bargy?"
"None."
"Have you got CCTV in here?"
"Sorry, pal. We don't."
"That the truth? I can check, you know."
Weir made eye contact again. "It's the truth."
Cullen took a deep breath, looking around the busy pub, racking his brain for questions. "Thanks for your time." He handed the barman a card. "Give me a call if anything comes up."
Weir held it up. "Will do."
Cullen led Buxton out, walking down William Street to the pool car, pairs of shoppers pointing in the windows of the boutiques, smokers laughing outside the other two pubs. "This is getting worse."
"Tell me about it." Buxton tugged his coat tighter. "Keogh and Vardy definitely being there blows him as a suspect, right?"
"Possibly." Cullen opened his door and rested against it. "There were three empty bottles in Lyle's kitchen, weren't there?"
"So? They could've gone back there for a nightcap. It's sort of on Vardy's way home."
"Not on Keogh's." Cullen glanced back at the pub, the wiry man from earlier lighting up a cigarette, shielding it from the wind, red ash flicking off the end. "Neither Keogh nor Vardy gave us a precise time for when they left."
"Weir did, though."
"Quarter past eleven." Cullen stared up at the low sun, the sky around it a frosted blue. "Pauline Quigley reckons she got home about half past midnight, right?"
"Yeah."
"Is that enough time to do it?"
"Go on the pretence of a nightcap, as I say. Drink the beer then slot him. Plenty of time, mate. Plenty of time."
"What about the chips Vardy got?"
"Probably bollocks."
"I think you're right." Cullen weighed it up in his mind as he got in the car, the timeline crystalising.
Buxton got in and tugged his seat belt on. "What's next then?"
Cullen held up his phone - nothing from Methven. "In lieu of any guidance from a higher power, I'm thinking we should go and see Pauline again."
Chapter 46
Cullen got out of the car on Polwarth Gardens and sighed. His phone rang. Methven. "Afternoon, sir."
"Christ, Constable, are you in a wind tunnel?"
"It's called Edinburgh, sir."
Methven paused. "Have you seen DS McNeill today?"
Crossing the street, Cullen frowned as he watched traffic hurtling through the roundabout system at the end. "Not seen her all day, sir."
"Very well. Let her know I'm looking for her."
"If I see her."
"Indeed. Where are you, Constable?"
"Just checking an alibi, sir."
"Right, well, I've just been in with Superintendent Turnbull. Can you get yourselves back here promptly? I want to get my arms around this case."
"Will do, sir. Be about half an hour." Cullen ended the call, eyes locked on Buxton as he pocketed the phone. "Sounds like Crystal's gone twelve rounds of bullshit chess with Turnbull."
"What did he want?"
"Telling us to get back. He's reducing me to a messaging service as well." Cullen looked up at the flats - a window of Beth Armstrong's open a crack. Two down, Pauline Quigley and Keith Lyle's flat still had curtains drawn, a lone uniformed officer guarding the doorway. Cullen looked at Buxton, finger ramming the intercom button. "Any joy yet?"
"None." Buxton hammered it again.
The intercom blasted static. Heavy breathing. "Hello?"
Cullen frowned. Not Beth - Pauline.
Buxton leaned into the microphone. "Ms Quigley, it's ADC Simon Buxton. We spoke this morning."
"Aye, I remember." A pause, five seconds or so. "Come on up."
The door sounded and Buxton pushed through. "I'll race you."
"Be my guest, especially if you want to deal with me having a heart attack halfway up."
Buxton took two steps at a time, leaving Cullen to meander up the spiral stairs, blinking away the smell of burnt toast.
Pauline stood at the top, hands on hips. "When do I get back into my own flat?"
"Nothing to do with us, I'm afraid." Buxton shrugged as he stopped at the landing, waiting for Cullen. "I'll chase them up when I get back to the station, if you want?"
"Please." Pauline showed them inside, leading them back to the kitchen. "Beth's gone out to get something to eat."
Buxton sat across the kitchen table from her, leaving Cullen standing, struggling for breath. "How are you managing?"
"How do you think? Shite."
Cullen nodded. "I understand this is hard. We can arrange for a Family Liaison Officer to-"
"Forget it. I don't need babysitting, all right?" She scowled, eyes narrowed until blue was the only colour. "Have you lot found who killed Keith then?"
Cullen got out his notebook, breathing almost under control. "Maybe."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means we need to ask you a few suppl
ementary questions."
"Be my guest."
Cullen made a show of flicking through his notebook, his eyes skipping over the pages. He stopped at a page entirely unrelated to the case, slowly scanning down with his finger and stopping halfway. "Do you know Dean Vardy?"
Pauline pulled her chin back, averting her gaze. "Aye."
"In what context?"
"We work for him at the Debs. Me and Keith."
"Sure it's just that?"
Pauline tensed her eyebrows. "Aye."
"You don't rent your flat off him or anything?"
Pauline huffed. "Aye, well, Dean owns our flat. We've been staying here about a year."
Cullen flicked to a new page and noted it down - snared Vardy at last. "You wouldn't happen to be romantically involved with Mr Vardy, would you?"
Her eyes shot daggers at him. "Who told you that?"
Cullen shrugged. "Mr Vardy himself."
"Right." Pauline fiddled with the scrunchie holding up her hair. "Aye, Dean's my boyfriend. What of it?"
"Why didn't you mention him earlier?"
Pauline bit a fingernail. "You didn't seem interested."
"Oh, really? Why wouldn't we be interested in a guy Keith borrowed money from?"
She frowned. "Borrowed money?"
"Ten grand."
Pauline swallowed, her eyes shut. "Fuck."
"Did you know about this?"
She shook her head, her eyebrows raised. "No way."
Cullen didn't know whether to believe her or not. "Our understanding is this loan was to cover a gambling debt."
"Keith liked to gamble. Football mainly."
"We asked if you knew of anyone who'd want to harm Mr Lyle." Cullen sucked in air through his teeth. "Feels very much like something's being kept from us. Withholding information from a police investigation is pretty serious, you know, especially a murder inquiry like this."
Pauline looked to Buxton for support, he remained focused on his notebook. She turned back to Cullen. "Look, I swear I didn't know anything about Keith owing Dean money."
"That's the truth?"
"It is, aye."
"And you weren't sleeping with Mr Lyle?"
"No!"
"And Mr Vardy didn't suspect that you were?"
Pauline leaned back and let out a deep sigh. "He didn't mention anything to me."
"I'm finding this very hard to believe." Cullen nodded at Buxton. "What about you?"
"Seems to fit the facts." Buxton shrugged. "I believe Ms Quigley here."
"Not sure I do." Cullen shut his notebook and took a few steps forward, trying to intimidate her. "When you got back to your flat last night, was it possible Mr Lyle had guests?"
"What do you mean, guests?"
"I mean having people in for a drink. We believe he might've gone to the pub after work last night."
She shook her head. "No. I told you. He was just coming straight back here, like he always does."
"He didn't, say, meet up with Dean Vardy?"
She scowled, her nostrils flaring. "They didn't have that sort of friendship."
"Okay." Cullen pocketed his notebook. "That's all for now."
Chapter 47
Methven switched his attention to Buxton. "What do you think, Constable? You've been very quiet."
"I agree with Scott." Buxton shrugged, light from the flickering strip light in the corridor bouncing off his shaved head. "This Vardy geezer seems proper dodgy."
"Why?"
"Well, he's got two possible motives we can think of to kill Lyle."
"Which are?"
"First, we think Lyle was at it with his flatmate, Pauline Quigley."
"Oh, good heavens. Okay, I can see that's a motive." Methven focused on the whiteboard. "Why would Vardy rent a flat he owns to his girlfriend and her old schoolmate, a young man?"
Buxton gnawed his bottom lip. "No idea, sir."
"Cullen?"
"Maybe Vardy reckoned Lyle wasn't a threat? They were old mates, deep into the friend zone."
"So he just lets this man move in on his territory?"
"Seen it happen before." Cullen shrugged.
Buxton snorted. "Here's another thing, why would a guy who owns a taxi firm and a pub be out drinking with a guy who works for the city council?"
Methven shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "Please explain."
Buxton leaned back in his chair. "Well, this Keogh boy's a bit square, if you know what I mean. You should see the geezer. He's nothing like Vardy. Tank top, almost fifty, like somebody's dad."
"And Vardy's some sort of wide boy, I take it?"
"Yeah. Bulging biceps and pecs like a footballer, posh t-shirts, the whole shebang." Buxton raised his mobile. "I checked out this Keogh's record. Clean as a bell, sir. I just don't get why he's associating with a dodgy geezer like Vardy."
"Have you checked Vardy out?"
"I did, yeah. He spent a year at a young offender's about ten years back."
"What for?"
"Assault. Tore the other guy's ears off. Scott and I were lucky he didn't do the same to us when we apprehended him this morning."
"So he's got previous?"
"Yeah. Nothing since, mind. Well, nothing bad enough to put him away, certainly. A rape got taken to trial. Couple of years ago, he got picked up with not quite enough dope to do him."
Methven frowned. "So why's he acquainted with this Keogh character?"
"Precisely." Buxton pocketed his phone. "Another thing, he clearly sees himself as some sort of godfather figure, right?"
"How do you mean, Constable?"
"Well, he's setting up this empire, isn't he? Typical criminal going legit - taxi firm, bookies, pub, flats."
"But we don't know it's from dodgy money."
"Right. It's got to be, though. Boy from that sort of background doesn't just get given a wad of cash to go starting businesses, does he?"
"I suppose not."
Cullen joined Methven at the whiteboard. "Plus, he's only twenty-eight and yet he's got three separate businesses."
"You're suggesting the National Crime Agency might have something on him? SOCA, as was."
"Worth a check, sir." Cullen nodded. "If we don't get him for this, I doubt it's the last time our paths will cross."
"Quite." Methven noted NCA? on the whiteboard before raising his eyebrows in Buxton's direction. "What was the other motive, Constable?"
"As Scott said earlier, Lyle owed this Vardy geezer big style. Ten large."
"You sound like an East End mobster, Constable!" Methven bellowed with laughter as he slapped Buxton's shoulder. He smiled at him for a few seconds. "Those are two strong motives. I think he's probably our only viable suspect."
"Only suspect full stop." Buxton took a step back, eyes locked on Methven's hands. "We've spoken to a few people and nobody can come up with anything else."
"What about this flatmate, Pauline Quigley? Could she have done it?"
"Doesnt't have a motive, sir."
"Well, we think Lyle was 'shagging' her, as you so eloquently put it earlier." Methven rubbed his chin. "Could he have threatened to tell Vardy about it?"
Cullen nodded. "That's not a bad suggestion, sir."
"I know." Methven scribbled on the whiteboard - Affair = motive? - before wheeling round to face Cullen. "I assume you pair went to speak to her again?"
"How did you guess?"
"I know you, Constable. Besides, you've been off the leash a long time. I'd be disappointed if you didn't chase after a few squirrels and rabbits."
Cullen grinned. "Aye, we spoke to her."
"So? How did it go?"
"We just confirmed a few things."
"Is it worth bringing her in for formal questioning?"
"Not sure what it would give us, sir."
"Okay." Methven noted her name down, adding Suspect? alongside.
"How are we getting on with the post mortem, sir?"
Methven glowered at Cullen. "Sodding nowher
e."
"I thought that's where you'd been all day."
"Sadly not. I've had meetings with Superintendent Turnbull on some other matters."
"Which are?"
"Which are nothing to do with you, Constable."
"When's the PM likely to happen?"
"Deeley's hopeful of finding time tomorrow."
"Bloody hell." Cullen rubbed at his neck. "We're not getting a result today, are we?"
"No. With the holiday, the forensics will take even longer to process, I'm afraid."
Cullen collapsed into a seat. "Right."
"Is there anything else we're missing?" Methven narrowed his eyes. "What about CCTV or phone traces?"
"There's no CCTV in the bar."
"There is on the streets. I assume at least one of Messrs Keogh and Vardy possessed a mobile phone?"
"Maybe."
"Can I get you to check on that, Constable?"
"Fine." Buxton rolled his eyes as he wrote it down.
"We've got a window of forty-five minutes where Vardy could've killed Lyle." Cullen shrugged. "Only problem is Vardy reckons he went to a chip shop on the way home."
Methven hovered the pen over the whiteboard, waiting to write something down. "Which one?"
"See, that's the thing." Cullen rubbed his knuckles against the short stubble on his chin. "He can't remember."
"Sodding hell." Methven rubbed at his eyebrows. "Have you been to every single chip shop on Lothian Road yet?"
"Well, no."
"Get someone up there!"
Buxton clenched his jaw. "Sure thing, sir."
"And I want CCTV of all likely routes home. And get onto the taxi firms, see if Mr Vardy was picked up in the vicinity of William Street."
"Sure." Buxton got to his feet and hurried out of the meeting room.
Methven watched him through the glass window as he trotted down the corridor. "He's a rough diamond, isn't he?"
"I think he's good."
"Well, you're doing a halfway decent job of polishing his rough edges off, Cullen."
"Really?"
"I think so. We'll have to look at making his tenure permanent, assuming we can find the head count from somewhere."
Cullen slumped back in a chair. "This is going down the toilet, sir. I'm sorry."
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, I'd hoped to close this off before going on holiday."
"No need to beat yourself up. We've got a few leads. Once I get my full team back on Thursday, we'll hopefully make some inroads. I'm relatively philosophical about this." Methven collapsed into a chair. "We'll get there. You've done well getting to this sort of state so quickly."
