Windchill (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 6)

by Ed James

  Cullen leaned over. "Interview paused at ten thirty-four." He sat back. "What?"

  "Constable, my client might know something. What would be on offer?"

  "Depends on what your client has."

  McLintock tapped his fountain pen on the desk. "Let's just say you're warm with your suspicion."

  Cullen twisted round, arm resting on the chair back. "DI Methven, what do you reckon?"

  He rubbed his chin. "If Mr Keogh was prepared to go on the record and testify in open court, I suppose we might be able to consider immunity from prosecution for providing a false alibi."

  "That's what I thought." Cullen lightly shook his head. "What do you think, sir?"

  "If Mr Keogh can prove there's some sort of criminal conspiracy at play here, then we could potentially be able to swing something."

  "Okay." Cullen shrugged then nodded at McLintock. "Shall we?"

  "After we've seen the offer formally presented."

  Methven wagged his finger. "We're calling the shots here, Campbell. Info first, then the offer."

  The lawyer whispered in Keogh's ear. He looked up at the ceiling for a few seconds, scratching his ear. "Aye, okay."

  McLintock nodded slowly. "Get the tape rolling, Constable."

  Cullen leaned forward again, starting the machine blinking again. "Interview recommenced at ten thirty-seven. Mr Keogh, please explain your relationship with Windchill."

  "Okay." Keogh swallowed as he leaned forward, resting his weight on his elbows, fingers kneading his forehead. "They pay me two grand a month for providing what they call alibi services."

  "What does that mean?"

  Keogh clenched his jaw. "If a client gets caught doing something, I get called in by Neil or Mike. They send me a message on my phone telling me what to say if the police come."

  "Jesus." Cullen glared at Keogh. "How many times have you done this before?"

  Keogh looked away. "Once, two years ago."

  Cullen flared his nostrils. "How did you get into this?"

  "I was at school with Neil Parker."

  Cullen felt sweat dripping from his armpits. "Were you with Kenny Falconer on the thirtieth?"

  Keogh looked away. "No, I wasn't."

  "And Dean Vardy?"

  "I was, aye."

  "You're changing your story?"

  Keogh sniffed. "I am."

  "But you're still saying Vardy was with you?"

  "Aye. Dean was with me."

  "Why are you sticking to that line?"

  "Because it's the truth. Dean and I were in the pub."

  Chapter 87

  "This is a load of nonsense." Cullen got to his feet and wandered round to Parker's side of the desk, standing over him. "We've got one of your alibi providers on record blowing your operation wide open."

  Parker smiled. "You've got nothing."

  "We've got your computers and files. It might take some time but we'll get evidence to back it all up."

  "You won't." Parker stood up, a good few inches taller than Cullen. "This will fall apart in court. It's one man's statement against ours."

  "We've got financial transactions."

  "Relating to what, though?"

  "Providing false alibis."

  "Really? Each transaction lists that as the reason for payment, do they?"

  Cullen took a step forward. "Mr Parker, you've been paying Darren Keogh two thousand pounds a month for over two years."

  "Mr Keogh's an old school friend of Neil's. Got himself into a bit of financial difficulty with a property venture a few years back. We were just helping him out."

  "Through Windchill?"

  "It's a charitable organisation for homeless people, hence the name. Mr Vardy and Mr Falconer both made donations to the fund."

  "And they're reputable businessmen?"

  "Please don't besmirch the reputation of our clients."

  "Why weren't they paying this retainer to Nelson and Parker?"

  "Because it's not a retainer. It's a charitable donation. Messrs Vardy and Falconer could, if they wish, have deducted the amount from their own tax liability."

  Cullen frowned. "But it's registered as a limited company. Why's it not registered with the Charities Commission?"

  "That level of transparency isn't particularly useful to the sort of business we want to run." Parker grinned as he sat again, looking up at Cullen. "We'd much rather give the money to needy cases such as Mr Keogh than waste it on bureaucracy."

  "But you've been taking profits from the company?"

  "Another of the benefits of being a limited company." Parker shrugged, eyes shifting to the scarred tabletop. "We've paid corporation tax on those earnings. It's all above board."

  "Why's it registered as a private security business then?"

  Parker sniffed. "An admin oversight, I suspect."

  Cullen stepped back, eyes trying to communicate his defeat to Methven.

  "Interview paused at eleven oh six." Methven got to his feet before pointing at Parker. "We'll be back shortly, Mr Parker." He nodded at the PCSO.

  Cullen held the door open for Methven, waiting for it to close before speaking. "We're fucked, right?"

  "He certainly thinks so." Methven nodded at the door. "We've got very little actual evidence, Constable. He'll try and push that client list DC Caldwell found as a donors list."

  "It's fucking dodgy."

  "Tell me about it." Cullen watched Parker roll up his sleeves, a smirk on his face. "He's just playing us here."

  "What do you propose, Constable?"

  "I suggest I go through the specifics of what we've got, get him on the record denying it, if nothing else."

  "That's probably the only option we've got. You lead." Methven opened the door, sitting down across from Parker and leaning across the table. "Interview re-commenced at eleven oh eight."

  Cullen sat down, arms folded, keeping his eyes on Parker. "Can I explain my thinking?"

  Parker leaned back, beaming out a smile. "I'll be delighted to listen."

  "You're selling alibis to people."

  "Interesting. Go on."

  "Basically, you provide an alibi if one of your clients gets caught by the police. You match the criminals up with one of your alibi sellers, like Mr Keogh."

  Parker scratched at his neck. "Continue."

  "You make sure the mates are people like Darren Keogh, reputable people with steady jobs. Pay them a retainer from the money you get from your clients. Mike Nelson and yourself cream the profits off the top."

  "Fascinating. How would they know what alibi to use?"

  "Because you're their solicitors. Nelson and Parker represents both Vardy and Falconer. I'm guessing you'll only give them the alibi if it's a serious crime."

  "And why would that be?"

  Cullen snorted. "Because we've got very few sheriffs and judges. They'd recognise Darren Keogh if he was providing alibis for wee Johnny stealing biscuits from a corner shop in Prestonpans."

  "Right."

  "You provide the alibi to the clients in the interview. Just like you did when you got Dean Vardy to change his story."

  "How did I manage that?"

  "Vardy had just spent ten minutes denying he knew anything about Kenny Falconer, kept shutting you up. One wee whisper in his ear and he's changed his tune."

  "That was a correction he made himself."

  "Oh aye? I'm struggling with one bit of your system. How did Kenny and Dean both have the same alibi?"

  "That's just how it happened, I'm afraid."

  "Nothing to do with you not having enough people like Mr Keogh and too many like Kenny and Dean?"

  Parker shrugged. "I'm not sure how they came to be in the same place at the same time but they were."

  "But they weren't." Cullen prodded the table a few times. "Vardy and Keogh were there with a William Jones."

  "Mr Vardy told you Billy wasn't there. Mr Falconer was."

  "Mr Vardy told us he was there until you changed his story. I'd like t
o point out that Mr Keogh has just confirmed Falconer wasn't there."

  "It'll be interesting if this gets anywhere near court, won't it?" Parker grinned. "You've just given me your case."

  Chapter 88

  Methven shook his head as they entered the meeting room. "What a pair of bloody idiots Nelson and Parker are."

  Cullen raised his eyebrows. "We're the ones who look like idiots, sir."

  "Agreed. They've got away with this ever since that sodding Cadder case made us have those leeches in interviews. They've been doing this a long time, right under our noses."

  "Another way to look at it is we've got forty guilty people we can finally put away."

  "Not so sure." Angela scowled as she held up a page of hand-scrawled text. "While you two have been in there with Keogh and Parker, I had a look through some of the cases. I've scanned through twelve so far, all murders that went to trial. At least two of the alibis seem to have cleared people. Spoke to the SIO on one of them, reckons the guy was innocent."

  Methven perched on the edge of a desk. "What else?"

  Angela pushed a sheet of paper over. "One of the cases I checked, the alibi was provided by one William Jones."

  Methven's eyes bulged. "Are you serious?"

  She nodded. "Aye."

  "Wait." Cullen looked through the stacks of paperwork on the meeting room table, eventually finding the page he was after. He handed it to Methven. "Here. Jones is one of the guys receiving money from Windchill."

  "Sodding hell." He looked at Angela. "And we still haven't found him yet?"

  "No, sir." Angela sat opposite the whiteboard. "There was a phone number on the list of alibi providers. I passed it to Control but I haven't heard anything."

  "Get onto it." Methven scowled at her. "Where's ADC Buxton?"

  "No idea, sir. I think he said he was chasing up some leads."

  "So, Cullen, you're telling me Mr Jones may be another of these clowns providing false alibis?"

  "Maybe."

  "Sodding, sodding hell." Methven jangled his keys in his pockets for a few seconds before uncapping a pen and turning to the whiteboard. "So where do you think this leaves us?"

  Cullen tapped at No Alibi on the whiteboard for a few seconds before looking around the otherwise empty meeting room. "I think we can get a conviction for Falconer."

  "How?"

  "He's not got an alibi, sir. Keogh said he wasn't there."

  "We've sodding been here before with Mr Falconer." Methven shook his head. "I'll believe it when I see it."

  "Without the alibi, he's got nothing, whereas we've got his prints on the knife used to kill Andrew Smith."

  "That's circumstantial, Constable."

  "Falconer's got a motive to kill Smith. He was ratting on him about the shop in Gorgie."

  Methven focused on the board. "I think you've got something there."

  "How do you want to progress it?"

  "Write everything up, Constable. This is going to be a lengthy paper trail, I'm afraid."

  Cullen tightened his grip on the edge of the board - bloody months of tedious grind. He watched Buxton enter the room, mobile to his ear, avoiding eye contact. "So what about Vardy then?"

  "Now that's a different beast entirely." Methven stroked his chin for a few seconds. "Keogh's refused to play ball on that one. He still insists he was with Dean Vardy. Have we had that backed up by this dodgy barman?"

  "Aye. Reckons they were both there."

  "Remind me, what's the connection between them?"

  Cullen frowned. "Keogh used to go out with Vardy's aunt."

  "That sounds like a cock and bull story."

  Cullen scowled at Buxton. "Simon, did you speak to Alison Vardy?"

  "I did, yeah." Buxton spun his phone on the table. "Just been on with the Police Service of Northern Ireland. Turns out she's legit."

  "So what did she say?"

  "She backed up their story. She used to go out with Darren Keogh. Apparently young Dean's a bit of a tearaway. Real black sheep of the family."

  "And Vardy kept in touch with him?"

  "Yeah, that's what she reckoned. Good mates."

  "Why?"

  "She had no idea, mate. Didn't get it herself."

  "Nothing at all?"

  "Well, she said it could possibly be something to do with Keogh's connections."

  Methven scowled. "But Keogh doesn't have any connections?"

  "He was at school with Neil Parker."

  Methven stabbed a finger in the air. "Constable, it was Michael Nelson he was sodding at school with."

  "Right, yeah. Get those two confused." Buxton shrugged. "Anyway, she reckons they were influential in young Dean's rise."

  Methven pinched his nose. "Sodding hell."

  Cullen focused on the whiteboard. "So, Dean Vardy's alibi looks like it could be sound?"

  Methven nodded. "Come on, Constable, let's get in there with him. He should have a proper lawyer by now."

  Chapter 89

  "What do you sodding mean?" Methven got in the face of the PCSO. "Where is Mr Vardy's lawyer?"

  Cullen took a step back, pretending to use his mobile but secretly enjoying the scrap. He texted Buxton. Crystal going for it with the fat PCSO.

  "He's not turned up yet." The PCSO rubbed his neck. "Vardy's made the call and he's on his way."

  "Who?"

  "Boy called Reynolds, I think."

  "Alistair Reynolds?"

  "Aye, him."

  "Sodding hell." Methven took a step back. "We were told his lawyer had arrived. How has this happened?"

  "You know how it is, sir. We're absolutely rammed here, St Leonard's are full up and don't get me started on the West End." The PCSO snorted. "Your case is taking up half the cells here."

  "But we've only got Falconer and Vardy in."

  "Aye, plus those two lawyers." He held up four fingers. "Makes four."

  "Okay. That's hardly turning this into Bethlehem on Christmas Eve."

  The PCSO counted out on his thumb. "Plus William Jones."

  "What?"

  "Turned up about an hour ago. Been hogging interview room four for the last hour. DI Lamb's bee-"

  "Sodding hell." Methven rubbed his forehead. "Who brought him in?"

  "Some uniform boy from Gayfield Square, sir."

  "Get out of my bloody sight."

  Cullen watched the PCSO trundle off then looked up at Methven, his face a dark purple. "Shall we speak to him, sir?"

  Methven pointed at the interview room door as he got his phone out and started prodding the screen. "I'll just be a second."

  Cullen opened the door, the stale smell of sweat hitting him. His eyes started to water. "Sorry about the delay."

  Billy Jones stood at the side of the room, his gut lurking out of the bottom of his red long-sleeved t-shirt, saggy jeans in need of a wash a few months ago. His red face was twisted into a gurn, cheeks twitching as he smiled. "It's okay."

  Cullen frowned as he sat. "No, it's not okay. Leaving a witness alone in an interview room for this long isn't acceptable."

  "I'm a witness?"

  Cullen hovered his hand over the digital recorder then glanced back at Methven, still fuming in the corridor. "What exactly have you been told?"

  "Nothing. Just got to answer some questions."

  "I see."

  "Is Michael here?"

  "Michael?"

  "Aye, Michael Nelson." Jones rubbed his hand through his thinning hair, clumps sticking up. "He's my lawyer."

  "You don't need a lawyer." Cullen opened his notebook and checked it through. Another glance at Methven, looking like he was close to wrapping up the phone call. "We'll get round to the questions once my colleague arrives."

  "What's this about?"

  "The evening of the thirtieth of December."

  "Oh."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Nothing."

  "Right." Methven slammed the door shut behind him then collapsed into the chair.
"Mr Jones?"

  "Correct. Billy Jones."

  "Let's get started." Methven reached over and started the recorder. "We don't need this on the record, do we?"

  Jones shook his head. "Not unless you're thinking I've done something. In which case I'd like a lawyer."

  "Let's just see how we go." Cullen cracked his knuckles. "Mr Jones, we need to ask you some questions pertaining to your whereabouts on the thirtieth of December."

  "That's a while ago now." Jones chewed the knuckle of his right hand ring finger. "I was out drinking, I think."

  "You think?"

  "Aye, well I was."

  "Who were you drinking with?"

  "Erm, a friend of mine. Darren Keogh."

  Cullen felt his heart thud. "Just the two of you?"

  "There was another chap with us." Jones switched to the middle knuckle. "I can't remember his name, sorry."

  "For the purposes of the tape, I'm presenting a photograph tagged P-09C." Methven showed him Kenny Falconer. "Is this one of the men you were with?"

  Jones took a long look at it. Shook his head. "No, this isn't him."

  "Definitely?"

  "Aye. Definitely."

  "What about this?" Methven showed another, this time of Dean Vardy. "I'm showing photograph P-08D."

  Jones lifted it up, shaking the photo backwards and forwards. He handed it back. "This isn't him."

  "Seriously?"

  "Aye." Jones frowned. Grabbed the photo back. "No, hang on." He squinted at it, eyes disappearing behind their lids. "Dean something, right?"

  "Dean Vardy."

  "Dean Vardy... Oh. Yes, it was him. Dean was the man with Darren." Jones flipped the photo over and returned it, then clicked his fingers a few times. "He bought us drinks all night. Knew the barman. Or had something on him, at least."

  "Definitely?"

  "Aye, absolutely. Got a load of pints out of him."

  "Was Mr Vardy well acquainted with Mr Keogh?"

  "Aye, I think so. Something about Dean's auntie, I think."

  "Thanks." Methven smiled and got out his mobile, stabbed the screen a few times. "That appears to be correct." He looked up. "On the other hand, we've done some digging into your background."

  Jones ground his teeth, his jaw pulsing with the effort. "Oh?"