by Ed James
"Not exactly," said Murray.
"Really?" asked Cullen, looking over. He suddenly got worried that his principled stance against Bain's nonsense had been totally misjudged and he was the one that looked like a total fanny.
Murray glanced over. "Maybe," he said, with a slight shrug. "Irvine seems to be the golden boy as far as Bain's concerned. Irvine has been running around like it's him running this case, telling everyone what to do. Not that I've noticed him do much himself, mind."
"He does that," said Cullen.
"Aye, well," said Murray, "but I'd watch it with Bain if I were you."
"I'll bear that in mind," said Cullen.
"How was your jolly to Durham?" asked Murray.
"It was Harrogate," said Cullen, "and it wasn't exactly a jolly."
"Where the hell is Harrogate?"
"Yorkshire."
"Bloody hell," said Murray. "Wouldn't catch me doing that trip in one day. I'd make sure I got a night in a swanky hotel."
"You'd end up in a night in a shitty B&B, knowing Bain," said Cullen.
They turned the bend and headed into the outskirts of Garleton, this road the most twisting of the three routes in from the north.
"So this McLeish woman used to go out with Paddy?" asked Murray.
"According to the receptionist at Dunpender."
Murray looked over. "Keep your hands off of her," he said. "I know your reputation."
"I've got a reputation?" exclaimed Cullen.
"Aye," said Murray. "Somebody was asking where 'Shagger' was. Turned out it was you."
"I've got enough nicknames as it is," said Cullen.
"What about you and Eva Law?" asked Murray. "Little knee trembler in the stationery cupboard back in January? Got a bit aggressive for her, did you?"
"Who told you that?" asked Cullen. "Was it Bill Lamb?"
"I can't remember," said Murray with a slight shrug. "Is it true? Tidy little piece she was."
Cullen ground his teeth - he knew it would be Irvine or Bain. "Of course it's not fucking true," he said. "I've got a girlfriend, and I told her that. She had been flirting with me and I had no interest in her."
"Just saying what I heard," said Murray, as he turned the car left onto the high street in Garleton.
"You got a thing for the receptionist at Dunpender then?" asked Cullen.
Murray grinned. "We'll see," he said. "I asked her for her number and she gave me it. Still not called her."
"Well, good luck," said Cullen, glad that he was away from all that shite.
Murray pulled in on the high street, not far from the police station. Between the Starbucks and the McDonalds was a dark blue tenement door which matched the number for Elspeth McLeish. They got out and Cullen pressed the buzzer. Cullen smelled the ubiquitous odour of the McDonalds, which was absolutely rammed with teenagers and the occasional family - worried looking parents and kids lost in five minutes of Happy Meal enjoyment. Cullen's belly reminded him to head to one of them before too long.
"Hello?" The voice on the entry-com was crystal clear.
"Is that Elspeth McLeish?" asked Cullen.
"It is Elspeth Murison," she said, her voice with a slight upper crust twang. "I used to be Elspeth McLeish. Can I ask who you are?"
"Detective Constables Scott Cullen and Stuart Murray," said Cullen. "We would like to speak to you about a current enquiry."
"Very well," came the voice, followed by the intercom buzzing and clunking.
They pushed open the heavy door and climbed the stairs - slightly better kept than the average Leith Walk tenement, thought Cullen. There were only two doors at the top of the stairs, one of which had a curvy woman in her early fifties standing in the doorway. She had platinum hair and a face with pronounced cheekbones - Cullen imagined that she would have been quite something in her twenties.
She held out her hand, which Cullen shook, and he introduced himself.
Elspeth gave him a withering look. "I'd like to see your warrant card," she said.
Cullen tried to laugh it off. He showed the card - given her experience as a receptionist, he wondered how many times they would have had the police into Dunpender during her time there. Murray showed her his card, which seemed to satisfy her.
"If you'd like to come through," she said, leading them inside.
The flat felt palatial to Cullen, like the sort of Manhattan apartment you'd see in a Woody Allen film, lots of intersecting corridors and wide halls, all decorated and furnished to a high spec. That said, Cullen could still detect the distinct scent of frying hamburgers.
She took them through to a living room, all decorated in silver, dark grey and yellow. The walls were strips of the three colours, with oak frames surrounding modern art works, constrained at the top and bottom by ornate cornicing and skirting. Two silver-coloured fabric settees sat across from each other, with no TV in sight. A large ginger cat that was sat washing itself suddenly stopped and gave Cullen the sort of look that its owner had in the hall outside.
Elspeth sat down beside the cat and gestured for them to sit down. The cat shot off across the room, heading back the way they'd come in. "Now, how can I help you?" she asked.
Cullen led. "We would like to speak to you about one Paddy Kavanagh," he said, "who we believe worked at Dunpender Distillery around the same time that you did."
She leaned forward on the sofa, her tight blouse pushing her breasts together to give Cullen a view of her robust cleavage. "My husband is in the other room," she said, her voice low. "I would appreciate it if you could keep your voice down."
"Is that because of your relationship with Mr Kavanagh?" asked Cullen, his voice at the same level as before.
"Partially," she said, scowling. "Has something happened?"
"We are running an enquiry into a body that was found at the distillery," said Cullen.
Her eyes widened. "Do you think that it is Paddy?" she asked, her voice raising, despite her early warning.
Cullen held his hand up. "No, we have identified the victim," he said, "and it is not Mr Kavanagh. We have received an anonymous tip-off that Mr Kavanagh is back in the area."
"Oh my goodness," said Elspeth.
"Has he made any contact with you?" asked Cullen.
"Gracious, no," said Elspeth. "I would have gone straight to the police."
Cullen jotted it down. "We would like to obtain some background on him, though," he said.
She settled back, trying to not look flustered. "What do you want to know?" she asked.
"How would you describe your relationship with Mr Kavanagh?" asked Cullen.
"We were lovers for a while," she said, eyes suddenly going misty. "He was a vigorous lover, you know. Very attentive."
"Are there any negative connotations attached to the word 'vigorous'?" asked Cullen.
"No, I just meant that he had stamina, that's all," said Elspeth. "He wasn't particularly dominant, you know."
Cullen wanted to change the topic - her cleavage and twenty year old sex life were making him uncomfortable. "And you both worked at Dunpender Distillery?" he asked.
She nodded. "He worked on something to do with the whisky making process," she said, "while I practically ran the place. The family were hopeless at admin, trusted to the old ways. It was a recipe for disaster - their stock checks were all over the place, barrels missing, barrels found."
"So why did you leave?" asked Cullen.
Elspeth exhaled then thought it through for a few seconds. "In the end, I just had enough of the place," she said. "It was a frustrating business to run, you know. Fortunately, my husband earned enough from his art business that I could work for him part-time."
"What can you tell us about Mr Kavanagh's disappearance?" asked Murray.
She looked away and blinked away a tear then looked back at Murray, her eyes moist. "It broke my heart," she said. "I was thirty at the time, and I thought that maybe Paddy could be the one. When he just disappeared it destroyed me. I had such hopes."
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Cullen wondered if those hopes should ever have been invested in Paddy Kavanagh.
"Did you drink with Paddy at the Tannery?" asked Murray.
She paused for a moment. "I … drank a lot more in those days," she said. "Paddy was in there every night. He would only drink Guinness. Sounds like such a cliche."
One of Cullen's Dad's mates, a card-carrying member of the SNP, would only drink Guinness - it wasn't the preserve of the Irish.
"We understand that Mr Kavanagh had a tempestuous relationship with the other patrons of the bar," said Murray.
"There was a bad crowd in that place," she said. "Thank God it's closed down."
"What can you tell us about Mr Kavanagh's relationship with the Crombie family?" asked Murray.
"What is there to tell?" asked Elspeth. "Paddy worked for them, and he worked hard from all accounts."
"He didn't have any falling out with either brother?"
"They were amicable," she said, twirling a strand of hair in her finger. "They would occasionally go for a drink, usually somewhere better than the Tanner's, though from time-to-time he would take them there 'to experience real life' as he used to say."
"Do you know of any incidents at these drinking sessions?" asked Cullen.
"What sort of incidents?"
"You know - fights, threats, that sort of thing."
Elspeth pushed her bottom lip out and thought it through for a few seconds, before shaking her head. "Not that I'm aware of, certainly," she said.
Cullen decided to alter their approach. "You were acquainted with both brothers, is that right?" he asked.
"Iain and Fraser?" She looked away. "Yes, I was. I dealt with both of them several times a day." She briefly closed her eyes. "Now, there was a tempestuous relationship. Typical boys. My two nephews are the same, always at each other, but you can see that they love each other really. Of course, I never had children of my own."
Cullen could tell that she greatly regretted the fact. "When you say tempestuous, was there anything particularly violent?" he asked.
"No, there wasn't," she said, shaking her head. "They were just arguing with each other all of the time. Mostly about the future of the distillery." She gave a laugh, cold and devoid of humour. "Of course, anyone who knows that place will tell you that the only person who is in charge of the destiny of that place is Alec Crombie."
Cullen smiled - it was nice to have it backed up yet again. "Were you well acquainted with any of the other workers there?" he asked. "Eric Knox? Doug Strachan?"
She closed her eyes. "Doug was a big friend of Paddy's," she said. "They both were, really, but Eric's only friend was the drink. I still see him staggering down the high street from Bargain Booze or somewhere or other, carrying a blue carrier bag." She opened her eyes again, Cullen noticing that her irises were almost ice white. "Doug on the other hand…" She laughed. "I still meet up for lunch with Doug on occasion, though he is a much bigger drinker these days than I am. He still works there, you know. They always thought highly of him, even after, well…"
"Even after what?" asked Cullen.
"I really shouldn't say," she said.
"Please do," said Cullen.
"After Iain caught him stealing whisky," she said. "There were no charges brought against him, but it was common knowledge. He was ashamed, you know. Took him a while to rebuild his pride after that. He was a mess." She sniffed. "Of course, this was about the time that Paddy disappeared. I wasn't in a good way, wasn't able to give him help or support. He fell apart a bit at the time. I remember once seeing him through the window of the Tanner's, just sitting at the bar, drinking whisky on his own, staring at the large mirror above the optics behind the bar. He was muttering something to himself, so I went inside."
"What was he saying?" asked Cullen.
"He was talking about killing something," she said.
fifty-two
Murray tugged the steering wheel and pushed his Golf over the railway bridge that split the North Berwick branch line off from the east coast main line, heading towards Dunpender Distillery. Half way down the hill, they overtook a cyclist dressed in a suit.
"So that must make Strachan suspect number one," said Murray.
"I'm sure that Bain would be doing lots of underlining on his whiteboard just now," said Cullen, "if we'd actually told him."
Elspeth Murison hadn't been able to elaborate much further on this 'killing' - Strachan had come out of his trance when she'd sat down beside him. She couldn't put a date to the event, hence Cullen's reluctance - among others - in calling Bain. He needed to speak to Strachan and see what he had to say on the matter.
"You know," said Murray, "Bain was saying to me just how much of a game-player you are."
"He can talk," muttered Cullen.
Murray turned off just after the bend for Dunpender, passing the metal sign for the farm swaying in the evening breeze. He pulled into the car park and they got out. They hurried across the gravel to the entrance. The front door was locked.
Cullen hammered on the heavy oak door.
"Reckon there's anybody in?" asked Murray.
"Who knows," said Cullen. "Have you got a home address for Strachan?"
"Think so," said Murray. "Let's hope he's actually here, though."
"What do you think he meant by this 'killing' thing?" asked Cullen.
"I've no idea," said Murray. "Doesn't sound good, does it?"
The door opened. An elderly security guard peered out.
Cullen flashed his warrant card. "We need to speak to Doug Strachan," he said.
"He's left for the evening," said the guard. "It's just Alec and young Fraser in."
Cullen looked at Murray - Alec Crombie would have to do.
fifty-three
Alec Crombie looked defeated to Cullen. When they reached his office - he'd ignored the buzzer - he was slumped in his chair, wistfully looking out of the window into the blue skies above the Scots pine trees. Cullen knocked on the door frame, and Crombie slowly looked around.
The old man sighed when he saw who it was. "Haven't you had enough pleasure from taunting me?" he asked.
Cullen gritted his teeth. "Believe me," he said, "it gives us no pleasure at all to discover it was your son in the barrel."
Crombie looked down at the desk. "Yes, well," he boomed. "I find that hard to believe."
"I mean it," said Cullen, sitting down in front of Crombie. He thought back to the time - a week or so previously - when he'd hoped that it was Iain in the barrel as they would actually have leads to follow. "You have our deepest sympathies."
"Well, I'm sure I'll see you at the funeral whenever you see it in your hearts to release Iain's body," said Crombie.
"I'm sure you can understand that there's a significant amount of analysis that we require to undertake on the body," said Cullen.
"Hmm," said Crombie, slowly shaking his head. He picked up a document, stared at it for a moment, then casually tossed it aside. Cullen took a good look at the documents scattered over the desk - they looked like board papers for the following day. A bound document showed that the board meeting itself was scheduled for noon.
Crombie gave another deep sigh. "Do you know, I can't be bothered with this any more," he said, after a few seconds. "I've had it. I've lost my fire. I've a mind to just sell out at the board meeting tomorrow."
"I can understand that," said Cullen.
Crombie screwed his eyes up. "Do you?" he said, his deep voice reverberating around the hard surfaces of the room. "Do you really?"
Cullen held his gaze, thinking about the loss of a colleague the year before. "Believe me," he said, eyes starting to well up, "I do have some idea of what you are going through."
Crombie looked to the side. "Yes, well," he said, "how can I help you?"
"We're investigating a few leads into your son's murder," said Cullen, "and we would like to speak to Doug Strachan."
"He's gone home, I'm afraid," said Crombie.
"C
an we ask you a few questions instead?" asked Cullen.
Crombie threw his hands up in the air. "Fire away," he said.
"Were you aware that Doug Strachan had been stealing whisky?"
Crombie closed his eyes. He gave a slight nod. "Iain told me," he said.
"And what was your reaction?"
Crombie lay back in his chair, almost horizontal. "I was torn," he said. "First, I wanted to sack him, to make an example of him and stop anyone else thinking of doing it. But, of course, Doug was central to the process here. He would have been irreplaceable."
"That's not what your son thinks," said Cullen.
Crombie smiled. "Fraser didn't really know the old Doug," he said. "He was a whirlwind and a perfectionist. He would put everything into making our whisky exceptional. I was the business head of the place, but Doug was the power behind the throne, I'm afraid."
Cullen was surprised by the humility that suddenly appeared in Crombie. "So how did you decide not to discipline Mr Strachan?" he asked.
Crombie frowned at Cullen. "Who said anything about not disciplining him?" he asked. "We had a management restructure at that time, as you know, making us much more of a functionally-organised company. I moved Fraser into Doug's old role as Master Cooper, giving him a more generic role to play but also to train my son up in the art of the cooper. Doug lost some of his salary as well."
"Do you know of anyone who Mr Strachan would have had a disagreement with at the time?" asked Cullen.
Crombie leaned forward on his chair, placing his palms flat down on the desktop. "Are you implying that Doug killed Iain?" he asked, the voice back at top volume.
"I'm not implying anything of the sort," said Cullen. "However, now that you've raised it as a possibility, can I ask why?"
Crombie sat back and looked at Cullen for a few seconds before speaking. "Other than the incident with the whisky," he said, "Iain and Doug got on well. Doug would take Iain up to Garleton for some drinks every couple of weeks. There was a pub that he and Paddy Kavanagh were regulars in. I only ever went there once or twice myself, but they were the best of friends."
"What about anyone else?" asked Cullen.
