Windchill (DC Scott Cullen Crime Series Book 6) Read online

  Chapter 6

  "Sodding hell." Methven gave an almighty sigh before shaking his head. "And this neighbour has no idea who McCoull entered the house with last night?"

  "Afraid not, sir." Buxton shrugged, eyes avoiding Cullen and Methven. "Plus, he never saw him leave either."

  Cullen looked back down the street at Walker's house, his frazzled brain thinking things through. "Was there another body in the house?"

  "We've been over this already, Constable. It was Steven McCoull."

  "That's not what I mean." Cullen snorted, trying to kick his brain into gear. "We know McCoull wasn't alone last night. Could this other person have died inside?"

  "I see what you're getting at now." Methven clicked his fingers, distracting a firefighter. "Mr Simpson, can we have a word?"

  He put down the hose he was in the middle of coiling and walked over. "Aye, what is it?"

  "We have a report of a figure entering the house at about quarter to nine last night." Methven crossed his arms, the fingers of one hand stroking his chin. "Is it possible there are two bodies?"

  "No way." Simpson shook his head before clearing his throat. "We've had a fair amount of time to scour that place. Your SOCOs have been in there, too. We found only one body, the one we called you lot out for. We got here before the fire was too far gone. You can see for yourself, the house isn't too badly burnt. It's not like it had a chance to devour another body."

  "Absolutely none?"

  "None. At. All."

  Methven narrowed his eyes. "So there's no way this additional body could've been hidden with what was used to start the fire?"

  Simpson scowled at Methven for a few seconds. "There was an accelerant used. However, we'd still have traces of a body if it was near the accelerant. No matter how hot a house fire gets, it's nothing like cremating someone."

  Methven nodded. "Okay."

  Simpson smiled, the top half of his face not moving. "Now, do you mind if I get back to packing this stuff away? Got a big night of chip pan fires ahead of us."

  Chip pan fires. Cullen frowned. "Do you know what caused this?"

  Simpson turned to face him. "I said there was an accelerant used. If you're thinking there's a chip pan involved here, think again. There wasn't one. Could even dust the thing off and use it."

  "Okay, thanks for your help." Methven avoided eye contact with him.

  "Cheers." Simpson trudged back over the road, shaking his head as he went.

  Methven let his arms go, one hand going for the pocket with its familiar keys and change. "Nobody else in the sodding street team has mentioned a sighting yet."

  "Maybe we lucked out, sir." Cullen looked down the long street, spotting a couple of paired officers heading away from them on either side. "Have they turned anything up yet?"

  "No. Nobody's seen or heard anything."

  Cullen scowled. "So you're telling me McCoull had his teeth pulled out and arms broken and nobody heard him screaming?"

  "It would appear that way."

  "This bloody city." Cullen gave a bitter laugh. "So, basically, someone went inside with McCoull. A man, but not definitely. And the next thing we know, the house is on fire. And we don't have anyone leaving?"

  "That's correct."

  "Well, we've got our arsonist then."

  "Or rather we don't, Constable. We need to find him. Or her." Methven made a note in his notebook. "I'll get Catriona's team onto it."

  Cullen stared back at Walker's house. He'd better come up with a proper description soon.

  "Oh my God!"

  Cullen spun around in the direction of the shout.

  A tall woman with blonde hair and red lipstick wrestled with the uniform guarding access to the McCoull house. "You need to let me in there!"

  Cullen followed Methven and Buxton as they jogged over.

  Methven managed to separate her from the uniform. "I'm asking you to get back, madam!"

  "Get away from me!" She lashed out with a hand, catching Methven on the cheek and clawing out a chunk of skin.

  "You sodding witch!" Methven slammed her against a police car. He reached into his suit jacket and retrieved his cuffs, slapping them on her. He dabbed his cheek, blood already weeping down to his shirt collar. He spun her around. "Tell us your name!"

  "I'm not giving you it!"

  The uniform raised a hand. "Sir?"

  Methven glared at him. "What is it?"

  "She gave me her name." The PC held up the clipboard. "It's Evelyn McCoull."

  "Sodding hell. Is she his wife?"

  "No idea, sir."

  "In that case, Constable, I want you to read her sodding rights, chuck her in a car and take her to Leith Walk station for me."

  The uniform nodded and led her over to another car.

  Watching them, Methven reached into his pocket for a white handkerchief before glaring at Cullen. "Can you get down to the station and interview her?"

  "You think she's a suspect?"

  "I want you to find out whether she is or not."

  "Walker could've seen Evelyn entering the house with McCoull."

  "It was dark, Constable. He could've seen anything."

  "Right. We'll see what she's got to say."

  Methven held the tissue out for a few seconds before dabbing his cheek. "She's sodding paying for this, though."

  "I'll pass that on to her."

  "Good." Methven got out his Blackberry, his wrinkled thumbs tapping the buttons. "Right, well, I've got to go to the post mortem now. After I've had this sodding cut tidied up."

  "Sure." Cullen ground his teeth as he watched his superior retreat down the road towards his car, phone clasped to his ear. "What a wanker."

  "You love him, really."

  "That's eighteen months I've been working for him."

  Buxton laughed. "Better or worse than the last one?"

  "Don't even start." Cullen led off in the opposite direction towards the waiting patrol car. "Come on, let's get her down to the station."

  The uniformed officer was now in the driver's seat. He was fiddling with his phone, a high-end Samsung. He took his time finishing whatever he was doing before tossing the phone to the passenger seat. Took even longer getting out. He leaned against the side of the car and sighed, arms crossed. "What?"

  "You arrested her yet?"

  "Aye. Doing her with assault. That said, the boy with the eyebrows had it coming to him."

  Cullen checked he was out of earshot before grinning. "Been lording it over you, has he?"

  "And then some." The PC shook his head. "Where do you want her?"

  "Leith Walk. Get the desk sergeant to process her. We'll be down shortly. Make sure she's got a lawyer by the time we're there."

  Chapter 7

  Buxton stood in the corridor, arms folded. "Think she might have done it?"

  "Either that or she knows something." Cullen checked his watch. Still no sign of the lawyer. "I know a few women who'd happily tear their ex-husband's teeth out with a pair of pliers."

  A middle-aged man appeared, clutching more folders than seemed possible. Dark brown hair, black-framed glasses, pinstripe suit and shoes you could see your face in. Tall but slouching. "Scott Cullen?"

  Cullen flashed his warrant card, vaguely recognising him. "That's me."

  "Michael Nelson of Nelson and Parker. Evelyn's lawyer." He dropped a couple of files and knelt down to pick them up. "Oh, shuffle."

  Cullen nodded to the door, trying to avoid laughing. "We'll just be in the room."

  Nelson smiled as he got to his feet, getting in Cullen's way. "I know you, don't I?"

  "Don't think so?"

  "Yes, I've seen you in court a few times. Kenny Falconer case a couple of years back."

  "Thanks for reminding me." Cullen felt a vein in his temple throb.

  Nelson looked him up and down. "So they're letting you play grown-up these days?"

  "I've had my stabilisers off for weeks." Cullen took a step back, recoiling at the coffee b
reath. "Do you need a few minutes with your client?"

  "No, I should be fine. Thanks for the offer, though." Nelson shook his head before creasing his brow. "This is just due process at the moment, isn't it?"

  "Hardly. She scratched my DI's face."

  "Ah."

  "Aye, she'll be getting done with that."

  "But she's not under any suspicion over her husband's murder?"

  "No comment."

  "Well, thank you for waiting for me." Nelson pushed his glasses up his nose. "This way you'll get a solid conviction if she did do it. I gather from my colleagues you're not exactly one for going by the book."

  "That's a slight exaggeration." Cullen narrowed his eyes at him. "We'll be a few seconds."

  Nelson nodded before entering the room, leaving the door open. He sat down next to his client. Evelyn McCoull tossed her hair from side to side. Looked like she was mid-forties but dressed late twenties.

  Cullen glanced at Buxton, hungover brain working out cougar jibes but coming up short.

  Buxton rubbed his hands before leaning in to whisper. "That bloke's a clown. Didn't check his shoes - they weren't two foot long, were they?"

  "Don't be fooled by the bumbling Clark Kent act. Never dealt with him directly, but Sharon has. He's a total arsehole." Cullen scowled at the door. "Right. I'll lead here." He entered the room and sat opposite Nelson.

  He started the digital recorder. "Interview commenced at twelve thirty-two. Present are myself, Detective Constable Scott Cullen, Acting Detective Constable Simon Buxton, Michael Nelson and his client, Evelyn McCoull."

  He licked his lips, trying to get some moisture in his mouth. "Mrs McCoull, we're investigating the death of your ex-husband, Mr Steven McCoull. The circumstances surrounding his death appear to be suspicious." He left a pause, just enough to make Evelyn think he was expecting her to speak, before continuing. "Can you confirm your relationship with the deceased?"

  "Yes. We were married. We divorced three years ago now."

  "So what were you doing at his house this morning?"

  "I got a call from his next-door neighbour. Eric. Our old neighbour." Evelyn sniffled, the lines around her eyes crinkling. "He called me and told me what happened. The fire. He told me Steven was dead."

  "This was the first you'd heard?"

  Nelson smiled at him. "Constable, are you implying something?"

  "Just trying to establish a concrete timeline. It'll help you as much as us."

  "Very well." Nelson sat back in his seat, leaning one arm on the back. "If that's the case, I'd appreciate a bit more directness with the questions. I don't want you playing games with my client."

  Cullen ignored him. "Mrs McCoull, was this the first you'd heard?"

  "It was, yes. Eric said some officers had been round asking about Steven. He called me when they left."

  "Any reason why Eric would let you know?"

  Evelyn played with her necklace. "Just that I used to be married to Steven?"

  "Constable..." Nelson adjusted his glasses. "Can you please quit with the innuendo?"

  "I wasn't aware I was using innuendo."

  "You are." Nelson peered over the frames of his glasses. "Please keep your questions informational."

  "Okay." Cullen glared at him.

  Nelson lifted up a sheet of paper and read it. "I'd appreciate some facts to be presented in support of such an accusation."

  Buxton looked up from his notebook. "Do you and Mr McCoull have any children?"

  "We don't have children." Evelyn twisted her mouth into a smile, eyes remaining frosty. "My husband wanted kids, but I didn't."

  Cullen exhaled through his nostrils as he focused on Evelyn. "Please tell us about your divorce."

  "We split up three years ago."

  "So you said." Cullen folded his arms. "Who divorced who?"

  Evelyn looked away. "He divorced me."

  "But you kept his name?"

  "I still loved him."

  Cullen frowned. "Then why the divorce?"

  Nelson tugged his glasses off his face. "Is this strictly necessary?"

  "This is a murder inquiry, Mr Nelson. Your client may have had motive to kill the victim."

  Evelyn swallowed hard, her eyes bulging. "You think someone's killed Steven?"

  "We believe that may be the case, yes."

  "Jesus."

  "Did you kill your husband?"

  "No!" Evelyn blinked back tears. "No way did I kill him. How could I?"

  Cullen gave her a few seconds. "What did your husband do for a living, Mrs McCoull?"

  "He ran a company. JG Markets & Investments. Managed assets and so on. Gave advice on how to invest. It was something to do with stocks and shares. Dealing them, that sort of thing. I don't know the ins and outs of it."

  "We'll need to speak to his colleagues."

  "You'll need to find that information yourself, I'm afraid." Nelson put his glasses back on, fingers resting on the legs for a few seconds. "My client has been divorced from Mr McCoull for quite some time and has no active role in his affairs."

  "Very well." Cullen turned his focus back to Evelyn, her eyes twitching. "Do you know if Mr McCoull was involved with anyone since your divorce?"

  "Believe me, I'm the last person who'd know."

  "Any family you can think of?"

  "Steven was an only child and his parents are both dead. I think he had a couple of cousins in Canada and one down south. St Albans maybe."

  "So nobody local?"

  "No."

  "And nobody with any antagonism towards him?"

  "Not that I know." Evelyn shrugged. "It might've changed."

  Cullen thought it through for a few seconds. "Mrs McCoull, why did you and Mr McCoull divorce if you still loved him?"

  Evelyn tugged at her necklace, the metal links tautening. "Because I had an affair."

  "And your husband found out?"

  "He did."

  "Any idea how?"

  "He received a note one day."

  "A note?" Cullen clasped his hands behind his head. "What sort of note?"

  "I never saw it. It was hand delivered, I think."

  "Who by?"

  "I suspect it was from Eric."

  "Your neighbour?"

  "Aye. Eric Young." Evelyn closed her eyes and gave a slight nod. "The man I had the affair with."

  Christ on a bike. Cullen scribbled it down. "Why would Mr Young have done that?"

  Evelyn shrugged. "Guilt?"

  "Are you still with Mr Young?"

  "No." Evelyn rubbed a hand across her shoulder. "We didn't last that long. Just long enough for Steven to find out, really."

  Buxton cleared his throat. "Could this fella have killed your ex-husband?"

  "Eric?" Evelyn checked her fingernails. "They're still good friends."

  "They're still mates even after your affair?"

  "Indeed." Evelyn looked away. "Steven chose his friend over me. He forgave Eric but he never forgave me."

  "Any idea why?"

  "Steven could be like that." Evelyn stretched out her hands, the fingers pushed as far apart as they'd go. "Eric's in Steven's rugby club. They were thick as thieves, that lot."

  "Which club's this?"

  "Juniper Green RFC."

  "Did either of them still play?"

  "No. Steven just wanted to help young kids out, really. He was the treasurer of the club. Last I heard, Eric was the president. Might've been the other way round."

  Cullen made a note. Eric Young was worthy of more detailed attention than the cursory checks of the street team. "Anyone else at this rugby club?"

  Evelyn stared into space for a few seconds. "There's Donald Ingram, I suppose. He was president or something a few years ago." She rummaged in her purse, getting out her phone. "Here are their numbers."

  Cullen noted them both down. "That's all you can think of?"

  "Listen, I suggest you speak to Eric."

  "Fine." Cullen glanced at Nelson, now lost in
the contents of a document.

  Evelyn picked at her sleeve. "Steven and Eric weren't just rugby club mates. They ran a business together."

  Cullen rolled his eyes. What the hell? "Why didn't tell us that earlier?"

  "I'm not thinking straight. Steven's dead!"

  "How long have they been in business?"

  "Five years, I think. At least."

  "So before your divorce?"

  "Aye."

  "Is it possible Mr Young could've killed Steven?"

  Evelyn twisted her head to the side, her eyebrows raised. "I don't see why he would."

  Cullen took a deep breath. Why indeed. "Okay. That's all for now."

  "I can go?"

  "Not yet. DI Methven will want someone else to speak to you about the attack on him."

  Chapter 8

  "Give me a call. Thanks." Cullen pocketed his phone. "No answer from Ingram."

  Buxton collected their coffees and led away from the counter, handing one to Cullen, before making for the stairwell. "You think she's involved in this?"

  "Evelyn? Doubt it." Cullen started down the stairs, careful not to spill the coffee. "I doubt she'd be capable of tearing out the guy's fingernails. Might chip her own."

  "Good point." Buxton took a sip through the lid. "Why does Methven need another update from us? We just saw him out in Juniper Green."

  "You know what Crystal's like, right? Micromanagement to the nth degree."

  "Don't I just."

  "Let's get this update done before we head out to speak to this Young boy, okay?"

  Buxton nodded. "How's the hangover?"

  "Fucking shite."

  "Watch it with the swearing, Sundance."

  "Stop it, Budgie."

  "Yeah, sorry."

  "Just a shame I can't call you Britpop since you lost the Weller coconut." Cullen waited inside the door at the bottom of the stairs. He reached over and ruffled Buxton's hair, rock hard from the tub or so of gel he'd used to cement the side parting.

  Buxton dodged away from his hands, putting a few paces between them. "Fuck off!"

  Cullen tried to rub the gel off his fingers. Failed. "That's a Hitler hairdo." He put his finger to his top lip. "You just need a toothbrush moustache and you'd look like Hitler."