Windchill (Detective Scott Cullen Mysteries Book 6) by Ed James

Author:Ed James [James, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2014-10-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 45

Cullen hadn't expected a queue in the pub at the back of two. "This is a load of bollocks."

Buxton shrugged. "It's New Year's Eve, mate."

"Hogmanay."

"Whatever. It gets busy early doors, doesn't it?" Buxton folded his arms as he leaned against the exposed stone wall splitting the two main areas. "You can get your warrant card out and barge to the front, if you want?"

"I'll leave it for now." Cullen held up his mobile and searched for Darren Keogh. Found his Schoolbook page at the top of the list. He clicked through - the page was mostly empty, like he barely used it. Keogh's profile photo was a few years old, his hair darker than now, his face the sort of confused scowl you'd see on a passport photo. Cullen selected it, saved it and showed his mobile to Buxton. "Dodgy photo of the day."

Buxton looked up from his own mobile and grinned. "People in glass houses, mate."

"Yeah, I need to change mine." Cullen pocketed his phone and flicked through his notebook, trying to figure out where the case was going.

Vardy had to have killed Lyle, surely. The debt, running away from them, Lyle most probably sleeping with his girlfriend - it all added up.

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.

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