matches on my list which are now with the Cold Case Unit."
"Is that Paddy boy on it?" asked Bain.
"He is," said Caldwell. "Padraig Sean Kavanagh."
"Good, good," said Bain. "I don't fuckin' like gettin' lied to."
"You're not going to like this, though," she said.
"As if I actually like anything," said Bain. "What is it?"
"They both have pretty much the same general description," she said. "Same height to within an inch, same build, same hair colour. Given the state that the body is in, it's going to be tough separating them."
Bain rubbed his moustache for a few moments. "Tell us about Paddy, then," he finally said.
"He's from Donegal," she said. "He was born in 1965, making him 29 when this barrel was filled."
"Assuming it was filled in 1994," said Bain.
"See, he does listen," said Cullen, for Caldwell's benefit.
"I don't believe it," she said.
Bain seemed to be humouring them for a while. Cullen wasn't sure how long that would last, probably only until the first update call with Turnbull.
"When did he go missing?" asked Cullen.
"Eleventh of June," she said.
"Bang on fuckin' target," said Bain. "That's when these were barrelled up, got to be him."
"Looks likely," said Cullen.
"One of the other disappearances was interesting, though," said Caldwell. "As I said, I got them to run a fairly wide search to include people who were only reported missing later and who actually might have disappeared earlier."
"Right, and?" said Bain. "You've fuckin' got me on tenterhooks here, princess."
"One Iain Crombie was reported missing in early July that year," she said.
"You are fuckin' kiddin' me," said Bain, eyes wide. "What relation is he?"
"Alec Crombie's number one son," said Cullen, echoing the distillery owner's own terminology. "Fraser told me earlier that Iain had been declared dead a few years ago."
Bain pointed a finger at Caldwell. "You fuckin' knew about this when you came in the room," he said. "You should have fuckin' told me."
Caldwell's eyes widened. "I'm sorry?"
"You should have told me that Crombie's son was in there," said Bain.
"You would have just done your usual," she said.
"My usual ?"
"Jumping to conclusions," said Caldwell.
"Fuck sake," said Bain, glowering at her, his lips pursed. "What is the status of the case?" he asked, his voice shrill.
"It's still an open investigation," said Caldwell, "though nothing much has happened in the intervening seventeen years, not even a cold case investigation. He just never turned up. They got a Presumption of Death certificate in 2001."
"Right, good," said Bain. He looked at Cullen. "Could it be him in the barrel?"
Cullen frowned as he thought through what Fraser Crombie had told him.
"Earth to Sundance," said Bain.
"Huh?"
"Could it be Iain in the fuckin' barrel?" asked Bain, enunciating each word slowly.
"The time frame is out by a couple of weeks," said Cullen. "Assuming it was done when the stamp at the end says it was, that barrel was filled mid-June. Angela says that Iain was reported missing early July."
Bain nodded slowly. "Aye, but he could have gone missing earlier."
"And was only reported missing in July," said Caldwell, picking up Bain's thread.
"Could that have happened?" asked Cullen.
She shrugged. "It could have."
"I'm not sure this is a coincidence," said Bain. "Speaking of coincidences, are you telling me that two people that worked in the same distillery disappeared within a month of each other?"
"Coincidences do happen," said Cullen.
Bain closed his eyes. "I just fuckin' know that I'm goin' to have to open all the fuckin' barrels downstairs."
"I wouldn't do it immediately," said Cullen.
"Don't worry, I'm not fuckin' goin' to," said Bain. He checked his watch. "I'll give it till this evening, then the crowbar is comin' out." He snorted. "I've told Crombie that there's no more whisky gettin' made until this is cleared up. I'll need to get a judge to back that up."
They stood in silence for a minute or so. Cullen
Lex Williford, Michael Martone