members of the rugby club as well?"
"We'll have our work cut out for us, sir." Cullen shut his eyes. "It's Christmas Eve. They'll all be down petrol stations buying last minute presents for their wives."
Methven let out a deep breath. "Always time for a sodding joke with you, isn't there?"
Cullen closed his notebook. Always time for sodding pomposity. "Sorry, sir."
"I want you straight back here when you finish. No messing about. Am I clear?"
Cullen pocketed his stationery as he stood up. Don't say crystal. "Absolutely, sir."
Methven got to his feet. "I need hourly updates from you."
Chapter 9
"I could've done with a nice simple stabbing. Something open and shut." Cullen tried Young's door, the last of the crime scene tape from next door attaching to the shared metal fence. He turned to take in the BMW 5 Series shining in the sunlight. He could smell frying meat and onions from somewhere.
The front door opened a touch. A man peered his head round. "Yes?"
"Police Scotland." Cullen showed his warrant card. "We're looking for Eric Young?"
"Yes, that's me." Young opened the door to its full width. His solid torso covered in a pink shirt underneath a grey apron with 'DAD'S COOKING!' emblazoned in orange. His red face extended up to his bald head. "Is this about Steven?"
"It is."
"Well, I'm afraid the police have already been here."
"We need to ask some supplementary questions, sir, if that's okay."
"Look, I'm cooking steaks for my family. It's Christmas Eve."
"This is important, sir."
"Well, I certainly hope it is." Young took a step to the side. "You'd better come in, then." He led them down a long cream hallway, the nutty brown carpet dotted with kids' toys - trucks, dolls, cars, teddy bears - opening a door at the end. "If you could just wait in here. I need to sort the food out and inform my family."
"That's fine." Cullen entered the room, finding a plush office filled with modern equipment. Two white leather office chairs sat in front of two desks. He slumped down in one before checking his tie was done up, keeping an eye on the window in case Young made a dash for it. "This room's bigger than our flat."
"Don't know why you live there, mate."
"It's handy for work."
"Really? Get your arse down to Stockbridge is all I can say. Much handier for work and it's in a nice part of town."
"Need to earn proper money to buy down there, mate."
"Now." Young returned to the room, carrying another chair, his apron removed and his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal hairy arms. "What do you want to know?"
Cullen got out his notebook. "We're interested in your relationship with Mr McCoull."
"I went over this with your colleagues earlier."
"We'd appreciate if you went into some further detail, sir."
"Fine." Young took a deep breath. "Steven and I played rugby together since university. About 1995, I think. We're both members of Juniper Green RFC."
"You're on the board there, right?"
"We are." Young pointed to the only photo hanging on the wall, a shot of twenty or so well-built men of varying ages, Young standing in the middle in a tight suit, arms outstretched. "He's treasurer whereas I'm the president."
"And you just played rugby with him?"
"No, we're neighbours, of course." Young smiled. "And Steven was my business partner in JG Markets & Investments." A sigh. "I'll need to get the whole arrangement unpicked and settle his estate. Believe me, his death will be an incredible encumbrance."
"Mr Young, we believe Mr McCoull's death was suspicious. We're looking for people with axes to grind with him."
Young swallowed. "I didn't kill him, if that's what you're getting at."
"How's business been?"
"Booming. We've grown the company to a staff of six. We make a very solid profit."
"Would any clients or competitors have a grudge against yourself or Mr McCoull?"
"Not that I can think of. We're a very professional organisation."
"You don't seem particularly upset by his death, I might say."
Young stared at Cullen
"We'll have our work cut out for us, sir." Cullen shut his eyes. "It's Christmas Eve. They'll all be down petrol stations buying last minute presents for their wives."
Methven let out a deep breath. "Always time for a sodding joke with you, isn't there?"
Cullen closed his notebook. Always time for sodding pomposity. "Sorry, sir."
"I want you straight back here when you finish. No messing about. Am I clear?"
Cullen pocketed his stationery as he stood up. Don't say crystal. "Absolutely, sir."
Methven got to his feet. "I need hourly updates from you."
Chapter 9
"I could've done with a nice simple stabbing. Something open and shut." Cullen tried Young's door, the last of the crime scene tape from next door attaching to the shared metal fence. He turned to take in the BMW 5 Series shining in the sunlight. He could smell frying meat and onions from somewhere.
The front door opened a touch. A man peered his head round. "Yes?"
"Police Scotland." Cullen showed his warrant card. "We're looking for Eric Young?"
"Yes, that's me." Young opened the door to its full width. His solid torso covered in a pink shirt underneath a grey apron with 'DAD'S COOKING!' emblazoned in orange. His red face extended up to his bald head. "Is this about Steven?"
"It is."
"Well, I'm afraid the police have already been here."
"We need to ask some supplementary questions, sir, if that's okay."
"Look, I'm cooking steaks for my family. It's Christmas Eve."
"This is important, sir."
"Well, I certainly hope it is." Young took a step to the side. "You'd better come in, then." He led them down a long cream hallway, the nutty brown carpet dotted with kids' toys - trucks, dolls, cars, teddy bears - opening a door at the end. "If you could just wait in here. I need to sort the food out and inform my family."
"That's fine." Cullen entered the room, finding a plush office filled with modern equipment. Two white leather office chairs sat in front of two desks. He slumped down in one before checking his tie was done up, keeping an eye on the window in case Young made a dash for it. "This room's bigger than our flat."
"Don't know why you live there, mate."
"It's handy for work."
"Really? Get your arse down to Stockbridge is all I can say. Much handier for work and it's in a nice part of town."
"Need to earn proper money to buy down there, mate."
"Now." Young returned to the room, carrying another chair, his apron removed and his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal hairy arms. "What do you want to know?"
Cullen got out his notebook. "We're interested in your relationship with Mr McCoull."
"I went over this with your colleagues earlier."
"We'd appreciate if you went into some further detail, sir."
"Fine." Young took a deep breath. "Steven and I played rugby together since university. About 1995, I think. We're both members of Juniper Green RFC."
"You're on the board there, right?"
"We are." Young pointed to the only photo hanging on the wall, a shot of twenty or so well-built men of varying ages, Young standing in the middle in a tight suit, arms outstretched. "He's treasurer whereas I'm the president."
"And you just played rugby with him?"
"No, we're neighbours, of course." Young smiled. "And Steven was my business partner in JG Markets & Investments." A sigh. "I'll need to get the whole arrangement unpicked and settle his estate. Believe me, his death will be an incredible encumbrance."
"Mr Young, we believe Mr McCoull's death was suspicious. We're looking for people with axes to grind with him."
Young swallowed. "I didn't kill him, if that's what you're getting at."
"How's business been?"
"Booming. We've grown the company to a staff of six. We make a very solid profit."
"Would any clients or competitors have a grudge against yourself or Mr McCoull?"
"Not that I can think of. We're a very professional organisation."
"You don't seem particularly upset by his death, I might say."
Young stared at Cullen
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