out of her."
"We've confirmed she's a minority shareholder in the business."
"Sodding hell."
"That's good for us, isn't it?"
"Possibly." Methven added Shareholding to the board. "Have you got anywhere with the inheritance?"
"Not yet, sir."
"So what conclusions does it lead you to?"
"Assuming Evelyn's going to inherit McCoull's forty per cent shareholding..." Cullen thought it through for a few seconds. "I'm thinking her or Eric Young did it. Maybe both. If she inherits the shares, they both own the business. Not the most original of motives but a good one."
Methven added her name to a list marked Suspects . "And if it's Mr Young?"
"Well, if it's him, I assume he knows how McCoull's estate is going to be divvied up."
"Explain."
Cullen put another mint in his mouth and crunched, buying time as he thought. "McCoull had no kids, he was divorced and both parents are dead. It's either going to go to a distant uncle or to the Crown. If it's the Crown, Young will be able to come to an arrangement."
"I see." Methven tapped on the board. "Find out."
"Will do, sir."
Methven sniffed the air. "Is that you two?"
"What?"
"The deodorant? You smell like a pair of Tesco delivery drivers." Methven glanced at his watch. "Sodding buggeration, is that the time?" He left the room, his trench coat swinging after him.
Buxton slumped back against the wall. "Nice to see Turnbull entertaining us peasants."
"Called you a rising star."
"Rising star, my English arsehole."
Chapter 18
"Because Scrooge is a wanker!" Angela shook her head before taking a drink of Coke. "Why can't you see that?"
Cullen sat back in his chair and shrugged. "Scrooge didn't have to put up with getting a bondage ball gag in the Secret Santa."
"That was funny."
"It was you, wasn't it?"
Angela looked away. "Might've been."
"I knew it."
Sharon sat down. "Why are you lot talking about Scrooge?"
"Scott had a visit from Bain earlier."
She raised an eyebrow. "Bain?"
Cullen nodded. "I said he feels like the ghost of Christmas past."
Sharon slapped Buxton on the shoulder. "Unlike the ghost of Christmas present here."
"Piss off."
Cullen's phone rang. He didn't recognise the number so got to his feet. "Better take this."
Angela raised her eyebrows at Sharon and Buxton. "Another of his little errands, right?"
Buxton grinned. "He's supposed to have stopped all that stuff."
"Never." Cullen left them and headed out into the cold to stand with the smokers, regretting not taking his jacket. He answered the call and walked up the street, the smoke already snaking its way towards him. "Cullen."
"Hello there. It's Donald Ingram."
Donald Ingram? Cullen frowned as he waded through the four pints on top of last night's excess. Donald Ingram? Nope, no idea. "Thanks for calling, sir."
"Is this about Steve McCoull?"
Got you now. Cullen patted his trouser legs, searching for his notebook and pen. Both inside. Bugger. "Yes, it is."
"Aye, I just heard now. Robert Heald called me. Terrible news. Got a couple of Edinburgh boys over for Christmas so we were out in the town. That's why I missed your call earlier."
Cullen started to walk in a tight circle, his full bladder adding to the misery of the cold. "How well did you know Mr McCoull?"
"We were pretty good mates. We played rugby for a bit back in the day, before I had to retire. I supported him as he rose up through the club. He was a good lad. Solid."
"When was the last time you heard from him?"
"Not recently." Ingram cleared his throat. "I've been out here for the last two years. Got fed up of the old country. The weather mainly. Even the golf's not bad out here."
Cullen gripped his phone tighter. Get to the point. "So, when exactly did you last hear from him?"
Ingram sighed. "Got a few messages from him about six months back through that Schoolbook thing. Other than that, nothing."
"Was there anything suspicious in the messages?"
Ingram paused for a few seconds. "Not really. He was chatting about a few old