you that, but it doesn't mean that he's been murdered. One thing I'll say as well is that the barrel downstairs was filled three weeks before young Iain went missing. That's my biggest objection to your theory."
"We don't actually know that," said Cullen.
Strachan shrugged. "That's for your CSI boys and girls to show the rest of us, I suppose," he said.
"How did you get on with Iain?" asked Cullen.
Strachan rubbed at his nose again, almost polishing the surface. "Fine," he said. "He was a good lad. He knew his whisky, as I say. He was passionate about the product here. He was a fine heir to his father's legacy."
Cullen smiled at Strachan. "Go with me on this one," he said, "but assume that it's Iain in there, who would want to kill him?"
"It's not Iain in there," said Strachan.
"If it was," repeated Cullen.
Strachan took a few moments to think things through. Cullen watched his red face, a fat finger tracing the scar tissue across his bulbous nose. He tried to picture Strachan as the killer as Fraser Crombie seemed to be suggesting - assuming it was Iain in the barrel. He was a big man, grossly overweight now - his belly had stretched below the bottom of his polo shirt as he sat down - but Cullen tried to take eighteen years off. He pictured a strong man, one that liked a drink, one that was good with his hands. He'd waffled through his answers, barely requiring an interjection from Cullen, yet he wasn't prone to flowery language or answers. Cullen thought that Strachan was a simple man with a vice.
"I honestly can't think of anyone who would want to kill Iain Crombie," said Strachan.
"Nobody at all?"
"Honestly, no."
"What about the arguments he'd had with his brother?" asked Cullen, watching Strachan's eyes, the whites of his eyes stained yellow and lined with red.
"That was nothing," said Strachan. "They were always teasing each other. It's what boys do. That argument was just them posturing, you know? One said sugar, so the other had to say shite. It could very easily have been the other way round. It could so easily have been Fraser that was siding with independence and Iain that was pushing for a sale."
"Did it ever get violent?" asked Cullen.
Strachan didn't reply.
"What was the relationship between the brothers like?" asked Cullen.
Strachan screwed his face up. "It's not really for me to say," he said. "I've already told you all I know."
"Mr Strachan," said Cullen, "I would like to know if the relationship ever got violent."
Strachan took a deep breath. "Boys will be boys," he said.
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Cullen.
"There were a couple of times where they got into heated arguments which turned into fights," said Strachan. "Usually when they'd been drinking."
"How bad are we talking here?" asked Cullen.
Strachan frowned. "Nothing too bad," he said. "Slaps and a bit of grappling. That's all."
Cullen jotted it down. He doubted that pressing Strachan any more on the matter would yield anything. He tossed a few ideas around his head. He decided to go for it. "Did Iain ever catch you stealing whisky?"
The yellowy eyes suddenly squinted at Cullen. "I beg your bloody pardon?"
"Mr Strachan," said Cullen, leaning forward, "I need to know if you had been caught stealing whisky from here."
Strachan closed his eyes. "Look, if you want to accuse me of murder, then I suggest that you do it in a police station, and make sure that I have a lawyer with me."
"Mr Strachan," said Cullen, smiling, "this isn't a formal interview, we're not officially on the record here. We're just gathering information."
"Aye, right," spat Strachan. His eyes swept between Cullen and Caldwell. "If you bloody think that I don't know that the two of you wouldn't use some comment by me against me, then you must think I'm a bloody fool."
"All we want to know is your relationship with Iain Crombie," said Cullen.
"And I've bloody told you," replied Strachan. "You're wanting to frame me, get some sort of easy conviction
"We don't actually know that," said Cullen.
Strachan shrugged. "That's for your CSI boys and girls to show the rest of us, I suppose," he said.
"How did you get on with Iain?" asked Cullen.
Strachan rubbed at his nose again, almost polishing the surface. "Fine," he said. "He was a good lad. He knew his whisky, as I say. He was passionate about the product here. He was a fine heir to his father's legacy."
Cullen smiled at Strachan. "Go with me on this one," he said, "but assume that it's Iain in there, who would want to kill him?"
"It's not Iain in there," said Strachan.
"If it was," repeated Cullen.
Strachan took a few moments to think things through. Cullen watched his red face, a fat finger tracing the scar tissue across his bulbous nose. He tried to picture Strachan as the killer as Fraser Crombie seemed to be suggesting - assuming it was Iain in the barrel. He was a big man, grossly overweight now - his belly had stretched below the bottom of his polo shirt as he sat down - but Cullen tried to take eighteen years off. He pictured a strong man, one that liked a drink, one that was good with his hands. He'd waffled through his answers, barely requiring an interjection from Cullen, yet he wasn't prone to flowery language or answers. Cullen thought that Strachan was a simple man with a vice.
"I honestly can't think of anyone who would want to kill Iain Crombie," said Strachan.
"Nobody at all?"
"Honestly, no."
"What about the arguments he'd had with his brother?" asked Cullen, watching Strachan's eyes, the whites of his eyes stained yellow and lined with red.
"That was nothing," said Strachan. "They were always teasing each other. It's what boys do. That argument was just them posturing, you know? One said sugar, so the other had to say shite. It could very easily have been the other way round. It could so easily have been Fraser that was siding with independence and Iain that was pushing for a sale."
"Did it ever get violent?" asked Cullen.
Strachan didn't reply.
"What was the relationship between the brothers like?" asked Cullen.
Strachan screwed his face up. "It's not really for me to say," he said. "I've already told you all I know."
"Mr Strachan," said Cullen, "I would like to know if the relationship ever got violent."
Strachan took a deep breath. "Boys will be boys," he said.
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Cullen.
"There were a couple of times where they got into heated arguments which turned into fights," said Strachan. "Usually when they'd been drinking."
"How bad are we talking here?" asked Cullen.
Strachan frowned. "Nothing too bad," he said. "Slaps and a bit of grappling. That's all."
Cullen jotted it down. He doubted that pressing Strachan any more on the matter would yield anything. He tossed a few ideas around his head. He decided to go for it. "Did Iain ever catch you stealing whisky?"
The yellowy eyes suddenly squinted at Cullen. "I beg your bloody pardon?"
"Mr Strachan," said Cullen, leaning forward, "I need to know if you had been caught stealing whisky from here."
Strachan closed his eyes. "Look, if you want to accuse me of murder, then I suggest that you do it in a police station, and make sure that I have a lawyer with me."
"Mr Strachan," said Cullen, smiling, "this isn't a formal interview, we're not officially on the record here. We're just gathering information."
"Aye, right," spat Strachan. His eyes swept between Cullen and Caldwell. "If you bloody think that I don't know that the two of you wouldn't use some comment by me against me, then you must think I'm a bloody fool."
"All we want to know is your relationship with Iain Crombie," said Cullen.
"And I've bloody told you," replied Strachan. "You're wanting to frame me, get some sort of easy conviction
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