‘An acquired taste, I think. You’ll not mind if I…’
‘Not at all, just leave it there. So, have you come to give me some news?’
‘We have indeed,’ said Munro, smarting from the after-taste. ‘I’m glad to report we know who killed Esme.’
‘Oh, that’s terrific news,’ said Macallan. ‘At least now I’ll have some kind of closure, knowing he’s off the streets. Who was it?’
‘Sean Jardine.’
‘Jardine? The fella who was threatening to do all sorts to me?’
‘The same.’
‘Do you believe in karma, Miss Macallan?’ said West.
‘Aye. I do.’
‘Good. Because he’s dead, too.’
Macallan stared at West with a blank look of bewilderment.
‘That is a pity,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Death, I mean.’
‘That’s a very generous thing to say, considering what you’ve been through.’
‘Forgiveness frees you from retribution, Inspector.’
‘If you say so,’ said West, nodding towards her right hand. ‘They’re nice.’
‘Thanks very much,’ said Macallan as she toyed with the string of beads wrapped around her wrist. ‘They’re Malas.’
‘I know. Let me guess – Sandalwood.’
‘Aye, that’s right.’
‘Just out of interest, why Sandalwood? I mean why not Citrine? Or Sunstone? Or Sodalite?’
Macallan, both surprised and impressed by West’s depth of knowledge on the subject, pulled up a chair and spoke animatedly on the topic.
‘It’s a personal choice,’ she said, ‘they all have different qualities. The Citrine, for example, attracts wealth and success and helps to balance the hormones. The Sodalite, that’s known as the stone of truth, deepens spiritual perception, but the Sandalwood… the Sandalwood has great healing properties. It can help the immune system recover from almost anything.’
‘Almost anything,’ said Munro curtly. ‘But not everything.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Let’s just say I have first-hand experience on the matter. How’s your pony, Miss Macallan? I forget now, was it Partick or Thistle?’
‘If it’s the colic you’re referring to, Mr Munro, he’s fine now, all back to normal.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Tell me, what exactly causes the colic?’
‘Oh, more often than not, it comes from eating too much straw, easily done when you’re out of haylage. The problem with straw is that it’s not easily digested, it compacts in the stomach.’
‘And how would you treat it?’
‘Well, there’s no miracle cure,’ said Macallan, ‘and if left untreated it can be fatal. No, no, you just have to keep them moving, lunge them a couple of times a day and prevent them from lying down, that only aggravates the condition.’
‘I see,’ said Munro. ‘Fascinating. Truly… fascinating. And that’s it?’
‘Aye, pretty much. Apart from some pain relief.’
‘And that’s not a couple of aspirin, is it?’ said West.
‘Good heavens, no,’ said Macallan, laughing gently. ‘You need something a wee bit stronger than that, Inspector. An analgesic.’
‘Like Vetergesic?’
‘Aye! How did you know?’
Macallan craned her neck as she watched West slowly stand, drive her hands into her pockets, and move to the window where she gazed across the field at the goats and the chickens.
‘How long have you known Alan Byrne?’ she said bluntly.
‘Alan Byrne? The name doesn’t…’
‘He was best mates with Sean Jardine.’
‘Oh?’
‘Do you not have any of that Sodalite to hand?’ said Munro. ‘The stone of truth?’
‘There’s no need to be facetious, Mr Munro.’
‘It’ll lighten the gravity of the situation, trust me. You see, Miss Macallan, Alan Byrne’s dead too.’
Macallan, rankled by the remark, turned to face a scowling West who stood, leaning against the sink with her arms folded, waiting for an answer.
‘I’ll ask again,’ she said. ‘How did you meet?’
‘Craig.’
‘He introduced you?’
‘No, no. You see, Craig was having money problems. He told me he’d met this Byrne fella in the pub near work and he’d tapped him for a loan.’
‘When was this?’
‘When I found out? The weekend before last, I think. Aye, it was the weekend before he was set upon.’
‘And were you aware that Craig had lost his job at this point?’
‘No,’ said Macallan. ‘I only found that out when I went to his work a couple of days ago. That’s when I met his wife.’
‘So, you had no idea he was married, either?’
‘No. I did not.’
‘He doesn’t sound very trustworthy, does he?’ said West flippantly. ‘What exactly is your relationship with Craig? You obviously get on well together.’
‘Aye, we do,’ said Macallan. ‘We’re friends, very good friends.’
‘And he likes it here?’
‘He does. He can relax here and not worry about trying to prove himself or offending anyone with what he might say. He’s vulnerable like that. I think he needs looking after.’
‘It sounds to me,’ said Munro, ‘as though he brings out the maternal side of your nature.’
‘More the protective side, Mr Munro.’
‘Okay,’ said West, ‘so back to this loan you were talking about.’
‘Oh, aye. Craig said he was getting hassled by this Byrne fella to pay it back.’
‘So soon? Did he say how much he owed?’
‘No, he never did.’
‘So, then what?’ said West.
‘I was worried for him,’ said Macallan, ‘he wasn’t himself, so when he went back to Glasgow, I gave Byrne a call. I don’t have much in the way of savings but I thought if I cleared the debt, that’d get him off his back.’
‘How did you get his number?’
‘Off Craig’s phone, when he wasn’t looking.’
‘So, you met up with Byrne?’
‘I did, aye.’
‘Where? Martnaham Loch?’
‘The loch? No. It was here. Just the once.’
‘He came inside?’
‘No, I sat with him in his car,’ said Macallan. ‘I said I’d pay off the loan and that would be the end of it. I always thought, I don’t know why, I always thought it was a couple of hundred but…’
‘But it wasn’t?’
‘No,’ said Macallan. ‘Byrne said he was into him for fifty grand.’
‘Fifty grand?’ said West. ‘No wonder he didn’t worry about paying the mortgage. So, what did you do?’
‘What do you think? I told him to forget it. I was raging, with Craig I mean. Then Byrne suddenly went all… creepy.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘He said there might be another way of clearing the debt. That he and I could come to some arrangement.’
‘So, you told him where to stick it?’
‘Right enough. That was the last I saw of him.’
‘And did Craig know about this?’ said West, reaching for her phone. ‘That the two of you had met?’
‘No. I was in two minds about telling him, then when he came last weekend he said it was all sorted, that he’d taken care of it. Then when I mentioned what had happened to Esme, that was it. That’s when he took off like a shot.’
Macallan glanced at Munro and forced a smile.
‘And that’s the Sodalite truth,’ she said. ‘I swear.’
‘I appreciate your honesty,’ said Munro. ‘Would you mind if I used your bathroom before we go?’
‘Upstairs. On the left.’
Macallan cleared away the mugs as she waited for West to finish typing a text message before speaking.
‘Do you think he’ll be okay, Inspector? Craig, I mean?’
&n
bsp; ‘Yeah, I’m sure he will,’ said West. ‘You should get yourself some Ametrine beads just in case, they’re good for optimism.’
* * *
Fumbling in his pockets for a peppermint, a boiled sweet, or even a slither of Kendal Mint Cake, Munro – distracted by an all too common sight – paused to watch a Kestrel hovering against the clear, blue sky before diving at speed towards its unsuspecting prey whilst West, possessed with a similar sense of celerity, raced ahead, jumped in the car, and buckled up.
‘You’re in an awful hurry, Charlie,’ he said as he slipped the keys into the ignition. ‘Has the goats’ milk had an adverse effect on your physical well-being?’
‘No, it tasted fine to me. I got a text from Dougal while you were in the loo, it’s Craig Ferguson; he’s woken up.’
‘Och, you should’ve said. I’ll put my foot down.’
‘No, it’s alright!’ said West, raising her hand. ‘There’s no rush. Twenty’s plenty.’
Pootling along like a short-sighted pensioner on his way to a picnic, Munro carefully weaved his way along the road, cast a sideways glance at West, and smiled softly.
‘Did you not want to say something to Miss Macallan before we left, Charlie?’
‘No. Like what?’
‘Och, I’m not sure, really. Something like: Rona Macallan, I’m arresting you on suspicion of…’
‘Yeah, alright,’ said West brusquely. ‘I’m still thinking about it, okay? I’m still thinking about it.’
‘You surprise me, lassie. Here you are, presented with a suspect whose credentials are exemplary, and you’re hesitating.’
‘I know, I know, it’s just that…’
‘I’m listening,’ said Munro. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘Okay,’ said West. ‘Not only does she know Byrne and Jardine, she’s also got a motive for doing them both in.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Plus, she’s got a supply of Buprenorphine, and she knows how to handle a syringe.’
‘Correct.’
‘And she’s wearing the same Sandalwood beads around her wrist that Byrne and Jardine had wrapped around theirs.’
‘Well, if what she says is true,’ said Munro, ‘perhaps she placed them there in the hope it might bring them back from the brink.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘But?’
‘Instinct,’ said West. ‘It’s not her. She’s too… nice. Too… peace, love and understanding.’
‘What about the evidence, Charlie?’ said Munro, playing devil’s advocate. ‘It’s all stacked against her.’
‘What evidence?’ said West. ‘It’s all circumstantial. No matter how candid she’s been with us, there’s nothing to back it up. If we nicked her and she decided to change her story, we’d be screwed.’
‘This might help,’ said Munro as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a neatly folded length of toilet tissue.
‘What’s this?’
‘Macallan’s hair. I took it from the brush in the bathroom. If it matches the samples they took from Byrne’s car, then you’ll have something concrete to go on, no matter what she says.’
‘You crafty sod,’ said West. ‘Thanks, but I’m still not buying it. Something doesn’t feel right, and it’s nothing to do with breakfast. What are you smirking at?’
‘You, Charlie. You’re finally dispensing with rational thought and following your heart.’
‘Yeah, I’m not sure that’s such a good thing.’
‘You need instinct to catch a killer, Charlie. The facts are simply there to prove their guilt. The only question that remains is: where does that leave you, now?’
‘Well, unless Craig Ferguson can tell us something we don’t already know, then two words spring to mind: creek and paddle.’
Chapter 13
Unlike Munro, whose hatred of hospitals stemmed from a botched tonsillectomy at the age of eight and a spell in the ICU as the victim of a hit and run nearly sixty years later, West found the allure of surgeons in scrubs, and doctors doting on the sick and needy, an almost irresistible attraction.
With his hands clasped behind his back and his nose twitching at the pervasive smell of disinfectant, he followed her along the corridor and huffed impatiently as she paused by the vending machine for an over-priced bar of chocolate and a bottle of water.
‘Lunchtime, Jimbo,’ she said. ‘Do you want anything?’
‘Aye, but I’m not that desperate, lassie. I’ll get something on the way out. The sooner the better.’
* * *
When she’d woken up dishevelled next to a man she didn’t know, in a house she didn’t recognise, with no recollection of the night before, Mary Jardine – realising she was on borrowed time – knew she had to make a choice: either end up in a body bag, or get a grip and sort her life out.
After cutting ties with the jakies and the junkies she had once called friends, and having had the temerity to book herself into rehab, she found herself a job and, though struggling with even the simplest of tasks as she went through a painful period of withdrawal, set herself on the road to recovery before succumbing to another source of dependency – namely Craig Ferguson – who offered her the security and stability she so desperately needed; ironically, two qualities sorely lacking in his own empty life.
Looking jaded and worn, she sat with her eyes closed, her head resting against the wall and the baby sleeping soundly in her lap.
‘Alright?’ she said, roused by the sound of footsteps in the corridor.
‘Here you go,’ said West, handing her the chocolate and the bottle of water, ‘something to keep you going. This is James, by the way, we work together.’
Munro nodded politely as he took a seat beside her.
‘That’s a bonny wee bairn you’ve got there,’ he said. ‘Boy or a girl?’
‘Boy. He’s called Jamie.’
‘I can think of no finer name. How are you, Mrs Ferguson?’
‘Okay, considering. Actually, no. I’m shattered.’
‘That’s understandable, given the circumstances. You’ve not been here all night, have you?’
‘No, no,’ said Mary. ‘I got a call this morning, much like yourselves, I imagine. Am I right?’
‘Indeed you are.’
‘I’m just waiting on the doctor, they said he’ll not be long.’
‘Listen, Mrs Ferguson,’ said West, ‘I need to ask a favour. Would you mind if we nipped in first? It’s just that the sooner we can talk to Craig, the sooner we can get on. We won’t be long.’
‘Aye, no bother,’ said Mary. ‘Your need is greater than mine, I suppose. Are you any nearer yet? To finding out who did it?’
‘Yeah, we’re on the case,’ said West, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the doctor heading towards them. ‘We’ll have him soon enough, don’t you worry.’
* * *
At forty-four years old and looking as if he spent more time on the beach than he did in the stressed environment of the ICU, Ross Cockburn – wearing a pale blue tunic with a stethoscope draped around his neck – flashed a smile as he ran his fingers through his thick, black hair.
‘Quite the welcoming party,’ he said. ‘That should cheer him up.’
‘How is he?’ said Ferguson.
‘He’s awake, he’s lucid, and he’s hungry. That’s always a good sign. You’re Mrs Ferguson, I presume?’
‘I am, aye.’
‘And you are?’
‘DI West. And this is my colleague. We need to have a quick word with Craig, if that’s alright.’
‘Oh, I’m not sure about that,’ said Cockburn. ‘Family’s one thing, but a whole heap of questions when he’s just come off the…’
‘You’ve seen the state he’s in?’
‘Aye, well of course, I have.’
‘And would you rather the bloke responsible was out roaming the streets, or…’
‘Point taken, Inspector,’ said Cockburn, grinning. ‘You’re obviously a lady who gets what she
wants.’
‘You’d better believe it.’
‘Okay. Five minutes. That’s all.’
‘Cheers.’
‘And don’t wind him up. If I hear any beeps from that monitor, that’s you out on your ear. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Crystal,’ said West, smiling coyly. ‘We’ll behave ourselves. Promise.’
* * *
Lying on his back with a couple of tubes pumping him full of fluids and nutrients, and an assortment of wires attached to his fingers, arms, and chest, Craig Ferguson – looking like a live specimen in a laboratory experiment – turned his head and winced as Munro and West entered the room.
‘Blimey,’ she said. ‘You look… colourful.’
‘That’ll be the bruising,’ said Craig. ‘Is it bad?’
‘Have you seen a mirror?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Just as well. I’d give it a couple of weeks, if I were you.’
‘Your bedside manner is second to none.’
‘Sorry. Did I sound…?’
‘No, you’re alright,’ said Craig. ‘It makes a change. Everyone around here’s so serious, it’s like they expect me to die.’
‘They probably do,’ said Munro. ‘Tell me Craig, are you familiar with the four horsemen of the apocalypse?’
‘I am, aye.’
‘Well, they’re on the board of the NHS.’
‘Oh, no jokes, please,’ said Craig, ‘it’s too painful. So, who are you? I’m guessing, police?’
‘In one,’ said West. ‘I’m DI West and this is James Munro. Do you feel up to answering a few questions? Nothing heavy.’
‘Aye, okay.’
‘Remember,’ said Munro, ‘you dinnae have to answer any if you’d prefer not to. And if you want us to leave, just make that machine beep a wee bit faster and the doctor will have us out of here in no time at all.’
‘Okay,’ said West. ‘Let’s start with a silly one: how are you feeling? You’ve been out cold for days.’
‘Aye, so they say. I’m okay, I think. Just a wee bit sore, here and there.’
‘And how’s your memory?’
‘Fine, so far. Are you wanting to put it to the test?’
‘If you don’t mind.’
‘Fire away.’
‘It’s an obvious one, I know,’ said West, ‘but have you any idea who did this to you?’
PERDITION: A Scottish murder mystery with a shocking twist (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 7) Page 12