West, just about ready for a siesta after a morning’s hard graft and a couple of stodgy sandwiches, stifled a yawn as Duncan hauled himself from his seat and sauntered out of the door.
‘This case,’ she said, ‘it’s not exactly a walk in the park, is it?’
Munro, eyes wide, glanced at West, held her gaze for a couple of seconds, and stood abruptly.
‘Grab your coat,’ he said, straightening his tie.
‘What? Why? Where are we going?’
‘We’re going to have some fun, Charlie. A barrow-load of fun.’
* * *
Having spent the entire journey with her head back, the seat reclined, and her eyes closed, West – roused by a gentle but firm dig in the ribs – yelped as they pulled into the caravan site.
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ she said, ‘what the hell are we doing back here?’
‘Well, it’s not to book a holiday,’ said Munro. ‘That’s for sure.’
‘Care to expand on that?’
‘Barbary. Barbary said if Joey wasnae at the bar, or the carwash, he’d be at the holiday park.’
‘Are you mad?’ said West. ‘There must be dozens of parks like this all over the place, what makes you think he meant this one?’
‘Because, it’s probably the only one with a member of staff covered in graffiti.’
* * *
Cathy Brodie, a shadow of her former self, answered the door looking pale and drawn.
‘Oh, God,’ she said, her face fraught with anguish. ‘Is this about that email? Am I in trouble?’
‘No, no, no,’ said Munro with a comforting smile, ‘it’s nothing like that. I’m just glad we caught you.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t set-off, not after this morning. I’m worried sick.’
‘I’ve told you, Cathy. There’s nothing to worry about. And I’m sure Cam’s itching to get out.’
‘Aye, he is that.’
‘Then do yourselves a favour,’ said Munro. ‘You’ve the afternoon ahead of you, grab your bags and get going, it’ll do you the world of good. But before you go, I wonder if I might have a wee word with Cam?’
‘Cam? Oh, I’m not sure, I don’t want him…’
‘It’s just one question. One simple question. That’s all.’
* * *
Cam, stretched out on the sofa with a copy of the Collins Guide to British Animals, jumped up as West, looking totally bemused, followed Munro into the caravan.
‘Hello James!’ he said, proffering his hand. ‘Nice to see you again.’
‘You too, wee man.’
‘Have you come for tea?’
‘No, no,’ said Munro, ‘I’m afraid we’re far too busy for that. I’ve just come to ask you a wee question, see if you cannae help us out.’
‘Is it police work?’ said Cam.
‘Aye, as a matter of fact, it is.’
‘Great! What is it you’d like to know?’
‘Remember earlier, when we were outside and you were telling me all about the Cape buffalo?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, just before that, you waved to a wee lassie and her mother.’
‘Oh, yes. That was Lucy and Mrs Johnson. They’ve a caravan across the way.’
‘Excellent. And you also waved to a tall chap pushing a wheelbarrow. He’s got a tattoo, here, down the side of his neck.’
‘That’s Jonathan,’ said Cam. ‘He says the tattoo scares some people, but he’s not scary at all. He’s very friendly.’
‘And he works here?’
‘Yes, sir. He helps to keep everything neat and tidy. He’s not in trouble, is he?’
‘No, no. At least, I dinnae think so. You’ve been very helpful, Cam. I appreciate your time.’
‘Not at all.’
‘Now,’ said Munro as he turned to Cathy, ‘I think you’d best get your coat on, if I’m not mistaken, your mother’s taking you for a walk along the beach. We’ll not trouble you again.’
* * *
West, hands in pockets, strolled alongside Munro as they ambled their way along the winding path to the main office.
‘I don’t know how you do it,’ she said, smiling as her green eyes glinted in the sun. ‘How on earth did you know Joey would be here?’
‘Two plus two, Charlie, will always make four,’ said Munro, grinning. ‘Unless, like yourself, you happen to be a Taurean, then it’s anyone’s guess.’
‘Very funny. I still don’t get it.’
‘Do you not remember the conversation we had with Jack Barbary? Apart from mentioning the carwash, and the bar, and the holiday park, he also referred to Joey as “that tattooed dunderheid”.’
‘I need to brush up on my maths,’ said West, ‘I never did have a head for figures.’
* * *
Sporting a shoulder-length mane of straggly blonde hair, a set of pearly-white teeth, and shoulders broad enough to build a house on, the only thing the lad on reception was missing, was a wetsuit and a surfboard.
Grinning inanely, he winked at West as she leant in the doorway clad in her regulation black jeans and white T-shirt, with her hands hanging from her belt loops.
‘And what can I do for you?’ he said, beaming like a school kid with a crush on his teacher. ‘Is there anything you need?’
‘Somebody older,’ said West, rolling her eyes as she waved her warrant card. ‘We’re looking for Jonathan Fraser.’
‘The biscuit?’
‘Come again?’
‘That’s his nickname, as in scary biscuits, know what I mean?’
‘Not really. Is he about?’
The young man glanced at Munro and raised his eyebrows.
‘Something I said?’
‘When it comes to animal magnetism,’ said Munro, ‘it appears you’ve the aphrodisiacal qualities of a skunk. Jonathan Fraser?’
‘Could be anywhere,’ said the lad. ‘I’d try the restaurant area first, if I were you. That place is always in need of a once over.’
* * *
With his muscular build, close-cropped hair, and a tattoo of a spider’s web running the length of his neck, Jonathan Fraser – without the need of a barbed-wire fence – was assured a twenty-yard exclusion zone wherever he went.
West, concurring that the phrase “scary biscuits” was undeniably apt, joined him at the picnic bench as he tucked into a double cheeseburger and a large order of fries, and smiled as she swiped a chip from his plate.
‘That looks nice, Joey.’ she said. ‘DS West. This is DI Munro. Mind if we have a quick word?’
Joey lowered his hamburger and glared at West.
‘Have you no manners?’ he said.
‘Pardon?’
‘Listen, you can have as many chips as you like, but where I come from it’s polite to ask first.’
‘Sorry.’
Munro sat beside West, leaned forward with his elbows on the table, and smiled genially in an effort to diffuse the tension.
‘Jonathan, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Or do you prefer Joey?’
‘Take your pick, Inspector. It makes no difference to me.’
‘I dinnae mean to sound rude, Joey, but your accent and your appearance, they appear to be at odds with each other.’
‘Here we go,’ said Joey, ‘I’d have thought you, of all people, would not be one to judge a book by its cover.’
‘Och, I never do. I’m simply curious, that’s all.’
Joey polished off his burger, dabbed his mouth with a paper napkin, and pushed the tray of fries towards West.
‘My appearance is purely practical,’ he said. ‘It suits the kind of work I do and, as I’m not a fan of folk in general, it helps to keep them at arm’s length.’
‘And the accent?’ said Munro. ‘Edinburgh?’
‘Blame my mother. Melville College.’
‘Melville, indeed! My, my, you’re a lucky chap, you must’ve had quite an education.’
‘I did, indeed. Not that it’s any use to me, now.’
&
nbsp; ‘And why’s that?’ said West.
‘I’m an outdoors man, much to my mother’s disappointment. She’d have been happier if I’d followed the sciences or some such, but it’s not for me.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Munro. ‘If I’d pursued the career my parents had mapped out for me, I’d have spent my entire life covered in coal dust or building ships.’
‘So, how may I help?’
‘Tommy Hamlyn,’ said West. ‘Sound familiar?’
‘Aye, indeed it does.’
‘You know him?’
‘Not personally, no. But we did meet. Briefly.’
‘By Jiminy,’ said Munro, ‘I have to say, I appreciate your honesty, Joey. Most folk I’ve talked to will deny ever hearing of the man. So, how did you meet?’
‘My mother. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a social occasion. She said he’d been bothering her, sending malicious emails, and trying to interfere with her business affairs.’
‘Do you know what, exactly, he was doing?’ said West.
‘No. And I wasn’t going to ask either. Not with my stepfather about the place.’
‘You don’t get on?’
‘Never have,’ said Joey. ‘He’s always thought of me as a toff with a poker up my arse. The fact of the matter is that he’s simply jealous of my education.’
‘Really?’ said Munro. ‘That’s something most parents would be proud of.’
‘Aye, you’d have thought so. The thing about Jack Barbary is that he has no respect for anyone but himself, and to be honest, I don’t think he’s that keen on what he sees in the mirror, either.’
‘Then why do you put up with him?’ said West. ‘I mean, why carry on working with him if you can’t stand the bloke?’
‘The same reason I’m here, it’s cash in hand. And I really only do it for my mother. He can’t manage on his own, on account of his sciatica.’
‘Sciatica?’ said Munro. ‘Is it bad?’
‘It can be,’ said Joey. ‘He can’t do any lifting for a start, nothing heavy. The best he can manage most of the time is a cup of tea.’
Munro turned to West and raised his eyebrows.
‘That’s him out of the equation, then,’ he said, muttering under his breath. ‘So, back to Hamlyn. Would you mind telling us how you met?’
‘My mother asked if I’d have a word,’ said Joey. ‘You know, tell him to back off.’
‘And did you? Have a wee word?’
‘Oh, aye, I certainly did. I went to his flat. The funny thing is, when I mentioned the email, he didn’t have a clue what I was talking about.’
‘And, forgive me for asking,’ said Munro, ‘but did you… assault him in any way?’
‘Not my bag, Inspector,’ said Joey. ‘I abhor violence. No, I simply went to warn him off. So, I tied him to a chair, threw some bits and bobs about the place, and growled in his face.’
‘And did it work?’ said West. ‘Did you scare him?’
‘Aye, he near enough shat himself. I think his pal was glad to see the back of me, too.’
‘His pal? You mean he had company?’
‘He did. A fat fella welded to the sofa.’
‘Did you and he have words?’ said Munro. ‘Did he give his name, by any chance?’
‘No, he was what you might call the silent type. He wore a uniform, though. Like a train driver, or something. To be honest, I think I put the dampeners on their evening.’
Munro stood and zipped his jacket as West polished off the last of the French fries.
‘I appreciate your candour, Joey,’ he said, ‘you’ve been most helpful. One last thing: what time was it when you visited Tommy Hamlyn? Or to be more precise, what time did you leave?’
‘I’m not entirely sure, Inspector. It must have been about ten, I reckon, give or take.’
* * *
West, almost skipping as they rushed back to the car, was as hyper as a six year old with ADHD after three cans of cola and a bar of chocolate.
‘So, Barbary’s in the clear,’ she said chirpily, ‘and Joey’s not guilty of anything, which leads us back to Tamarin, right?’
Munro slipped the key into the ignition, buckled up, and sighed.
‘Wrong,’ he said flatly.
‘Come again?’
‘Charlie, you’ve a habit of letting your emotions govern the course of your investigations, and it has to stop.’
‘What do you mean?’ said West.
‘Dear God, lassie, sometimes you’re so stubborn, you cannae see the wood for the trees. Now, think of the conversation we’ve just had with Joey, and tell me: what have you missed?’
‘Missed?’ said West. ‘I haven’t missed anything.’
Munro cast her a sideways glance and placed both hands on the steering wheel.
‘Last chance,’ said Munro, ‘start thinking, or come the morning I’ll be on the first flight back to Islay.’
West, her brow as furrowed as a muddy field, stared vacuously at Munro as she tried desperately to fathom out what, exactly, he was referring to.
‘Just give me a moment,’ she said, ‘just give me a moment and… oh, crap. It’s Doyle, isn’t it? Joey said he left Hamlyn’s place around ten, and Doyle was still there. So, he wasn’t driving that flipping bus, after all.’
‘Hallelujah!’ said Munro. ‘Now, if you employ that same thought process in the future, lassie, and keep your opinions to yourself until you’ve done so, then you’ll not go wrong.’
‘Cheers. I’ll take that as advice, and not criticism,’ said West as she pulled her phone from her hip. ‘My dad always said I was too cocky for my own good. Dougal, got a minute?’
‘Aye, miss, perfect timing. Duncan’s just back and we’ve some blinding news for you.’
‘Hold on. I need one of you to do something for me, urgently.’
‘Fire away.’
‘Call the bus company, find out if Joe Doyle was working the day Hamlyn copped it.’
‘He was, miss, I mean, he said as much.’
‘I’ll think you’ll find he wasn’t. I need to know asap, please.’
‘Roger, that,’ said Duncan. ‘I’m on it, now.’
‘Thanks. So, what are you two so excited about?’
‘We’ve located Hamlyn’s car, miss,’ said Dougal, ‘it was dumped round the back of some flats on Millbrae Court, down by the river. We’re having it towed in, now, and SOCOs are on their way.’
‘That’s great news, Dougal,’ said West, ‘but hardly enough to get excited about.’
‘That’s not all, miss. The CCTV from the entrance to the caravan park; we got something off the camera pointing along the main road.’
‘Well, dinnae keep it to yourself, laddie,’ said Munro, impatiently. ‘What did you find?’
‘A car flew by, doing about sixty, at 11:22pm. It was heading towards Greenan.’
‘And that’s of relevance, why?’
‘It’s registered to Joe Doyle.’
West glanced at Munro and drew a breath.
‘You’re kidding,’ she said. ‘Are you sure? I mean, absolutely, no doubt about it, sure?’
‘One hundred per cent positive, miss,’ said Dougal. ‘We can’t ID the driver, but I can tell you this: there’s two folk travelling in the front seats.’
‘Two?’ said West. ‘Well, if we assume Doyle was driving, then who was travelling with him?’
‘I’ll give you one guess, lassie,’ said Munro as he put his foot down. ‘Dougal, have you located it yet?’
‘Aye, we’re ahead of you there, boss. It’s outside his flat, we’re heading over there now.’
‘Miss,’ said Duncan, ‘can I butt in?’
‘Yeah, go on,’ said West.
‘Joe Doyle. The night Hamlyn was killed, he called in sick.’
Chapter 24
Joe Doyle, slouched in his seat with his arms resting on his ample belly, his feet tucked beneath his chair, and a look of utter contempt on his face, sneered as a deceptively cheerful
Munro sauntered into the room, smiling like a dipsomaniac on a day-trip to a distillery, with West by his side.
‘Mr Doyle,’ he said as he pulled up a chair. ‘We’ve not had the pleasure.’
‘Who are you?’ said Doyle. ‘Where’s the gobby young shite who nicked me?’
‘DC Reid is otherwise engaged. I am Detective Inspector James Munro, and this is DS West.’
‘So, what’s this about?’
‘I can see you’re a man who likes to get down to business, so I’ll not beat around the bush. You’ve been charged with dealing, am I right?’
‘Aye,’ said Doyle. ‘Luck of the draw, eh?’
‘Is that what you call it? Well, there’s some more of that luck about to come your way.’
‘Oh, aye? And how’s that?’
‘You’ll no doubt remember,’ said Munro, ‘that during a previous conversation with our colleagues regarding the unfortunate death of your neighbour, Mr Hamlyn, you said you were working on the night in question.’
‘If that’s what I said, then it must be true.’
‘Actually, it isn’t,’ said West. ‘We’ve been in touch with your employer, and they tell us that you called in sick, less than an hour before you were due to start your shift.’
Doyle smiled glibly at West and crossed his arms.
‘Impossible,’ he said. ‘They’ve made a mistake.’
‘Well, if that’s the case, then Jack Barbary’s son made a mistake, too.’
‘Barbary?’ said Doyle. ‘What’s Barbary got to do with this?’
‘His son,’ said West, ‘his name’s Joey, by the way, called in on Hamlyn a few hours before he died, and he swears blind that you were also there.’
Doyle swallowed hard as the colour slowly drained from his cheeks.
‘Look, I don’t want to make waves, not if Barbary’s involved.’
‘Too late for that,’ said Munro, ‘it’s more like a tsunami, now.’
‘I can explain. Migraine.’
‘Now this,’ said West, ‘I’ve got to hear.’
‘I had a thumping migraine,’ said Doyle, ‘so I called in sick, then I went to see Hamlyn to score some weed. It helps with the headaches, right?’
‘If you say so.’
‘So, when I got there, he offered me a drink, I sat down and sparked up. We shared a few bevvies and smoked a couple of joints. That’s it.’
TALION: a Scandinavian noir murder mystery set in Scotland (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 6) Page 16