‘Well,’ said West, ‘I thought we should visit the caravan park, first thing. We still need to take a gander at their CCTV footage, and I don’t want Duncan going anywhere near the place.’
‘Very wise,’ said Munro as he dished up. ‘Now, let’s eat.’
‘Chicken?’ said West. ‘I don’t remember buying chicken.’
‘Then perhaps it’s a gift from Saint Brigid.’
‘Who?’
‘Saint Brigid of Kildare, lassie. She’s the patron saint of poultry farmers.’
‘You have got to be joking.’
‘I kid you not.’
‘Well, in that case,’ said West, ‘say thanks next time you see her. Is that bacon?’
‘It most certainly is,’ said Munro. ‘Thick-cut streaky, and each breast is stuffed with about a half a pound of cheddar.’
‘Great, cos I’m starving, and I need something to clog my arteries.’
‘Then you’re in luck. This is the culinary equivalent of a beaver’s dam. A few more and you’ll be eligible for a bypass.’
Chapter 21
West, unusually buoyant for someone whose circadian rhythm was permanently aligned with the dark side of the moon, bounced into the office feeling as bright as a button, causing Dougal to wonder if she’d been sampling the evidence from Barbary’s workshop.
‘Your boss brings you tidings of joy,’ she said, ‘the edible kind. Take your pick: square sausage or bacon.’
‘Thanks very much,’ said Dougal as he reached for the kettle. ‘You’re in a good mood, miss, are we celebrating something?’
‘Saint Brigid,’ said West as she caught sight of Duncan moping at his desk. ‘Oi, laughing boy, what’s up with you? You’ve got a face like the back end of a bulldog.’
‘Och, pay him no heed, miss, he’s been like that ever since he arrived, turns out the file he took home was actually Pandora’s box.’
‘Come on then, laddie, spill the beans,’ said Munro, ‘dinnae tell me you’re sulking because you had a wee rap on the knuckles?’
‘No, chief,’ said Duncan, ‘it’s not that.’
‘Well, what then, laddie?’
‘I think I’m about to tender my resignation.’
‘Right,’ said West, tucking into her roll, ‘as we’re all seated, I think we’ll begin. Off you go.’
Duncan, declining the offer of breakfast, wiped his hands over his face and stared morosely at West.
‘Tommy Hamlyn,’ he said, taking a breath. ‘Did you know he owned a house over in Heathfield?’
‘Yup, as a matter of fact we did,’ said West. ‘We found a copy of the Land Registry search amongst his stuff last night.’
‘And did you know it was bought with a joint mortgage?’
‘And that’s of interest, why?’ said Munro.
‘The other person, his girlfriend... partner. She was called Brodie.’
‘Och, Duncan, there must be a hundred and one Brodies in Ayrshire alone. You’re not suggesting…’
‘Kathleen Brodie.’
‘You’ve lost me,’ said West, slurping her tea, ‘our Brodie’s a Cathy, so what’s the big deal?’
‘She’s not a Cathy, miss,’ said Duncan. ‘Or a Catherine. She’s a Kathleen. And she used to live in Heathfield. And her partner sold their house behind her back and legged it when he found out she was pregnant.’
‘She lives in Girvan, now,’ said Dougal. ‘Holding down three jobs just to make ends meet.’
Munro finished his tea, pulled on his jacket and glared at Duncan.
‘Is she still on her holidays?’ he said.
‘Aye, she is, chief.’
‘Well, we’re away to the caravan park get the CCTV. We’ll have a word with her while we’re there. Caravan number?’
‘One-o-three.’
‘Good. And while we’re gone, I want you two digging deeper than you’ve ever dug before. If it’s the same Cathy Brodie you had an assignation with, then I want her life story by the time we get back. Understood?’
* * *
Were it not for the copious amount of caravans crammed cheek to jowl like containers on a cargo ship, the view from Craig Tara across the firth to Arran and beyond would, mused Munro, have been a sight to behold.
West, on the verge of consulting her sat-nav as they negotiated their way through the maze of villages in the holiday park, paused momentarily outside the restaurant as she contemplated upping her carb intake before scurrying after Munro who, as if fearful of waking the occupants from their slumber, rapped the door politely.
‘Miss Brodie?’ he said, smiling broadly. ‘Miss Cathy Brodie?’
‘That’s right,’ said Cathy, ‘how can I…?’
‘DI Munro, and this is DS West. If it’s not too much trouble, would you mind if we had a wee word?’
Cathy stood tall and folded her arms.
‘If it’s about Duncan,’ she said, ‘then the answer’s no.’
‘Why’s that?’ said West. ‘Has he done something to upset you?’
‘Upset me? That’s an understatement. I’m raging!’
‘See here, Miss Brodie,’ said Munro, ‘we’re not here about Duncan but to set the record straight. The reason he cannot see you is because you’re linked to our investigation, and he was wrong to get involved with you in the first place. His mistake, entirely. But rest assured, once we’ve put the case to bed, normal service may be resumed. The two of you can do as you please.’
‘Oh,’ said Cathy. ‘I never realised. He never said.’
‘Perhaps because you didn’t give him a chance,’ said West.
‘I feel such a fool. I really let him have it too. Both barrels.’
‘Well, maybe you can text him or something. I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. Now, can we come in?’
‘Aye, of course,’ said Cathy, peering over Munro’s shoulder. ‘Sorry, just checking on Cam.’
‘Your son?’ said Munro.
‘Aye, that’s him there. He’s sending his pals some holiday snaps.’
‘That’s a nice gesture, I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.’
‘Not when they see a picture of a rotting seal carcass, they won’t. Come on in, I’ll stick the kettle on.’
* * *
West made herself comfortable on the sofa while Munro, choosing to stand, stood by the window with his hands behind his back, until Cathy returned with three mugs of instant and set them on the table.
‘You’ll have to excuse the mess,’ she said, sitting with a sigh. ‘I’m getting a packed lunch together, we’ll be off soon.’
‘Anywhere nice?’ said West.
‘Nowhere special, we’ll head for Bracken Bay and see where we go from there. So, how can I help? Is this about the fella on the beach?’
Munro, keen to gauge Cathy’s reaction, slowly turned around and paused before speaking.
‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘It’s about a gentleman by the name of Tommy Hamlyn. I don’t suppose…?’
‘Tommy?’ said Cathy, gasping with surprise. ‘I don’t understand. What’s all this about Tommy?’
‘We’ll explain later,’ said West, ‘just bear with us, okay? So, you do know a Tommy Hamlyn?’
‘Aye, I do.’
‘And is this the same Tommy Hamlyn you bought a house with?’
‘How the hell do you know that?’ said Cathy. ‘This is creepy. Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but you’re actually starting to scare me.’
‘I apologise,’ said Munro, ‘that was never our intention. Listen, just so you know, this is not a formal visit, and you’re under no obligation to say anything, or answer any questions, if you dinnae want to. In fact, if you’d prefer, we can leave right now.’
‘No, no. You’re alright,’ said Cathy, ‘it’s just a bit of a shock, that’s all.’
‘I understand. So, do you mind if we carry on?’
‘Aye, go on.’
‘Thanks,’ said West, ‘appreciate it. So, you and Tommy bought a
place together, and am I right in believing he sold it without your consent? Left you homeless?’
‘You have done your homework, haven’t you?’ said Cathy. ‘But, aye, right enough. I came back from work one day and couldn’t get in the door, he’d changed the locks. And all my gear was bagged up, on the front lawn.’
‘And you were pregnant at the time?’
‘Christ Almighty!’ said Cathy. ‘Is there anything you don’t know about me? Hold on. Duncan. Did Duncan tell you all this?’
‘Not all of it, no. So, were you pregnant?’
‘I was, aye.’
‘And Hamlyn, he wasn’t happy about it, because?’
‘Why do you think?’
‘Sorry,’ said West, ‘I don’t want to jump to conclusions, perhaps you could…?’
‘Because I wouldn’t get a termination and Tommy wasn’t cut-out for parenthood. Apparently.’
West glanced furtively at Munro and raised her eyebrows.
‘So, Hamlyn is Cam’s father?’ she said.
‘Aye. He is.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said West, ‘I didn’t mean to rake up the past like that. Seems like Tommy and responsibility were separated at birth.’
‘You’re not wrong there.’
‘And you’re not upset about it?’
‘Not upset?’ said Cathy. ‘I’m fizzing. Ten years I’ve been trying to get him to help. Ten years I’ve been asking, pleading with him to stick his hand in his pocket, and what have I got? Hee-haw.’
‘All the same,’ said West, ‘it sounds like you kept in touch?’
‘I did. He didn’t. He’s never returned my calls. Never. But what gets me most of all is the way he ignores Cam. The wee lad’s lucky if he gets a card at Christmas.’
‘Didn’t you try social services? I mean, what about child support? Surely they would have chased him for maintenance?’
‘They couldn’t give a damn, Inspector. As far as they were concerned, I got myself into the mess, and I had to get myself out.’
‘Charming,’ said West. ‘Look, I don’t want to get personal, so tell me to shut up if you like but, what on earth did you see in him?’
‘Lord knows. He was a wee bit fly, I suppose. Always on the make. He never had a proper job, he was always wheeling and dealing. I was a fool, I know, but there was something exciting about him.’
‘Cathy,’ said Munro as he turned his attention to the window. ‘Sorry, do you mind if I call you Cathy?’
‘Aye, no bother.’
‘Good. So, Cathy, you say Tommy never had a proper job, like a nine to five, but did he ever mention the folk he did work with? Were there any other wheeler dealers?’
Cathy regarded Munro with a knowing smile.
‘You’re talking Jack Barbary, aren’t you?’ she said.
‘So, you know him?’
‘All I know about Jack Barbary is what Tommy’s told me, and none of it’s nice.’
‘But the two of you never met?’
‘Never.’
Munro, distracted by the sight of Cam waving to a gangly figure pushing a wheelbarrow, and then to a middle-aged woman and her daughter emerging from another caravan, smiled as he watched him pluck a worm from the grass and hold it up to the sun.
‘He’s a popular lad, your Cam,’ he said. ‘He obviously likes it here.’
‘He does,’ said Cathy. ‘He loves the outdoors. Come rain or shine, he’s out there, digging around like a pig in… well, you know.’
‘I do,’ said Munro. ‘I was exactly the same at his age, I couldnae wait to get my hands dirty. Cathy, did Tommy ever mention anyone else he hung out with? Anyone else involved with his shenanigans?’
Cathy sat back and sipped her coffee as she gazed at the ceiling.
‘No, I can’t think of anyone.’
‘Not even Alex Tamarin?’ said West.
‘Oh, Tamarin! I’d forgotten about him. I’d watch yourself, if I were you, you’re treading on dangerous ground there.’
‘And why’s that?’ said Munro.
‘Pure evil,’ said Cathy. ‘Tommy couldn’t contain himself whenever his name was mentioned. He used to say, if ever you’re in trouble, it’s not the big fella to watch out for, it’s the wee man you have to keep an eye on. And according to Tommy, Tamarin was the wee man.’
‘How d’you mean?’ said West.
‘He beat some fella black and blue, apparently. With his bare hands. Laid in to him like a man possessed then hung him on a meat hook. I’d take it with a pinch of salt, mind. Tommy had a habit of exaggerating things, you know, embellishing the truth. I wouldn’t be surprised if all he did was punch him on the nose.’
‘If only,’ said Munro, under his breath. ‘Tell me, Cathy, when was the last time you saw Tommy?’
‘When he left. When he left the house and left me stranded.’
‘You’re sure about that? Quite sure?’
‘Positive.’
Munro took a seat on the sofa opposite, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands beneath his chin.
‘Listen, Cathy,’ he said, ‘the body on the beach…’
‘Oh, aye? Did you find out who he is? Poor fella, was he depressed or something? I suppose he must’ve been to jump off a cliff.’
‘He didnae jump,’ said Munro, ‘he was pushed. And, aye, we know who he is. It’s Tommy Hamlyn.’
Cathy froze for moment, her eyes darting between Munro and West, before a crooked smile cracked her face.
‘No, no,’ she said, laughing nervously, ‘you’re joking me, right?’
Munro and West stared solemnly back.
‘You’re not joking. Are you?’
‘Take a moment,’ said Munro, ‘it’s quite a shock, I appreciate that.’
Cathy lowered her head, took a breath and sighed.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘he’s certainly piled on the beef since we were together, that’s for sure.’
‘You really didn’t recognise him at all?’ said West. ‘Nothing? Not even a hint of…’
‘No. Nothing. I can’t believe that was him, he looked so different. Still, hardly surprising when your eyes are missing, I suppose.’
‘And you’re not upset?’
Cathy stared at West and slowly shook her head.
‘The only thing I’m upset about is now I’ve no chance of getting anything out of him. So, come on then, do you know why was he pushed? Was he in some kind of bother? Is it something to do with Barbary?’
‘We’re not sure, yet,’ said Munro, ‘that’s why we’re here. Look, you sit with Charlie, she’ll make you some tea and, unless you’ve any objections, I’m of a mind to sit with Cam, if that’s okay?’
‘That’s more than okay. He’ll appreciate the company.’
* * *
Cam, unperturbed by the arrival of the elderly gentleman who groaned as he lowered himself onto the grass beside him, gave Munro but a fleeting glance, smiled, and returned to his iPad.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m Cam. How are you?’
‘Why, I’m very well,’ said Munro, beaming at the boy’s impeccable manners. ‘And yourself?’
‘I’m very well, indeed, thank you.’
‘I’m James.’
‘Hello, James. Are you on your holidays too?’
‘No, no. Just visiting. In fact, I’m a friend of your mother’s.’
‘Are you coming with us to the beach?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Munro, tempted by the offer, ‘I have some work to do.’
‘Is it important work?’ said Cam.
‘Aye, it is. I’m a policeman.’
Cam looked at Munro and grinned as though all his Christmases had come at once.
‘I met a policeman the other day,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘He said that when I’m older, I could work with him, looking at dead bodies to find out what killed them.’
‘Did he, by George!’
‘Do you look after dead bodies, James?’
‘Unfortunately, that appears to be all I look after, apart from another detective with an incurable case of monophobia.’
‘Would you like to see a photograph of some brachycera larvae?’ said Cam as he frantically swiped the screen from right to left.
‘I’m sure I would,’ said Munro as Cam passed him the tablet. ‘What are they, exactly?’
‘Maggots. And that’s the remains of a grey squirrel.’
‘Positively charming, I’m sure. Do you not have any photos of puppies to look at?’
‘Yes, I do have one. I think it was a stray.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Yes, we found it in Dunure, I think it must have been run over by a car or a…’
‘On second thought,’ said Munro, ‘another time, perhaps. So, are these your holiday snaps, Cam?’
‘Yes, sir. They are.’
‘Well, I’m sure you’ll look back on these with fond memories. Do any of your friends share your fascination with the afterlife?’
‘No, but to be honest, it’s nothing to be squeamish about. It’s simply nature doing what nature does. It’s the cycle of life. I mean, the maggots didn’t kill the squirrel, they’re just making sure it doesn’t go to waste.’
‘How right you are,’ said Munro, wondering if, per chance, the eloquent wean seated to his left had the numerals six-six-six tattooed on the back of his head. ‘The natural world’s a brutal place. I suppose it’s all about survival of the species, in the end.’
‘It is indeed,’ said Cam, ‘but it’s not all about survival. What folk don’t realise is just how intelligent these animals are.’
‘And how’s that?’
‘Take a dog, for example,’ said Cam. ‘If someone hurts a dog, it’ll not go near that person again, which proves it has a memory and the ability to think rationally. And its instinct to attack is really only to defend itself.’
‘Aye,’ said Munro, ‘I’ll give you that, with a caveat or two.’
‘And did you know there are some species who are so clever, they actually seek revenge?’
‘Is that so? I have to admit, Cam, I’ve never heard of that before.’
‘It’s quite true,’ said Cam. ‘Take Syncerus caffer; the Cape buffalo. If it’s attacked, by say, a lion, but it’s not killed, he’ll take himself off somewhere quiet and stand perfectly still, as though he’s wounded.’
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