Talion

by Pete Brassett

  ‘Och, he’s a chip off the old block, alright,’ said Munro, ‘no doubt about that. So, what happened next?’

  ‘This Joey fella says something about an email, and Hamlyn starts laughing, says he hasn’t a clue what he’s havering on about. That was his mistake.’

  ‘Mistake?’ said West.

  ‘Aye. The nutter ripped an extension lead from the wall, tied Hamlyn to a chair and started trashing the place. Then he whispered something in his ear and left, just like that.’

  ‘And that’s it?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ said Doyle. ‘I untied him, he was white as a sheet. He said he wasn’t staying there a minute longer, it wasn’t safe, so he started packing and asked me if I’d give him a lift.’

  ‘Where to?’ said West.

  ‘His pal’s house. Somewhere in Kilmarnock.’

  ‘Why didn’t he drive himself?’

  ‘No idea. Probably didn’t want folk recognising his car.’

  ‘And that’s it?’ said Munro. ‘The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?’

  ‘It is, aye.’

  Munro, smirking like a poker player holding three of a kind, fixed Doyle with an icy glare, stood, and began pacing the room before calling his bluff.

  ‘See here, Mr Doyle,’ he said, ‘I’m not keen on liars, but being of a generous disposition, I’m always willing to give folk a second chance. This is your second chance.’

  ‘I’ve no idea what you’re getting at,’ said Doyle. ‘I’ve nothing more to...’

  ‘The pathologist’s report states, quite categorically, that Tommy Hamlyn was as sober as a judge when he died. There wasnae a single drop of alcohol in his body, nor were there any traces of noxious substances, so, you didnae share a few bevvies with him, and you didnae smoke a couple of joints with him. Last chance.’

  Doyle craned his neck to look at Munro and smiled.

  ‘No comment,’ he said.

  Munro clasped his hands behind his back, stood directly behind Doyle, and stared over his head at West.

  ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘you’ll not mind if I ramble a while. You see, I often find, being the decrepit old fool that I am, that talking to myself often helps to get things straight in my own head. So, here’s an alternative version of events: you had a migraine; perhaps, and perhaps not. Nonetheless, you called in sick and went to see Tommy Hamlyn. However, once there, it was you who took advantage of his hospitality. It was you who drank his beer, and it was you who smoked his joints. And once Joey had left, and you saw how scared Hamlyn was, and, more importantly, what he was packing into his cases, you saw an opportunity too good to miss, and you took your chances.’

  ‘Very good,’ said Doyle. ‘You’ve a talent for fairy tales.’

  ‘We haven’t got to the ending, yet,’ said West. ‘You didn’t drive him to Kilmarnock, you took him to Greenan Castle. We know that because we’ve got you on CCTV. And when you got there, I imagine, what with Hamlyn being a bit distressed, there was a bit of a tussle.’

  ‘But you know how to deal with unruly folk, don’t you Mr Doyle?’ said Munro. ‘What with all the experience you have as a bouncer, I imagine you put him in a choke-hold, or similar, until he passed out. Then, you carried him through the castle and tossed the poor fellow over the edge.’

  ‘But then you got sloppy,’ said West. ‘See, you drove off, but you forgot your boots. Not to worry, though, we found them for you.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Munro as he ambled back to the desk, ‘we might be mistaken, but they are your size. And they’re well-worn on the left heel, much like the shoes you’re wearing now.’

  ‘That means nothing,’ said Doyle, laughing as West answered the ping of an email on her phone. ‘You can’t prove they’re mine.’

  ‘Och, I think you’ll find, we can,’ said Munro. ‘You see, I’m told the boots have a lovely imprint of the feet that went inside them, moulded into the sole after years of use. We’ll simply match those to a print of your own.’

  ‘Maybe I tossed the boots aside, months ago,’ said Doyle, smirking. ‘I can’t remember. Either way, it doesn’t prove a thing.’

  ‘Yeah, but this does,’ said West as she held up her phone. ‘We found your car earlier and we thought we’d have a peek inside. Guess what we found in the glove compartment? Tommy Hamlyn’s house keys, his mobile phone, and his wallet.’

  Munro returned to the desk, tucked his chair beneath the desk, and glowered at Doyle.

  ‘Joe Doyle,’ he said, ‘I’m charging you with the murder of Tommy Hamlyn. Do you understand the charge?’

  Doyle glanced at West, raised his eyebrows, and said nothing.

  ‘Is there anything you’d like to say in reply to the charge? No? Good. That means I can enjoy my supper at a reasonable hour, for once. By the by, you dinnae strike me as the kind of person who’d have the need for a pair of Wellington boots.’

  ‘And why’s that?’ said Doyle.

  ‘Well, you drive a bus for a living, and you live on the top floor of a three-storey walk-up. There cannae be much call for them, up there.’

  ‘You think you’re smart, Inspector. But you’re not that smart. I’ve an allotment.’

  ‘Is that so!’ said Munro enthusiastically. ‘Then we’ve something in common. You see, I enjoy gardening myself. Where is this allotment of yours?’

  ‘Craigie Park.’

  ‘And what is it you grow, exactly?’

  ‘Tatties.’

  ‘Fascinating. And what else?’

  ‘More tatties.’

  ‘Well, that’s us done,’ said West. ‘Oh, and thanks, by the way.’

  ‘For what?’ said Doyle.

  ‘For admitting that the boots are yours.’

  Epilogue

  Though not entirely vindicated for his misdemeanour, with Doyle awaiting an appearance in court, and the words “no further action” ringing in his ears, Duncan – happy to have his social life back on track – sat with his feet up as Dougal, his monitor hidden from view, surreptitiously booked himself a ticket for a singles ceilidh in Alloway, and West, looking as though she’d overdosed on Novocain, wandered about the office like an abandoned puppy waiting faithfully for her master to return.

  ‘Are you okay, miss?’ said Dougal. ‘You’re looking a wee bit lost.’

  ‘Yeah, all good, thanks. Just wondering if Jimbo’s home yet.’

  ‘Home?’ said Duncan. ‘Was the chief not stopping with you?’

  ‘He was,’ said West, ‘but as we’ve wrapped this up, he’s gone to check on his gaff, pick up his post, that sort of thing.’

  ‘When’s he back?’

  ‘Not sure. Listen, it’s getting late, I’m knackered, and I need a large glass of red. I think I’m going to take off.’

  ‘No bother,’ said Dougal. ‘We’ll file the report for the fiscal, if not tonight, then first thing.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said West, ‘don’t stay too long. What are you two up to? Any plans?’

  ‘I’m away to see Cathy,’ said Duncan, grinning.

  ‘Good for you. I bet she’s happy.’

  ‘Aye, she’s made up.’

  ‘What about you, Dougal?’

  ‘Nothing exciting, miss, same as usual: sofa, takeaway, and Fifty Shades of Grey.’

  ‘Sounds ideal,’ said West, ‘I think I’ll do the same, if I can ever decide between a Chinese or a…’

  West, cut short as the door flew open, gawped as a red-faced DCI Elliot blew into the office with a bottle of champagne in his left hand.

  ‘Good news, James!’ he bellowed. ‘You can sign yourself into the care home just as soon as you… where the devil is he?’

  ‘Home,’ said West, amused by Elliot’s jovial state. ‘Have you been…?’

  ‘I’ve not touched a drop, Charlie. Not yet. I must say, this is a let-down. I was in the mood for a celebration, too.’

  ‘Celebration?’

  ‘Aye!’ said Elliot. ‘In fact, I was planning a triple celebration.�
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  ‘You’ve lost me.’

  ‘Well, to start with, I had thought we could raise a glass to James, as he’s now been officially relieved of all duties.’

  ‘Really?’ said West. ‘You mean…?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I mean. The man’s now retired.’

  ‘Bugger.’

  ‘What do you mean, he’ll be over the moon!’

  ‘I doubt that,’ said Dougal. ‘He’ll be bored stupid.’

  ‘Pushing up daisies, more like,’ said Duncan.

  West looked at Elliot, smiled, and shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘but the boys are right.’

  ‘Confound it!’ said Elliot. ‘The man’s been banging on about his retirement for weeks on end! It’s what he wants!’

  ‘The thing about Jimbo,’ said West as she pulled on her coat, ‘is he doesn’t know what’s good for him. I need to go, oh, hold on, what did you mean? About a triple celebration?’

  ‘Well, with James retired, we’ll be needing a new DI. Thought you’d like the job.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘And if you’re DI, then, Dougal, we’ll be needing a new DS.’

  ‘Thanks very much.’

  ‘So,’ said Elliot, ‘when’s he back to collect his things? We can celebrate then.’

  ‘Not sure,’ said West, ‘I can give him a call, if you like.’

  ‘No, no. Let’s not bother him, just now. If he’s away to his house, he’ll have enough on his mind. We’ll speak tomorrow. Oh, before I go, uniform have just fished a sorry-looking specimen from the Martnaham loch, care to take a look?’

  ‘Now?’ said West. ‘You’ve got be…’

  ‘No, no, no,’ said Elliot. ‘I suggest we wait until they’ve done the post-mortem. No rush.’

  * * *

  Unable to decide between a ten-inch pepperoni with jalapeño poppers, a lamb vindaloo, or a couple of spring rolls and some deep-fried pork balls, West settled, instead, for a rather palatable Côtes du Rhône and a packet of dry roasted peanuts, slumped on the sofa, and turned on the telly, before promptly turning it off again.

  Unlike Munro, or Dougal, both of whom appeared to tolerate, rather than crave company, West, though hardly a social butterfly herself, found the flat to be cold and empty without the house guest she’d got used to.

  Draining her glass, she checked her phone and, in the absence of any messages, called Munro for no other reason, she told herself, than to check he’d arrived safe and sound.

  * * *

  Pleasantly surprised to find that the damage from the blast was confined to the ground floor at rear of the house, and that the gaping holes in the brickwork had been boarded up, Munro unpacked a carrier bag of essentials – bacon, eggs, milk, bread, butter, and a bottle of Balvenie – before venturing outside to fetch the camping stove from the shed where, he noticed, the only plants in the garden to have survived the blast were the yellow rose bushes he’d planted in memory of his wife.

  ‘Och, that’s you telling me, then,’ he said to himself. ‘Looks like we’re back for good.’

  With the fire blazing, and a whole packet of streaky sizzling in the pan, Munro – bemoaning the fact that he’d forgotten to buy a bottle of brown sauce – settled at the dining table with a large glass of whisky and sifted through the post, consigning the mailshots and the gas bill to the fire, before huffing indignantly as the unexpected sound of the telephone threatened to interrupt his supper.

  ‘I’m not here,’ he said, as the answerphone kicked in.

  ‘Alright, Jimbo? Only me. Just checking you made it back, safe and sound. Nothing much happening here. DCI Elliot’s got some news for you, but I won’t steal his thunder, I said you’d have a chat next time you’re up, when you collect your things. Tomorrow, maybe? Well, I’ll let you get on, you’re probably up to your ears in it. Speak soon, bye! Oh, by the way, do you happen to know where Martnaham loch is? I haven’t got the foggiest but they’ve just pulled a body out. Thought you might interested.’

  Munro poured himself another Balvenie and, cradling his glass, turned to the fire and gazed, glassy-eyed, at the flames as they danced around the logs.

  ‘I’m not interested in a body in a loch, lassie,’ he said, muttering under his breath. ‘Curious, perhaps. Aye, that’s the word, curious.’

  Character List

  DI JAMES MUNRO – The shrewd, smart and cynical detective is sorely missed since going underground after an attempt on his life, but is soon back in the driving seat intent on making his team the best there can be.

  DS CHARLOTTE WEST – Finding her feet after a chequered past, “Charlie” West thinks she’s on top of a murder case until her mentor, DI Munro, sets her straight.

  DC DOUGAL McCRAE – With more brains than brawn, DC McCrae can read between the lines and is desperate to find a companion who can do the same.

  DC DUNCAN REID – Modelling himself on a Hollywood version of an undercover cop, the enthusiastic DC Reid has a habit of making hapless mistakes.

  DCI GEORGE ELLIOT – The effervescent DCI Elliot likes nothing more than bolstering his troops but lacks a commitment to their welfare.

  TOMMY HAMLYN – A small time crook with a big mouth who likes to play with the big boys but is soon cut down to size.

  CATHY BRODIE – A doting, single mother with three part-time jobs, Cathy Brodie is keen to keep her past well-hidden.

  JACK BARBARY – One-time kingpin of the underworld, Jack Barbary is struggling to keep face after the untimely fall of his crooked empire.

  ANNETTE BARBARY – Put-upon housewife and all-round skivvy, Annette Barbary is seeking a way out of a life of domestic abuse.

  JOEY BARBARY – Annette’s son from a previous relationship, Joey is smart, streetwise, and despised by his stepfather.

  ALEX TAMARIN – A lithe Argentinian and the brains behind Barbary’s operations, Tamarin harbours a vicious streak capable of murder.

  JOE DOYLE – A bus driver with a violent past who’s willing to take his chances with the best of them.

  Other books in this series:

  TALION is the sixth book in this series featuring DI Munro and DS West. Here are details of the other books, all available on Kindle and in paperback:

  SHE – Book 1

  With a serial killer on their hands Scottish detective Munro and rookie sergeant West must act fast to trace a woman placed at the scene of crime. Yet discovering her true identity, let alone finding her, proves difficult. Soon they realise the crime is far graver than either of them could have imagined.

  amazon.com / amazon.co.uk

  AVARICE – Book 2

  A sleepy Scottish town, a murder in a glen. The local police chief doesn't want a fuss and calls in DI Munro to lead the investigation. But Munro is a stickler for procedure, and his sidekick Charlie West has a nose for a cover up. Someone in the town is guilty, will they find out who?

  amazon.com / amazon.co.uk

  ENMITY – Book 3

  When it comes to frustrating a criminal investigation, this killer has all the moves. A spate of murders is causing havoc among in a remote Scottish town. Enter Detective Inspector Munro to catch the red herrings and uncover an elaborate and wicked ruse.

  amazon.com / amazon.co.uk

  DUPLICITY – Book 4

  When a foreign worker casually admits to the murder of a local businessman, detectives in a small Scottish town guess that the victim’s violent death points to a more complex cause. Money appears to be a motive, but will anyone believe that they might be in fact dealing with a crime of passion?

  amazon.com / amazon.co.uk

  TERMINUS – Book 5

  Avid fans of Scottish detective James Munro will be worrying it is the end of the line for their favourite sleuth when, battered and bruised following a hit and run, the veteran crime-solver can’t pin down a likely suspect.

  amazon.com / amazon.co.uk

  PERDITION – Book 7

  A man is found dead in his car.
A goat is killed with a crossbow. What connects these events in a rural Scottish backwater? DI Charlotte West investigates in this gripping murder mystery that ends with a sucker punch of a twist.

  amazon.com / amazon.co.uk

  RANCOUR – Book 8

  Police are suspicious when the body of a girl found on a mountainside tests positive for a date rape drug. They suspect a local Lothario is responsible. He certainly had the means, motive and opportunity. But is this really such a cut and dry case? A spanner is thrown in the works when another girl is found murdered. What are the police missing?

  amazon.com / amazon.co.uk

  More brilliant fiction by Pete Brassett:

  THE WILDER SIDE OF CHAOS

  YELLOW MAN

  CLAM CHOWDER AT LAFAYETTE AND SPRING

  THE GIRL FROM KILKENNY

  BROWN BREAD

  PRAYER FOR THE DYING

  KISS THE GIRLS

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