Penitent

by Pete Brassett

  ‘Oh, it’s you, chief!’ he said, suppressing a yawn. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Aye, not bad,’ said Munro. ‘In fact, I feel great! And yourself?’

  ‘I’m ready for my pit if I’m honest.’

  ‘Well, can you stay awake a wee bit longer? I need your help.’

  ‘Aye, no bother. Where are you?’

  ‘On my way to the office.’

  ‘Is that wise?’ said Duncan. ‘I mean, if Westy…’

  ‘Are you not there?’

  ‘No, no. I’m in Auchinleck, on a job.’

  ‘That’s even better! You’ve just saved me at least half an hour. Where will we meet?’

  ‘The car park at the railway station.’

  ‘The railway station?’ said Munro. ‘Are you on Obs’? Some kind of a stake-out?’

  ‘No, I’m trying to have a wee kip on the back seat.’

  ‘Well, I cannae fault you for that, laddie. I cannae fault you at all.’

  * * *

  Loitering like a cagey carjacker waiting to deliver the spoils of his latest heist, Duncan, polishing off a packet of peanuts in lieu of his lunch, sat perched on the edge of the bonnet and nodded casually as Munro’s ageing Peugeot crept in to view.

  ‘Dear God,’ he said as Duncan slipped into the passenger seat. ‘I’ve seen healthier looking folk in the mortuary. Are you okay?’

  ‘Nothing a couple of hours sleep and a double cheeseburger won’t cure, chief. You’re looking well.’

  ‘I’m on top of the world,’ said Munro. ‘I’d forgotten just how great it feels to fill your lungs with air and not get out of breath just walking up the street.’

  ‘Good for you. I look forward to feeling like that myself one day.’

  ‘So you’re not just here for a nap, are you, laddie? What’s the story?’

  ‘Oh, it’s our number one suspect in this Nancy Wilson murder,’ said Duncan, ‘he lives nearby. He disappeared right after her death but now he’s back again. Westy’s going to give him a grilling while I take a look around his house. Hopefully we’ll find something we can use against him. How about you?’

  ‘The same thing,’ said Munro, ‘only it’s this Galbraith fellow I’m after. I have the distinct feeling he’s not the paragon of virtue he claims to be.’

  ‘Well you’re always on the money with your hunches, chief, but should you be meddling in the case? I mean, no disrespect, but there’s your health to consider, and you’re retired.’

  ‘I’m as fit as a fiddle and just for the record, DCI Clark in Dumfries requested my assistance personally. Until I can find a link between Galbraith and Flora MacDonald, this will have to do.’

  ‘Okay then, if you’re sure. So, what do you need?’

  Munro pulled the laptop from the back seat and passed it over.

  ‘I’m not one to impose,’ he said, ‘you know that, but I cannae find my way around this thing. It’s the sums behind the extension at the school I’m after.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Duncan. ‘I downloaded the FOI for you last night so it’s here somewhere. Give me a minute and… okay, so according to this, the quote from Caisteal for the whole project was three hundred and twenty grand.’

  ‘And what did the council actually pay?’

  ‘Three hundred and twenty grand.’

  ‘And the cost to Caisteal? Let me guess…’

  ‘Three hundred and twenty grand.’

  ‘By jiminy, that’s a first! Do you not find it funny how the figures tally exactly?’

  ‘Is that not what they’re meant to do?’

  ‘Come, come, laddie, this is the real world! You should know by now that when it comes to money and governments no work is ever completed on time or on budget. If anything, Caisteal should have overspent but they didnae. Why? Because if I’m right, they completed the whole job for less than fifty thousand pounds and pocketed the difference.’

  ‘Is that possible?’

  ‘Anything’s possible,’ said Munro with a smile, ‘especially as God blessed Europe with the freedom of movement.’

  ‘You mean cheap labour?’

  ‘I mean cheap everything. If I can prove I’m right, then Galbraith will be going down for a few years at least.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Falsifying accounts,’ said Munro. ‘HMRC are going to love it.’

  ‘Back up a wee bit, chief,’ said Duncan. ‘If you are right about this then with what they creamed off the budget for themselves, wouldn’t Galbraith and Mulqueen be sipping cocktails on the Costa del Sol by now?’

  ‘No,’ said Munro. ‘If there’s one thing about us Scots, laddie, it’s the belief that home is where the heart is and that’s not some gin palace on the Mediterranean, which is why Galbraith is still teaching at the school. Now, do you remember the other fellow, Jack MacDonald, the postmaster?’

  ‘I do, aye.’

  ‘Do you think you could fetch me details of his bank account? I’ll need his wife’s too.’

  ‘No bother but as they’re both dead it may take a while. Will you not need Galbraith’s and Mulqueen’s details too?’

  ‘No, no. They’re still in the land of the living and it wouldn’t do to raise their suspicions, not just yet. Oh, and one more thing, I need to know who the headmaster was before Galbraith.’

  ‘Right you are,’ said Duncan, ‘but I have to visit our suspect’s house first. Do you fancy coming?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Munro, ‘why not. And after that, I shall head back home. I’m of a mind to have a wee chat with Galbraith before school finishes for the day.’

  ‘Just a word of warning, chief,’ said Duncan, ‘this fella, Rupert Lea, he and personal hygiene were separated at birth.’

  ‘So you’ve seen his place already?’

  ‘I have, aye, but it was just a wee peek downstairs.’

  ‘Well, how did you get in if the gentleman in question was AWOL?’

  ‘Uniform used the big key on the back door but it’s probably been fixed by now.’

  Munro opened the glove compartment and retrieved a small, brown leather pouch.

  ‘Here,’ he said, ‘you’ll be needing these. I’ve no use for them now.’

  ‘A lock pick set? Jesus, you’re a dark horse! Do you know how much trouble I’d be in if I was caught using these?’

  ‘Discretion is the key to avoiding capture,’ said Munro. ‘Besides, it saves the taxpayer the cost of replacing a window or two. Are you familiar with the tools?’

  ‘Oh, I’m a fast learner, me,’ said Duncan. ‘Very fast indeed.’

  * * *

  Believing that every mature adult possessed enough self-esteem to maintain even a rudimentary level of cleanliness, Munro – his lip curling in disgust – reached for his handkerchief as he eyed the empty tins of Spam, soup, Spaghetti Hoops, sweetcorn, sardines, and hot dogs strewn across the kitchen table.

  ‘Dear God,’ he said, his nose twitching against the noxious odour, ‘it smells like a dog food factory in here.’

  ‘You’re not wrong there,’ said Duncan, ‘still, at least he’s getting his five a day.’

  ‘Never in my life have I seen so many bluebottles without a rotting corpse to feast on.’

  ‘Don’t be so hasty, chief, we’ve not looked upstairs yet. Just mind you don’t touch anything.’

  ‘Are you familiar with the phrase “sucking eggs”?’

  ‘It’s not that,’ said Duncan, ‘I just don’t want you catching Monkeypox, that’s all. That could finish you off after what you’ve been through.’

  Aside from a fully-stocked wine rack, a waste paper basket crammed with unopened mail, and two overflowing ashtrays on the floor beneath the window, the lounge was completely empty.

  ‘Dear God,’ said Munro as he batted a fly from his forehead, ‘the man doesnae have any furniture! Where on earth does he sit?’

  ‘I’ve a feeling his preferred position is supine,’ said Duncan. ‘I just hope he’s got a half decent bed.’

  M
unro walked to the corner of the room, squatted by the bin and, using a thumb and forefinger, retrieved a handful of envelopes.

  ‘The man’s a millionaire,’ he said as he inspected the return addresses, ‘because he’s not interested in what the bank or the credit card companies have to say.’

  ‘He’s not the only one,’ said Duncan.

  Like the lair of a house-bound hoarder, the main bedroom, with its piles of books, out-of-date magazines, empty wine bottles, crisp packets, two un-ironed shirts hanging from a clothes rail, and a stack of parcels from a well-known internet retailer, was without doubt the perfect environment for a pair of rampant rodents to raise their young.

  ‘Oh Jesus!’ said Duncan, daring to drop to his knees. ‘He’s even got a pot under the bed!’

  ‘You should telephone Charlie, tell her not to go near the chap until he’s had a go in the sheep dip.’

  ‘How can folk live like this? Has he no self-respect?’

  ‘Obviously not,’ said Munro as he studied the cartons on the bedside table, ‘but I wouldnae worry too much, they’ll be planting him soon.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘His medication. This is low dose aspirin, seventy-five milligrams, which means he has a heart condition. And this is Theophylline, which means he’s asthmatic too.’

  ‘Asthmatic? And he’s smoking like a chimney?’

  ‘That’s not all,’ said Munro as he waved a third box in the air. ‘Metformin. He’s a diabetic.’

  ‘He’s diabolical,’ said Duncan nodding towards a crash helmet sitting on the floor, ‘but if the abuse doesn’t kill him, the motorbike will.’

  Intrigued, Munro picked up the helmet and, tilting it towards the light, scrutinised the strands of hair stuck to the lining and the pair of scuffed, leather gloves tucked inside.

  ‘You do surprise me,’ he said, ‘I’d have thought a wee action man like yourself would have enjoyed the thrill of two wheels.’

  ‘Not me, chief. I’ll leave that to Dougal. He and this Lea fella can talk two strokes to their heart’s content. Is something wrong?’

  ‘Leave no stone unturned,’ said Munro, ‘you should bag this and get it analysed.’

  ‘No need, chief, we’ve already got Lea’s DNA on the database.’

  Munro held the helmet aloft and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Right you are,’ said Duncan, ‘if you think it will help.’

  Dismayed not just by the chaos around him but by the broken table lamp, the torn curtains, and a pair of discarded but perfectly serviceable boots, Munro shook his head and sighed.

  ‘It’s not for me to comment on how folk should live their lives,’ he said, ‘but if there’s one thing I cannae abide, it’s waste.’

  ‘I’m not with you, chief.’

  ‘Look about you, this place is a temple of neglect. Break something, buy a new one. Call me old-fashioned but I’m of a generation who were raised on the tenet of “make do and mend”. We recycled everything long before the Green Party made it the fashionable thing to do.’

  ‘And your point is?’

  ‘This fellow,’ said Munro as he pointed out a monitor lying face down on the bed, ‘he’s obviously a member of the disposable society, I mean, that’s no way to treat a television set.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not a telly,’ said Duncan. ‘That’s an iMac...’

  ‘I stand corrected.’

  ‘…it’s a computer. Let’s see what he’s been up to, shall we?’

  Duncan righted the Mac, hit the power button on the back, and smiled as the screen sprang to life.

  ‘I thought folk these days were more tech-savvy,’ he said, ‘you know, security conscious. It’s not even password protected.’

  ‘Frankly, laddie, I cannae see anyone in their right mind setting foot in this house, let alone touching anything. Not unless they wanted a spell in the ICU.’

  ‘Look at this, chief, he was using it earlier this morning, that must’ve been before uniform picked him up. At least now we know where he’s been the past few days.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘His search history,’ said Duncan. ‘See here, he booked a return ticket to Edinburgh online…’

  ‘Edinburgh?’

  ‘Aye, he went to something called “GastroFest” and spent four nights at the Hotel du Vin.’

  ‘It’s like I said, the man’s a millionaire. Is that you?’

  ‘Almost,’ said Duncan, ‘I just want a quick look at his recently-viewed files before I bag it up.’

  Selecting a folder tagged “NAN”, Duncan leaned back and sighed as a multitude of images cascaded down the screen.

  ‘The fella’s not right in the head, chief. He’s obsessed.’

  ‘Well, there’s no question about it,’ said Munro, crouching as he squinted at the screen, ‘he’s a fetish for a certain kind of a lady, that’s for sure.’

  ‘You need your glasses, chief, that’s not just a certain kind of a lady, they’re all the same person. That’s Nancy Wilson.’

  Intrigued by Lea’s fixation and Duncan’s apparent complacency, Munro stood up, clasped his hands behind his back and contemplated the ceiling.

  ‘You’re not surprised,’ he said softly. ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Rupert Lea was done for stalking this lassie, chief. A breach of the peace to be precise, but he got an absolute discharge.’

  ‘Did he indeed. Why?’

  ‘Basically because he had a clean sheet.’

  ‘So despite an appearance in court, he continued to hound the poor girl?’

  ‘He did, aye. Let me just display these in chronological before we go, that’ll give me an idea of when… oh, this is good! This is very good indeed!’

  ‘Stop havering laddie and tell me what’s going on!’

  ‘This picture here,’ said Duncan, ‘the one of her arriving for work, that was taken the day she died.’

  ‘You’re on a roll,’ said Munro as he zipped his coat, ‘all you have to do now is find the camera.’

  ‘Camera?’

  ‘Well, those photos didnae get onto that computer by themselves now, did they?’

  ‘Oh Christ,’ said Duncan glancing around the room, ‘that means I’ve got to rummage through this lot.’

  ‘And you’d be wise to look for anything else that might incriminate the fellow.’

  ‘The camera’s plenty for now, chief. I’m not hanging round here any longer than necessary.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’ve had your jabs,’ said Munro. ‘I’m away to see Galbraith, I’ll telephone you later.’

  Chapter 9

  Likening his puffy complexion to that of a cabbage patch doll with an underactive thyroid, Dougal, bewildered by the difference between the image on the driving licence and the figure seated before him, smiled at Rupert Lea as West, perturbed by the pungent odour of cannabis and sweat, sniffed the air and opened the window.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘it’s a bit whiffy in here. I’m Detective Inspector West and this is DS McCrae. Thanks for coming by.’

  ‘No bother,’ said Lea, peering through his Coke-bottle glasses, his skinny frame swathed in an over-sized sweater. ‘Happy to help.’

  ‘You know this is completely informal, don’t you? You’ve not been accused of anything, so you don’t have to answer any questions if you don’t want to. We won’t hold it against you.’

  ‘And you can leave any time you like,’ said Dougal. ‘We’ll even arrange a lift for you.’

  ‘Smashing,’ said Lea. ‘So, what do you need to know?’

  ‘Well, at the risk of going over old ground,’ said West, ‘it’s about a young lady you’re familiar with, or used to be, anyway. Miss Nancy Wilson.’

  ‘Oh aye, Nancy! She’s a beauty, is she not?’

  ‘That is in the eye of the beholder,’ said West, ‘and going by what I’ve seen recently, I’m afraid I’d have to disagree.’

  ‘That’s probably because you’re not that way inclined.’

  ‘Trust me, e
ven if I was, there are some places I just can’t go.’

  ‘I’m not with you.’

  ‘She’s dead, Mr Lea. I’m sorry to say Miss Wilson was murdered.’

  Lea tousled what was left of his straggly, shoulder-length locks, tied them back in a ponytail, and puffed out his cheeks.

  ‘That’s a hell of an opener,’ he said. ‘What was it? A stabbing? Some ned with a blade?’

  ‘We can’t go into details,’ said Dougal, ‘this is an on-going investigation, I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘Aye, of course. Of course. Still, it’s a bit of a blow. So, when did this happen?’

  ‘A few days ago,’ said West. ‘Coincidentally, the same day you disappeared.’

  ‘Oh, so that’s why I’m here. Well, just for the record, I didn’t disappear, folk are entitled to have a wee break now and then.’

  ‘Quite. Still, you’re here now and that’s all that matters, so just a few questions, then hopefully we can eliminate you from our inquiry and move on.’

  ‘Easier said than done,’ said Lea. ‘It’s not that easy to move on after a bereavement.’

  ‘You’re talking as though you and she were close.’

  ‘No, we weren’t. And more’s the pity.’

  Unnerved by the sly if not sadistic grin that crept across his face, Dougal, desperate to reassert himself, leaned forward and tapped his biro on the desk.

  ‘Let’s start at the beginning,’ he said firmly. ‘Would you mind telling us where you’ve been?’

  ‘Aye, Edinburgh. GastroFest.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘The clue’s in the title. It’s a festival of gastronomy. With a scientific twist.’

  ‘And can you verify that?’

  ‘I can indeed. I’ve got the train tickets and my hotel reservation.’

  ‘Which hotel?’

  ‘The Hotel du Vin. They’ll remember me, I’ve no doubt about that.’

  ‘Why should they?’

  ‘Because,’ said Lea, rubbing the end of his nose, ‘they asked me to leave. Some of the other guests had complained about my… it’s embarrassing to say.’

  ‘Don’t be shy,’ said Dougal, ‘you’re amongst friends here.’

  ‘I have a medical condition. I tend to perspire a lot.’

  ‘That’s a bit unfair,’ said West, ‘but understandable I suppose. Let’s talk about Nancy, shall we? You were charged a while back with a breach of the peace, is that right?’