Penitent

by Pete Brassett

  ‘You certainly are,’ said Munro, ‘but not here. You’ll be going to Dumfries. We’ll get you sorted soon enough.’

  * * *

  Bemused that she’d somehow been responsible for nailing a gentleman by the name of Craig McPherson for a crime she knew nothing about, West, feeling as ragged as a road sweeper after a Hogmanay Hootenanny, shuffled slowly up the stairs and stopped outside the office.

  ‘You’re looking tired,’ said Munro. ‘You need a wee sit-down.’

  ‘I should be saying that to you.’

  ‘Och, there’s nothing wrong with me, lassie, I’m indefatigable. Aye, that’s the word, indefatigable.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ said West. ‘I don’t suppose you’re hungry too?’

  ‘It might be lunchtime but I cannae partake, not just yet. I must telephone DCI Clark in Dumfries and give him the good news.’

  ‘It’s alright for you, you’ve got a right result. I still need to collar mine.’

  ‘And you will, Charlie. You will.’

  ‘So, what happens now?’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure about you,’ said Munro, ‘but I need to get myself a copy of that tape and as for tonight, I shall be pouring myself a large Balvenie. A very special, twenty-one-year-old, port-finished, Balvenie.’

  Chapter 14

  Senses heightened by the tantalising aroma of southern fried chicken, crispy French fries, and freshly brewed coffee, West, feeling as hollow as a kettle drum, scoured the office until her eyes came to rest on Dougal’s desk.

  ‘Oh, you diamond!’ she said. ‘Did you get some for me?’

  ‘Sorry, miss, I thought you’d be ages yet.’

  ‘Just my luck, all these interviews have given me a raging appetite; honestly, suddenly it’s like working in a bleeding recruitment agency.’

  ‘Will a brew and a biscuit do you?’

  ‘It’s going to have to. Have you heard from Duncan yet?’

  ‘Aye, you’ve just missed him,’ said Dougal. ‘He’s on his way back but he’s stopping for a bite to eat first.’

  ‘Why is everybody eating except me?’

  ‘It happens to the best of us, miss. Are you sure about that biscuit? I could nip out and get you something.’

  ‘No, it’s alright,’ said West, ‘I haven’t got time but thanks anyway. Did you get hold of Nevin?’

  ‘Aye, he’s in the custody suite.’

  ‘Good. Then I should get going. I’ve got a feeling this isn’t going to be as straightforward as it seems.’

  ‘Well, if you need some ammo,’ said Dougal, ‘your star pupil’s got a barrel load of bullets for you.’

  ‘Star pupil?’

  ‘Duncan!’

  ‘No need to be facetious,’ said West. ‘He’s just finding his feet. At last. So, what’s he got?’

  ‘Jake Nevin, miss, he used to be Lea’s…’

  ‘You mean McPherson.’

  ‘Aye okay then – McPherson. Jake Nevin used to be McPherson’s sparring partner at the boxing club.’

  ‘Thank you God!’

  ‘And according to the owner,’ said Dougal, ‘the pair of them were great pals. Nevin even gave him a lift to and from the gym twice a week on the back of the bike.’

  ‘Bingo! So that explains the red hair in the crash helmet.’

  ‘Aye, it does indeed.’

  ‘Which means all we have to do now is find something that actually places Nevin inside the leisure centre at the time of Wilson’s attack.’

  ‘Oh, that’s not going to be easy,’ said Dougal. ‘I mean, the fella on the CCTV looks like Nevin, I’ll give you that, but I can’t get a decent enough image of his face to identify him as such and besides, even if I could, it wouldn’t actually prove that he did it.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ said West, ‘but we’ll find something, don’t you worry. Even if I have to get down on my hands and knees and comb that leisure centre myself, we’ll find something. Now, not that I want to tempt fate or anything like that, but we need to celebrate, for Jimbo’s sake if nothing else.’

  ‘That’s a grand idea,’ said Dougal, ‘let’s face it, for someone who’s meant to be retired he’s not gone off the boil, has he? Have you anything in mind?’

  ‘I certainly have. Do me a favour and Google “Balvenie” for me, would you? I want a twenty-one-year-old with a port finish.’

  ‘Right you are. And is there a reason why you’re after that particular one?’

  ‘Yup. Jimbo’s got a bottle at home and I don’t want him sloping off to Carsethorn to drink it on his lonesome. We can all have a few drams here, the four of us, then he can kip at mine.’

  ‘Nice one,’ said Dougal. ‘Thanks very much.’

  ‘So would you mind popping out and getting a bottle?’

  ‘No bother, but I’ll be needing some cash or your credit card.’

  ‘What? For a bottle of whisky?’

  ‘It’s not just any whisky,’ said Dougal, ‘it’s one hundred and thirty-five pound’s worth of whisky.’

  ‘Holy flipping… sod that! Get a twelve-year-old, he won’t know the difference.’

  * * *

  With the poise of a couch potato who’d had his television set stolen from under his very eyes, Nevin, on the verge of falling asleep, sat with his arms folded and his legs outstretched as West, looking as haggard as a pit pony, pulled up a chair.

  Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she leaned back, pushed both hands against the desk, and fixed Nevin with a vacuous stare.

  ‘I’d barely got through the door,’ he said, rubbing his eyes, ‘then you lot come and drag me back again. What’s going on?’

  ‘There’s been a development,’ said West, her finger hovering above the voice recorder. ‘Still, at least you’ve had time to shower and grab a change of clothes.’

  ‘Aye, and that’s about all I had time for.’

  ‘For the benefit of the tape the time is 3:25 pm. I am Detective Inspector West and also present is Mr John Nevin. You like to keep in shape, don’t you John?’

  ‘I prefer Jake.’

  ‘We’ll stick to your real name if you don’t mind. So, let’s start again. You like to work out, don’t you? You know, pop down the gym, pump some iron, is that right?’

  ‘No,’ said Nevin. ‘It’s not. I don’t need a gym to stay in shape, my work keeps me fit.’

  ‘Does it, really? I never knew you could burn calories just by riding around on a lawnmower.’

  ‘There’s more to it than that. There’s a lot of graft involved: hedge trimming, tree clearance, shifting stuff. Why the sudden interest?’

  ‘Oh, just curious,’ said West. ‘I was talking to a mate of mine and he told me that apart from swimming, one of the best ways to keep fit and watch your weight was boxing.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Yup. Apparently, it’s got everything; there’s the physical exertion, the various breathing exercises, it’s cardiovascular and it sharpens your reflexes too.’

  ‘Sounds magic,’ said Nevin. ‘Maybe you should give it a go.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe I will. I don’t suppose you know of any decent boxing clubs, do you?’

  ‘No. Not me.’

  ‘Really? You do surprise me.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Well, for a start,’ said West, ‘you used to be a regular at The Doonhamers, didn’t you?’

  Flinching at the sound of the name, Nevin uncrossed his legs and sat up straight.

  ‘That was a long time ago,’ he said.

  ‘I know the years have a habit of flying by,’ said West, ‘but it wasn’t that long ago really, was it? Five years perhaps? Six maybe?’

  Nevin placed a hand on his chin and regarded West like a chess player contemplating his next move.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘So I used to box. It’s not a crime, is it?’

  ‘No, of course not!’ said West. ‘I’m just trying to get a handle on it, that’s all. I mean, it must be quite an atmosphere with all that testo
sterone floating about. I imagine there’s a great sense of camaraderie, probably a great social life too.’

  ‘Boxing,’ said Nevin, narrowing his eyes, ‘is all about one on one. Winners and losers. Love and hate. There is no social life, that’s why I liked it.’

  ‘Nah. I don’t believe you,’ said West. ‘I don’t think you’re as much of a loner as you like to make out, I mean, I’ve heard you used to go to the club with a mate of yours. You even gave him a lift there and back on the back of your bike. Surely you’d have had a few beers after you’d knocked seven bells out of each other?’

  ‘I have no idea who you’re talking about,’ said Nevin. ‘I told you, I’ve not been for years.’

  ‘Then allow me to refresh your memory because it’s Craig we’re talking about. Craig McPherson.’

  ‘Christ, Craig McPherson?’

  ‘Yeah. Do you still keep in touch?’

  ‘No. I’ve not seen him since I quit the gym.’

  ‘So you’ve no idea what he’s been up to?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘And you’ve no idea where he lives?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you’re obviously not aware that he’s been living under an assumed name?’

  ‘I’m not with you,’ said Nevin. ‘What do you mean an assumed name?’

  ‘I mean,’ said West impatiently, ‘that ever since he left Palnackie, he’s been living as Rupert Lea.’

  ‘Good for him, but like I say, I’ve not seen him.’

  West took a deep breath, tousled her hair, and sighed.

  ‘Funny that,’ she said with a bemused smile, ‘because he says otherwise. In fact, he told us that he’s only just bought a motorcycle off you.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Oh it’s not just me saying so. And it’s not just McPherson, or should I say Lea. It’s the DVLA too. They’ve got the log book and it’s got your name and your address on it. And guess what? They’re changing it to his.’

  ‘Well, whatever he’s calling himself,’ said Nevin. ‘It makes no difference to me.’

  West hauled herself to her feet, pushed the chair to one side, and leaned against the wall with her hands in her pockets.

  ‘I’m tired,’ she said, staring at the floor. ‘I’m tired of going around in circles, I’m tired of being nice, and I’m tired of dealing with arseholes who think they’re smart, so how about I just charge you now and get it over with? That way I can hold you a bit longer, it might give you time to come your senses.’

  Nevin scowled at West and raised a hand.

  ‘Now hold on,’ he said, ‘let’s not be hasty! Look, I’ve not been entirely straight with you, okay? The truth is we did keep in touch and aye, I sold him a bike, but I still don’t see why it’s such a big deal.’

  ‘I’ll tell you why, shall I?’ said West. ‘Because as far as deals go, this one really is pretty big. You see, we’ve got someone who looks like you, and your motorbike, outside the leisure centre the day Miss Wilson was murdered…’

  ‘I told you, I’m not one for getting up early…’

  ‘…and that was before you sold the bike to McPherson.’

  ‘…and if I was there, then I was probably collecting my wages.’

  West glanced at Nevin and smiled.

  ‘Let’s use that as euphemism, shall we?’ she said. ‘It sounds a lot nicer than “murder”. So, after you’d collected your wages, I think you rode the bike round to McPherson’s gaff and dumped it in his garden.’

  ‘Aye, of course I did,’ said Nevin sarcastically. ‘And I stopped to fill it up with petrol on the way.’

  ‘Then I think you went inside and dropped off a few odds and sods – spanners, waterproofs, gloves, helmet, that sort of thing.’

  ‘You’re absolutely right, I can’t deny it! And I had a huge bag on my back to get it all there.’

  ‘That’s what I thought!’ said West. ‘Like a rucksack! One of those big rucksacks with loads of compartments and straps and little pockets on the side, you know the kind, just big enough to hold a camera.’

  Nevin paused, glanced furtively around the room, then grinned as if he’d just remembered the answer to a particularly fiendish question in a pub quiz.

  ‘A camera!’ he said. ‘Because I wanted a wee selfie with the bike before I left it?’

  ‘Nah, you’re not that sentimental,’ said West. ‘You couldn’t give a stuff about the bike, but you took the camera so you could transfer all those lovely photos of Nancy Wilson onto McPherson’s computer.’

  ‘Did I not steal all his passwords as well?’

  ‘I give up,’ said West. ‘Like I said, I’m tired and we’ve got your fingerprints all over the camera.’

  ‘Well, you would have, wouldn’t you?’ said Nevin, smiling smugly, ‘but it doesn’t prove a thing. I found the camera in his room so I thought I’d have a wee nosey, you know, see what he’d been taking photos of.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Aye. It is. Right, now we’ve cleared that up, it’s time I was leaving, you’ve taken up too much of my time already.’

  ‘Stay where you are,’ said West. ‘You’re not going anywhere.’

  ‘Oh aye? How so?’

  ‘Because at the risk of repeating myself, I’m charging you. Again.’

  ‘You have got to be joking! What is it this time?’

  ‘Same as before,’ said West. ‘Don’t worry, we’ve kept your cell nice and warm for you. Now, you sit tight and someone will show you to your room.’

  Chapter 15

  Unlike the glowing, whisky-flushed cheeks of a mawkish mourner at an open-topped wake, Duncan, looking as pale as a pint of rum eggnog, owed his pallid complexion to an unprecedented lack of sleep, whilst Dougal, who worked by moonlight, blamed his own ghostly pallor on a vitamin D deficiency and hypersensitivity to sunlight.

  Deeming them both as dour as a pair of inebriates at a Temperance Society meeting, Munro, bemoaning their lack of stamina, smiled benignly and placed a packet of chocolate fingers between them.

  ‘Sugar,’ he said. ‘It’ll do you good.’

  ‘Thanks very much,’ said Dougal. ‘Have you not got some evidence to go with that?’

  ‘By jiminy, you’re like a couple of Colleens complaining about your stilettos! If you’d had yourself some porridge for breakfast, you’d not be flagging now!’

  ‘The only flag I’m waving, chief, is a white one,’ said Duncan. ‘I’m pure shattered.’

  ‘And I’d rather be booking my season ticket for the fishing at Kilbirnie Loch,’ said Dougal. ‘I’m in need of a break myself.’

  Munro took a seat, helped himself to a biscuit, and snapped it in half.

  ‘Have you ever thought of entering one of those quiz shows on the television?’ he said. ‘You know, like that “Millionaire” for example?’

  ‘No,’ said Dougal. ‘I have not.’

  ‘Good. Because you’d fail. Okay, the clock’s ticking, let’s start afresh. What’s the problem?’

  ‘Oh chief, you know what the problem is,’ said Duncan. ‘We’ve nothing concrete on that Nevin fella.’

  ‘Aye, but it’s not that that’s bothering me,’ said Dougal. ‘It’s the fact that any second now West is going to come through that door and tell us to take ourselves off to the leisure centre on another pointless treasure hunt. She’ll have us crawling about that ceiling like a couple of rats scavenging for titbits.’

  ‘And is that a problem?’ said Munro. ‘Because from where I’m sitting, I’d say that’s exactly what you’re paid to do.’

  ‘Aye, maybe so,’ said Duncan, ‘but not after a shift like this; it’s bordering on slave labour.’

  Munro, tickled by the irreverent jibe, allowed himself a wry smile and sipped his tea.

  ‘Far be it for me to interfere in your investigation,’ he said, ‘but would you care to know what a retired old fool like myself thinks of your dilemma?’

  ‘I’m all ears,’ said Duncan. ‘Fire away.’


  ‘Okay. If you’re sitting comfortably, then I’ll begin. Correct me if I’m wrong, but did you not say that Nevin, if indeed he is the perpetrator, disabled the CCTV in the evening? After all the other staff had left?’

  ‘It would appear so, aye.’

  ‘And the motorbike you’ve a fixation with, when did that appear?’

  ‘First thing in the morning,’ said Dougal. ‘About fifteen minutes before the cleaners arrived to open up shop.’

  ‘So the assumption is that Nevin arrived early, gained access to the building courtesy of the cleaners and was there all day, hiding out until he had a chance to be alone with Miss Wilson?’

  ‘Aye, that’s pretty much it,’ said Dougal. ‘It’s the only explanation.’

  ‘Is it?’ said Munro as he drained his mug. ‘Is it indeed?’

  Likening the brace of battle-weary detectives to a couple of short-sighted lumberjacks in a forest full of Scots pine, Munro walked to the back of the room and, addressing the window rather than his audience, cynically shook his head and smiled.

  ‘Can you not see it?’ he said. ‘By jiminy, it’s as plain as the nose on your face!’

  ‘If you’re about to crack this, chief,’ said Duncan with a yawn, ‘then don’t hold back. Let’s have it with both barrels.’

  ‘Why?’ said Munro. ‘Why would Nevin turn up first thing in the morning and lie low the entire day before attacking Miss Wilson? Why did he not show up five minutes before they closed?’

  ‘Well,’ said Dougal, ‘because other folk would’ve seen him arrive. There would have been witnesses. They might have asked themselves the question: what’s he doing here at this time of day?’

  ‘Close,’ said Munro, ‘but no cigar. You see, laddie, this Nevin fellow isnae stupid. He’s gone out of his way to frame McPherson for the murder and he’s thought it through.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Good grief, do I have to spell it out? See here, he’s of a similar height and build to McPherson, okay? That was the crucial element in his plan if he was to succeed in getting the likes of you to chase your own tails.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘So he turns up on a motorcycle he’s already sold to McPherson knowing that the DVLA would verify the sale, and he makes sure that his face is hidden from view when he enters the building, but here’s the thing – he’s a legitimate employee of the leisure centre, is he not?’