Penitent

by Pete Brassett

‘Not that it’s any consolation,’ said West, ‘but the gloves wouldn’t have helped.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Knuckle protectors. Kevlar. You might as well have hit her with a sock full of billiard balls. Right, nearly done Mr Fraser, just one more question for now. When did you see Nevin again?’

  ‘Outside. He was waiting for me outside.’

  ‘And did you tell him what you’d done?’

  ‘I did,’ said Fraser. ‘He told me to take myself off and keep my head down. He said that he’d sort it and that it would all blow over. That we’d be in the clear.’

  ‘And the gloves?’

  ‘He took them. He said he knew exactly what to do with them.’

  Fraser raised his head and looked forlornly at West.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said as his eyes glazed over. ‘I don’t know what else to say but sorry.’

  ‘Sometimes sorry is never enough.’

  ‘So, what will happen to me now?’

  ‘Well,’ said Munro, ‘I expect your wife will divorce you, your children will disown you, and your dog, if you have one, will probably bite you.’

  ‘And apart from that,’ said West, ‘you’ll be in court tomorrow. Iain Fraser, I am charging you under section 1 of the Criminal Justice Act for the murder of Nancy Wilson. You are not obliged to say anything but anything you do say will be noted and may be used in evidence. Do you understand?’

  Chapter 18

  Despite an obsession with puzzle books and crosswords, an uncanny knack of slaughtering his opponents when challenged to a game of Mastermind or Connect 4, and a flair for memorising names, numbers, and faces, Duncan’s teachers – based on his inability to complete an exam paper or concentrate in class – believed his best prospects on leaving school lay in the shipyards of Govan or the steelworks of Motherwell.

  His parents, however, shuddering at the thought of him following in his father’s footsteps, encouraged his desire to bring law and order to the streets of Inverclyde and sent him to college in Kincardine where, heeding the advice of Dr Seuss that there was no point trying to fit in if you were born to stand out, Duncan became odds-on favourite as the candidate most likely to be expelled.

  After a successful graduation and a probationary period in the shadow of a by-the-book jobsworth, he returned home where, after a couple of years spent arresting the jakeys and neds littering the schemes in his home town, he quickly learned under the fortuitous guidance of one James Munro, that in order to be cool, one had to be calm and collected.

  ‘Alright,’ he said as he ambled into the office. ‘What’s up with you lot? Have you been at the happy pills again?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said West, smiling.

  ‘When I left here, you looked as though you were heading for a family funeral, by which I mean, every single member of your family.’

  ‘I know,’ said West, ‘but as they say, you never know what’s around the corner.’

  ‘Well, if it’s any help, McPherson couldn’t remember the name but he recognised the photo. He’s identified Fraser as the fella in the pub with Nevin.’

  ‘Thanks, mate, but I sent you on a bit of a wild goose chase, I’m afraid. Fraser’s admitted it. He’s given us the whole story. Dougal’s banging out the report for the fiscal as we speak.’

  ‘Smashing,’ said Duncan. ‘Well, despite the fact that I’ve been all the way to Dumfries and back, I’ll make a brew. Who’s for a cup?’

  ‘You’re alright,’ said Dougal, ‘I’m busy.’

  ‘Not for me thanks,’ said West. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Chief?’

  ‘No, no. Thanks all the same,’ said Munro, ‘too much tea with my tablets makes me want to… let’s just say it has an adverse effect on my well-being.’

  Duncan leaned against the counter, scratched the stubble on his chin, and stared at his colleagues one by one.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ he said. ‘Are you lot coming down with something? Next thing you’ll be telling me you’re not hungry.’

  ‘It’s a contagious dose of relief, that’s all,’ said West. ‘And the best way to treat it is not with tea but with a half-decent twelve-year-old.’

  ‘Are you doing this on purpose, miss? Teasing me with alcohol when you know I’ve a drive ahead of me?’

  ‘You’ve heard of Uber, haven’t you?’

  ‘Oh no, no,’ said Duncan, ‘I’m not jumping a taxi where the driver relies on his sat nav because he can’t speak English.’

  ‘That’s not very PC, surely you mean because he can’t read a map?’

  ‘Aye. Of course I do.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said West, ‘you’re not missing out. We haven’t hit the booze just yet.’

  Rankled by their uncharacteristically insouciant attitude, Duncan, suspecting he may fall victim to an office prank, stood with his back to the door lest the only available chair collapse beneath him.

  ‘Can someone enlighten me?’ he said, keeping a watchful eye on their every move. ‘If this Fraser fella’s the guilty party, then how could we have been so wrong about Nevin when all the evidence was pointing towards him?’

  ‘You’re forgetting,’ said West, ‘all the evidence was pointing at McPherson too.’

  ‘Aye I know but…’

  ‘You weren’t wrong about Nevin,’ said Munro, ‘you were on the money right enough. He and Fraser were in it together.’

  ‘Would you care to stick some meat on those bones, chief?’

  ‘My pleasure, laddie. It was Nevin who concocted the plan and a relatively simple one it was too. He arrived at the leisure centre on his motorbike as though he were expected and, as we discussed earlier, he spent the whole day going about his business, hidden in plain sight, as it were. Fraser arrives that evening and waits until the CCTV has been disabled; then he pops inside and Nevin gives him the gloves to wear so he doesnae leave his prints all over the place.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Duncan, ‘I get that but what about McPherson? Why was Nevin framing him? I mean, he didn’t go to the centre with the intention of killing Miss Wilson, did he?’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Munro. ‘He did not. Unfortunately for Nevin, he didnae count on Fraser going ballistic and battering Miss Wilson to death but in his favour, he already had a half-cocked plan to cover his backside should things go awry.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because the only folk who knew about the money were Galbraith, Wilson, and McPherson. If he didnae incriminate McPherson in the theft, then McPherson would know it was them who went after the money.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Duncan. ‘Now I’m with you. So when they didn’t get what they were after, you know, the whereabouts of the safe and the code to open it…’

  ‘That’s right,’ said West. ‘When they didn’t get that, Nevin whipped round to Wilson’s gaff the following day to look for it, safe in the knowledge that there was no way she was going to walk through the door and catch him at it.’

  Duncan, looking as deflated as a punctured lilo, finished his tea and stared blankly at the empty mug.

  ‘Why the long face?’ said West. ‘You should be happy, we’ve got a right result! Three for the price of two!’

  ‘Oh aye,’ said Duncan, ‘I am. Ecstatic.’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, don’t sit there moping, spit it out.’

  ‘There’s something missing’ said Duncan. ‘There’s one piece of the proverbial jigsaw I just can’t figure.’

  ‘See here,’ said Dougal smiling, ‘we’ve got them all, pal. All three of them banged up. What more are you wanting?’

  ‘The connection.’

  ‘What connections that? I don’t know what you mean.’

  Munro, allowing himself the kind of subtle smile normally reserved for smug parents whose offspring had trounced the opposition on school sports day, turned to face the room.

  ‘I do,’ he said proudly. ‘Your inquisitiveness, Duncan, is commendable. I’m telling you, Charlie, you need to watch this one
, he’ll go far.’

  ‘Easy on the praise,’ said West, ‘if his head swells any more, he won’t get out the door.’

  ‘So it’s a connection you’re wanting. And what connection would that be?’

  In a rare display of self-doubt Duncan, fearing his lack of experience was about to open him up to ridicule from his colleagues, winced as he proffered the question.

  ‘Galbraith and Wilson,’ he said nervously. ‘Why would Galbraith give Nancy Wilson a hundred grand?’

  Dougal, embarrassed by the fact that he’d missed something so obvious, glanced furtively at West and lowered his head.

  ‘Well, I’m glad to see someone’s still concentrating,’ said Munro. ‘Perhaps young Dougal would like to furnish you with the answer.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Aye, laddie. You. Wilson’s CV. You’ve not finished reading it.’

  ‘Jeez-oh! I clean forgot about that!’ said Dougal. ‘Okey-dokey, where did I get to?’

  ‘Just tell us about her education.’

  ‘Right you are. She got an HNC and an HND from Dumfries and Galloway college, and before that she went to secondary school at St Joseph’s. Her primary school was in… Palnackie.’

  ‘Palnackie?’ said Duncan. ‘Is that not where Galbraith lives?’

  ‘It is indeed,’ said Munro. ‘It’s where he lives and where he works, as the headmaster of the school.’

  ‘This is turning into “book at bedtime”,’ said West. ‘Give me a second and I’ll grab a pillow before you carry on.’

  ‘If you’re bored, Charlie, I’ll happily leave you to figure it out for yourself.’

  ‘No, no, don’t do that, chief,’ said Duncan. ‘Do you know something we don’t?’

  Munro, hands clasped firmly behind his back, returned to the window and gazed down at the street below.

  ‘The call I took earlier,’ he said, ‘while Mr McLeod was here. It was from DCI Clark in Dumfries. He was telephoning to convey his thanks for my assistance in the apprehension of Galbraith…’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘...and to let me know that he’d already made his debut in court. He’s to be prosecuted on behalf of HMRC for falsifying accounts, fraud and anything else they can throw at him. Oh and of course, the council will be wanting their money back too.’

  ‘How’s he going to do that?’ said West. ‘He can’t be that minted, can he? Surely he’s spent it all?’

  ‘Not all of it,’ said Munro. ‘You’re forgetting that Miss Wilson was holding one hundred thousand pounds which he’d stolen from Flora MacDonald. The rest will come from the sale of his house, his holiday home, and his boat.’

  ‘Boat? Blimey,’ said West, ‘he didn’t hold back, did he? If I’d half-inched all that cash, the last thing I’d do is flash it around.’

  ‘Och, he wasnae that stupid,’ said Munro. ‘He made a point of letting everybody know that his wealth had been accumulated over a long period of time as a result of some very shrewd investments courtesy of his old pal Jack MacDonald.’

  ‘Where exactly are you going with all this?’ said West. ‘Because wherever it is, can we get there quick, please? I’m dying of thirst.’

  Munro turned to face West and smiled.

  ‘Just for you, Charlie,’ he said, ‘I shall cut to the chase. Galbraith’s not got a mark against his name so, imagine Clark’s surprise when Galbraith’s DNA found a match on the database.’

  ‘What? How so?’ said Dougal. ‘If he’s not been in trouble before then how could that be?’

  ‘Nancy Wilson,’ said Munro, ‘is the illegitimate daughter of one Archibald Alpin Galbraith.’

  ‘Well, well, well,’ said West, ‘this is getting interesting after all. And the mother? Some floozie from out of town, I imagine?’

  ‘Quite the opposite Charlie. It was Flora MacDonald. Duncan, you’re awful quiet, have you nothing to say?’

  ‘I’m just thinking, chief. Palnackie, it’s not exactly going like a fair, is it? I mean, it’s a wee village, right? So I’m guessing if Nancy Wilson was the result of a wotsit between Galbraith and MacDonald, then there’s no way they’d have been able to keep it quiet.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Munro. ‘They couldnae. When Flora fell pregnant, her husband Jack believed the child was his and Flora wasnae about to correct him on the matter, but more importantly she couldnae run the risk of giving birth either. Jack and Galbraith were as different as they come, she’d have been rumbled in a thrice, so she took herself off to have the bairn while Jack was manning the Post Office, but she returned empty handed.’

  ‘Empty handed?’ said West. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She told Jack the bairn had died at birth.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Duncan, ‘that’s not right! That’s not right at all! The poor man must have been beside himself with grief.’

  ‘How can you be sure about this?’ said West.

  ‘Because there’s a wee headstone in the kirkyard bearing her name and the inscription “taken at birth”.’

  ‘So, what really happened to her?’ said West. ‘Was she given away?’

  ‘Aye she was,’ said Munro. ‘She was given up for adoption and raised as Nancy Wilson in Kippford.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘Across the water from Palnackie.’

  ‘And did Galbraith know about this?’ said West. ‘Did he know that his daughter had been secreted away?’

  ‘He arranged it,’ said Munro. ‘The man was more interested in protecting his reputation than raising his only child.’

  ‘So that’s why he gave her a hundred grand,’ said Duncan. ‘Guilt.’

  ‘Right enough. I imagine he thought a wee gift to see her through life might ease his conscience.’

  ‘And the wee locket? I’m guessing that belonged to Flora MacDonald, am I right?’

  ‘Well, I cannae say for sure, laddie, but I think it’s safe to assume that it probably did, aye.’

  Epilogue

  For Jean Munro, an overworked nurse married to an aspiring young detective with a mind as sharp as a pin and an almost paternal instinct to protect those around him, the decision not to raise a family, based on ever-changing shifts, a spiralling mortgage, and a husband who spent more time with the dead and the dying than lolling about in her arms, was not a conscious one but a natural development borne of circumstance.

  For James Munro, however, the role of doting godparent to the offspring of numerous close friends – a duty fraught with the inherent danger of taking care of their welfare should their natural parents succumb to an untimely demise – was recompense enough for the lack of an heir to his meagre estate.

  Cradling a large Balvenie as he relaxed on the sofa, he smiled ruefully to himself and wondered what his late wife would make of the dysfunctional bunch of misfits he’d inadvertently adopted as his own; the headstrong daughter with a Taurean bent for kicking-off like a bull in a china shop, the studious son who preferred the company of a computer and socialising with fish, and the chip off the old block whose laid-back demeanour and cocky smile assured him of success.

  * * *

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ said West as she unpacked the takeaways, ‘have you noticed how good things come in threes?’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Munro. ‘Would you care to elucidate?’

  ‘Three little pigs. Three French hens. Three blind mice...’

  ‘That all sounds well and good if you’re of a mind to open a farm, lassie.’

  ‘…and of course, Fraser, McPherson, and Nevin.’

  ‘You surprise me, Charlie.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’d have thought top of your list would have been ham, cheese and pickle. Bacon, lettuce and tomato. And pie, mash, and beans.’

  ‘Very funny. So, how are you feeling?’

  ‘Aye okay,’ said Munro. ‘A wee bit tired perhaps but that’s to be expected.’

  ‘No twinges? No palpitations? No shortness of breath?’

  ‘
None.’

  ‘Good. Right then, as it’s your last night chez West, should we crack open the wine?’

  ‘It would be foolish not to. And what delight did you bring to complement this delightful fish supper?’

  ‘Nothing fancy, just a bog-standard Beaujolais, but it’s red, it’s wet, and it’s alcohol.’

  ‘I can see no problem with that,’ said Munro as he eyed her plate. ‘Did you not get yourself fish as well?’

  ‘Nope. I got myself a haggis supper with a sausage on the side.’

  ‘Dear God, you’ll be dyeing your hair orange and drinking Irn-Bru for breakfast next.’

  Munro doused his supper with a generous helping of salt followed by a good-sized dollop of brown sauce and raised his glass.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said. ‘Your very good health.’

  ‘Yours more than mine.’

  ‘And congratulations on bagging those three villains, it’s a job well done.’

  ‘I’m not taking the credit for that,’ said West. ‘It was a team effort, present company included.’

  ‘Speaking of which, did you notice how one particular member of said team went over and beyond the call of duty?’

  ‘You’re talking about Duncan, aren’t you?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ said West. ‘He’s been a diamond throughout the whole investigation, not to mention yours. I’d even go so far as to say he’s given Dougal a right old run for his money.’

  ‘You’re not wrong there, Charlie; he’s shown his mettle right enough. Dougal is peerless when it comes to solving problems, I’ll give him that, but Duncan’s the one who finds them. Mark my words, that boy could find a rotten egg in a farm full of battery hens.’

  ‘Not while I’m eating please,’ said West. ‘Do you know what I like about him most?’

  ‘Remember he’s spoken for.’

  ‘He’s got a soft side. He’s not all chewing gum and bravado.’

  ‘Which is why he’s in a relationship with a single mother and dotes on her son as if he were his own.’

  West downed her tools, sipped her wine, and stared at Munro.

  ‘I’m going to do it,’ she said. ‘I’ve decided. I’m going to recommend he takes his exams.’