Avarice

by Pete Brassett

  ‘You’re sure, now? Lorna McKenzie?’

  ‘One and the same.’

  ‘Okay, listen, thanks. We have to go just now and dinnae worry about the hair, we’ve got what we need.’

  * * *

  ‘So,’ said Munro, as they made their way to the car, ‘when’s your next appointment with Dr. Feelgood, then?’

  ‘I cancelled it,’ said West, tickled by the comment.

  ‘Really? I was under the impression you…’

  ‘Oh, I still think he’s a bit of a hunk, problem is, he’s also a veggie, and a jogger, and he lives alone, with two cats. Not many boxes ticked there, eh?’

  ‘Not to worry, Charlie, there’s always the undertaker, I understand embalming can be quite intoxicating.’

  West fastened her seatbelt and watched the wipers as they stuttered and juddered across the windscreen, clearing away the last drops of rain.

  ‘So, are you going to tell me,’ she said, ‘or do I have to guess?’

  ‘You already know,’ said Munro, despondently, ‘and Duncan’s just confirmed it. I’ve called Isobel. I’m away to see her right after I’ve dropped you back.’

  ‘Not nice when it’s one of your own, is it?’ said West.

  ‘No Charlie, it is not.’

  ‘What do you want me to do now?’

  ‘Speak to Lorna. Maybe this’ll convince her to come clean.’

  * * *

  McKenzie was not the frightened girl West had left curled up on the bunk just a few hours earlier. There was an air of self-assured confidence about her and a look of ruthless determination on her face.

  ‘Lorna,’ said West, ‘are you okay?’

  ‘Aye, I’m good,’ said McKenzie, ‘very good. And I’ve been thinking, I want to…’

  ‘How long have you been seeing Inspector McGreevy?’

  McKenzie, staggered by the ferocity of the statement, was rendered speechless.

  ‘I’ll ask again. You and Nicholas McGreevy…’

  ‘I heard you,’ said McKenzie, ‘I … sorry, I’m just, astounded. How on earth…?’

  ‘It’s what I do. So. Do you want to talk?’

  ‘Aye. That’s what I was about to say, I want to…’

  ‘Off the record, or are you going to make it official?’

  ‘Official. I want to make a statement. A proper statement.’

  ‘Good for you,’ said West, with a comforting smile, ‘you’ve made the right choice. We’ll go to the interview room. Constable Reid will be joining us. Well done.’

  Chapter 19

  Crawford, having cleared her diary in anticipation of his arrival, stood idly by the window and watched as Munro’s vintage 304 pulled into the car park. She allowed herself the vaguest of smiles as he carefully locked the door, wiped a smudge from the bonnet and headed inside.

  ‘Isobel,’ he said, as he breezed in without knocking, ‘I hope I’ve not put you out, I didnae give you much warning…’

  ‘It’s fine, James, honestly,’ said Crawford, pulling on her coat.

  ‘I’m not keeping you am I? If you have to go, if you’ve somebody waiting…’

  Crawford laughed.

  ‘There’s nobody waiting for me, James, nobody and nothing but a DVD, a bottle of Merlot and a thin crust pepperoni. Don’t suppose you like pepperoni, do you?’

  ‘I do not.’

  ‘Should’ve guessed. No, I just thought, if you need to talk, maybe we could go to a…’

  ‘Sorry Isobel, no,’ said Munro. ‘What I have to say is best said right here, I cannae risk somebody overhearing.’

  ‘Intriguing,’ said Crawford, removing her coat, ‘oh well, in that case, come on then, why all the secrecy?’

  Munro closed the door, clasped his hands firmly behind his back and strode purposefully towards the window. He turned and took a deep breath.

  ‘I’ll try and keep this simple,’ he said, ‘but you might want to pour yourself a drink.’

  ‘Just a wee bit early for me, James.’

  ‘Please yourself. Freida Kappelhoff, née Brandt, was married to Ruben, the cobbler. They divorced and she shacked up with Callum McKenzie, with whom she had a child, right?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Wrong. Freida was already pregnant when she moved in with Callum. Lorna McKenzie is Ruben’s daughter, not Callum’s.’

  ‘Well, well,’ said Crawford. ‘Go on.’

  ‘As you know, Lorna’s been charged with fraud, theft and deception for pillaging her mother’s bank account – her wealthy, and all but estranged, mother’s bank account. Now, see here, Lorna’s boyfriend discovered what she was up to; whether Lorna told him herself, we’ve yet to find out, but, he’s been, well, “bullying” might be too strong a word, let’s say he’s been “coercing” her into doing what he says, which includes divulging Freida’s account details.’

  ‘I understand what you’re saying, James,’ said Crawford, ‘but I’m at a loss as to the relevance. This is all about the money, aren’t you losing sight of the purpose of this investigation? Freida’s death?’

  ‘Trust me, Isobel, it’s all relevant. Her boyfriend has just transferred 250 grand from Freida’s account, to his own.’

  ‘Bloody hell, and you’ve got evidence of that? Enough to charge him?’

  ‘Oh, aye,’ said Munro, ‘we’ve got the evidence, alright, but I also believe he was responsible for Freida’s death.’

  Crawford sat up and regarded Munro inquisitively.

  ‘Can you prove that, James,’ she said, ‘I mean, that’s a serious…’

  ‘Not yet, but I will,’ said Munro. ‘See, I know for a fact that Lorna met her boyfriend by the glen the night Freida was killed. I also know she went to her mother’s apartment, at his behest, to hide all the paperwork from the bank, and…’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘I’m all but certain she took the hammer used in the assault on Freida from Callum’s house and gave it to him that same night. I’m just hoping she admits as much in her statement. She’s with Charlie, now.’

  ‘Okay, well then, I don’t see what’s stopping you,’ said Crawford, ‘why not just go ahead and…?’

  ‘Lorna’s boyfriend,’ said Munro, heaving a sigh, ‘is Nick. Nick McGreevy.’

  Crawford, dumbfounded by the accusation, gasped as she fell back in her seat and gawped, open mouthed, about the room, struggling to find the words to respond.

  ‘I … I don’t know what to say,’ she said, devastated. ‘Are you sure? Are you absolutely positive it’s…?’

  ‘Isobel. I wouldnae be here if I had any doubts.’

  ‘I think I will have that drink after all.’

  Crawford dragged herself from her chair, poured a large scotch and knocked it back in one.

  ‘Christ Almighty,’ she said, ‘Nick? I just … I just can’t believe it. Does he … I mean, has he any idea that you’re…’

  ‘No,’ said Munro, ‘he hasn’t a clue. To be honest, if wasn’t for the fact he’d pressured me into trying to force a confession from Lorna, I might have had second thoughts about…’

  ‘He did what?’

  ‘Aye, it was, to say the least, disappointing. Very disappointing. Bottom line, Isobel, he’s been using Lorna all along, and now that he’s got what he wants, well…’

  ‘Poor kid, she must be…’

  ‘Worst part is, she thought they had something special, she hadn’t a clue he was already in a relationship with another woman…’

  ‘The little bastard.’

  ‘…a Miss Maureen Connolly. Owns The Oak Bar on the main road.’

  Crawford poured herself another drink and sat down.

  ‘So,’ she said, still reeling, ‘how do you want play this?’

  ‘I want to bring him in. Now. This evening,’ said Munro, ‘arrest him on theft and hold him on suspicion of murder.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘I need his car impounded too, there’s a mountain of evidence in the boot and, I dare say, a wee search of
his house wouldnae go amiss, either.’

  Crawford threw her head back and closed her eyes.

  ‘Oh, this is painful, James,’ she said. ‘Alright, fine, do what you have to do, just keep me informed, okay? Every step of the way.’

  * * *

  West, as restless as a junkie craving an overdue fix, squirmed in her seat, unable to concentrate on anything at all. Campbell, captivated by the amusing spectacle, looked on she checked her phone, swore and took a brisk walk around the office in the vain hope the words “missed call” would appear on the screen by the time she returned to her desk.

  ‘Are you okay, Charlie?’ he said, ‘you seem awful tense, edgy even. Can I get you something? Cup of tea, maybe?’

  ‘No thanks, Iain. I’m fine, really. It’s just the waiting, it’s such a bloody nuisance when…’

  The ring tone cut her short.

  ‘James!’ she said, with a sigh of relief, ‘I’ve been waiting an age, has Isobel…?’

  ‘It’s all go, lassie,’ said Munro, ‘how about Lorna? Did she…’

  ‘Like a canary, as they say. We’ve got it all, James, everything: the affair with Nick and his controlling behaviour, how he threatened her and, she’s even admitted to taking the hammer from Callum’s place…’

  ‘Excellent, but did she say why she took…?’

  ‘Nick of course, it’s obvious, he didn’t want to use anything that could be traced back to him. She gave it to him, the night they met at the glen.’

  ‘Okay. Now listen Charlie, one more thing. Ask her if she knows of Nick’s whereabouts the night before Freida died, it’s crucial.’

  ‘No problem, any particular reason…’

  ‘Och, Charlie, come on. He and Freida knew each other, they were pals. They must have met, how else would he have laced her drink? Now, where’s Iain? Is he about the place?’

  ‘Yup, he’s sitting opposite...’

  ‘Right, the pair of you, meet me at Nick’s place in half an hour, got that?’

  Chapter 20

  The house, an anonymous-looking semi in a quiet cul-de-sac lined with fifteen other identical, characterless properties, was the only one without a manicured front lawn. Instead, in its place, lay a vast expanse of black tarmac upon which sat a five-door, silver BMW. Munro pulled up twenty yards short of the drive and contemplated the imminent confrontation as the streetlights flickered into life and cast a warm, yellow glow across the otherwise bleak, grey street. His voice was soft and low as he answered the call.

  ‘Charlie,’ he said, ‘is everything alright?’

  ‘Yeah, nothing to worry about,’ said West, ‘we’ll be there in fifteen. Just thought you should know, Lorna says Nick was with her in Paisley the night before Freida copped it, but he didn’t get there till late, gone ten.’

  ‘Did he stop?’

  ‘Yup, he was there all night.’

  * * *

  McGreevy, clutching a can of lager and still in uniform, minus the tie and epaulettes, was clearly not expecting visitors.

  ‘James,’ he said, taken aback, ‘what brings you here? Has something…’

  ‘We need a wee chat,’ said Munro, bluntly, ‘best not do it on the doorstep, eh?’

  Declining the offer of a beer and a seat, Munro allowed McGreevy to make himself comfortable in his favourite leather armchair before continuing.

  ‘You’ve that look about you, James,’ he said, ‘the one you have just before the proverbial’s about to hit the fan.’

  ‘Then think of me as the proverbial, Nick,’ said Munro, glibly, ‘and you, the fan.’

  ‘You’ve lost me.’

  ‘Lorna McKenzie.’

  ‘Aye. What of her?’

  ‘How long have you two been seeing each other?’

  McGreevy spluttered as he choked on the beer.

  ‘What?’ he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  ‘You and McKenzie. Och, Nick, there’s no point denying it, we…’

  ‘Denying it?’ said McGreevy, defiantly, as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘There’s nothing to deny. What makes you think…’

  ‘We have her statement,’ said Munro.

  ‘She’s just a kid, what would I be doing with…’

  ‘She’s told us everything.’

  ‘Told you…? I don’t believe I’m hearing this,’ said McGreevy, ‘told you what?’

  ‘Everything. You and her. Your wee … dalliance.’

  ‘Dalliance? God in heaven, are you losing it James? Can you not see she’s clearly making it up?’ said McGreevy, forcing a nervous laugh.

  ‘And why would she do that?’

  ‘I told you, she’s deranged, you should’ve listened to me and called the shrink when you had the…’

  ‘We’ve proof, Nick,’ said Munro. ‘We have her DNA. Taken from your car,’

  ‘You really are pushing it now…’

  ‘And she says you were with her the night before Freida died. In her flat.’

  McGreevy stood up, crushed the beer can and held it tight in his fist.

  ‘Utter tosh,’ he said, scowling, ‘I’ve not heard anything so preposterous in my entire life, I don’t even know where she lives.’

  ‘No? Och, well, that is shame then,’ said Munro, ‘seems you’ve just talked yourself out of an alibi. I’ve an idea, what say we change the subject? Let’s talk about the money.’

  McGreevy froze.

  ‘What money?’ he said, nervously scratching the back of his crew cut head.

  ‘The money, Nick, the money. By Jiminy, I’m losing my patience now, the 250 thousand pounds that miraculously appeared in your bank account.’

  ‘I’ve not checked my statement,’ said McGreevy facetiously, ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  Munro, eyes narrowed, fixed him with an ice-cold stare.

  ‘Okay, Nick, I’ve done my best,’ he said, ‘you’ve had your chance…’

  ‘Chance?’ said McGreevy menacingly, through clenched teeth. ‘Chance? See here, James, there’s only one chancer here, and that’s you. Now, take your holier-than-thou attitude and your… your false allegations, and get the hell out of my house. Oh, and I’ll tell you this for nothing, pal, come the morning, mark my words, I’ll be gunning for you, you’ll be out of a job before…’

  ‘I am out of a job, Nick,’ said Munro as the doorbell rang, ‘you forget, I’m retired. Wait here.’

  Munro returned, followed by West and a dour-looking Campbell.

  ‘Oh, not you too, Iain?’ said McGreevy, in disbelief. ‘Surely not. What’s going on here? Is this some kind of conspiracy?’

  ‘There’s no conspiracy, Sir,’ said Campbell, pulling the handcuffs from his belt, ‘just evidence, plain and simple.’

  Munro stood to one side and cleared his throat.

  ‘Nicholas McGreevy,’ he said, ‘much as it pains me to do so, I am arresting you for… och, Charlie, you do it, I cannae be bothered, I have a bad taste in my mouth. Iain, cuff him and give him a lift to ours.’

  ‘I’ll not need restraining,’ said McGreevy, reaching for his coat and another can of beer, ‘I still have my dignity.’

  ‘That’s about all you have,’ said Munro, ‘for now at least, anyway.’

  * * *

  West sat silently on the arm of the sofa as a solemn stillness filled the air, and regarded a disheartened Munro with an empathetic smile.

  ‘That can’t have been easy,’ she said softly, ‘bit like finding out your fiancé’s done the dirty on you.’

  ‘Och, I don’t think it’s as bad as that, Charlie,’ said Munro, knowingly, ‘it’s more like a bereavement, the passing of someone you once knew. Or thought you knew. Still, no point in moping lassie, come on, chop, chop, we’ve work to do.’

  ‘Okay,’ said West, ‘what about the car? Shall I call forensics?’

  ‘No, no. I think we’ll spare him the embarrassment of having them pull it to pieces in full view of the neighbours,’ said Munro, ‘you can drive it back, we’l
l do it at the office.’

  ‘Right, well in that case, we’ll have this for starters,’ said West, bagging a laptop, ‘let’s see what else we can find.’

  West turned her attention to the sideboard, opened the bottom drawer and rifled through an assortment of DVDs and CDs as Munro cast an eye over the room.

  ‘This is not so much a bachelor pad,’ he said, observing the blank, magnolia walls and empty shelves, ‘it’s more like a cell, in solitary. What’ve you got there?’

  ‘Nothing yet,’ said West, closing the second drawer, ‘just a boxed cutlery set and some linen napkins.’

  ‘Dear God, as if he’s one for entertaining.’

  ‘Hold on,’ said West, ‘here we go, utility bills, DVLA, Council Tax demands and, a whole heap of stuff from the bank. Should keep Duncan busy for a while.’

  Munro stood beside West as she bagged the contents of the drawer and ran a finger through the dust on the top of the sideboard, eyeing the porcelain bowl filled with loose change, the two biros, one black and one blue, the empty notepad and the portable telephone with integral answering machine. The light flashed on the base station.

  ‘Three messages,’ he said. ‘Now, why do you suppose he’s not listened to them? I mean, he’s been home a fair while.’

  ‘Maybe he was here when they called, you know, screening them.’

  Munro pressed the button.

  “You have three new messages. Message one, sent yesterday at 16,43 hours: Nick, Tommy here, I’ve some good news, call me back.”

  Munro looked at West and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Message two, sent today at 10,15 hours: Nick, Tommy from McNeill and Partners, call me back, cheers. Message three, sent today at 17,12 hours: Nick, been trying to call you, listen your offer’s been accepted on the house in Morningside, well done, I’m sure you and Miss Connolly will be very happy there, give me a call as soon as you get this so’s we can get the ball rolling, cheers.”

  West looked up at Munro and smiled.

  ‘And that,’ she said, ‘is what we call a motive.’

  ‘Aye, bag that too, would you Charlie? And we best let Miss Connolly know she’ll not be moving to Edinburgh any time soon.’

  ‘Right, are we off then?’