AVARICE: Gripping Scottish detective crime fiction (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 2)

by Pete Brassett

  ‘Aye, take a seat,’ said McGreevy. ‘We’re just back from the Fiscal’s office, and we’ve got the pathologist’s report, so…’

  ‘No, no, no,’ said Munro, shaking his head. ‘Nick, the lassie’s just off the boat, I’ve driven for two hours to get here, she needs to freshen up and we both need to get some food in our bellies, so, if it’s all the same with you…’

  ‘Of course,’ said McGreevy. ‘The Kip Hotel, I’ll get Duncan to show you where it is. See you back here in say, an hour?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Munro, ‘maybe two.’

  * * *

  Constable Reid, relishing his role as escort and the opportunity to patrol the mean streets of Inverkip like some maverick cop on the prowl, led Munro to the hotel, gave a blast on the siren and flashed his hazards before speeding away. West sat back, turned to Munro and heaved a sigh.

  ‘How the hell did I end up here?’ she said. ‘A couple of hours ago, I was on my way home.’

  Munro smiled.

  ‘Fate,’ he said. ‘So, tell me Charlie, how are you, really?’

  ‘I’m okay. I think. I’m okay.’

  ‘Good. And did you learn anything from your time on the… retreat?’

  ‘I did,’ said West, nodding. ‘I did. I learned that I don’t like singing or chanting. And I don’t like silence. And I don’t like sushi, never have, never will. I like my steak and I like a drink, and I’m not going to take any shit anymore. From anyone. You know what? I’m good at what I do, James, damned good, but… you knew that anyway.’

  * * *

  Campbell, taken aback, stood and smiled, slightly embarrassed as West, followed by Munro, entered the office.

  ‘Sergeant West,’ he said, ‘you look, I mean, you look…’

  ‘Amazing?’

  ‘Aye, amazing, I mean…’

  ‘Thank you,’ said West, ‘I scrub up well when I have to, and by the way, the name’s Charlie.’

  ‘Sergeant Campbell,’ said McGreevy, grinning, ‘when you’ve stopped drooling, perhaps you could ask Duncan to join us, I’m sure he’ll prove an invaluable asset to the team. How’s the hotel, James? Comfortable enough?’

  ‘Oh, aye, nice, wee restaurant, too.’

  ‘Pity we didn’t make use of it,’ said West.

  ‘I’ve taken the liberty of setting up a tab,’ said Munro, ‘you can sort it when we leave.’

  ‘Okay,’ said McGreevy, ‘just go easy on the bar, James, eh? So, Iain, as you were first on the scene, perhaps you’d like to fill us all in, from the top.’

  ‘Chief. I’ll keep it brief, there’s a full report from the pathologist here, you can read through it later. So, we have a female, as yet unidentified, about mid-fifties, found in Daff Glen, face down in the burn…’

  ‘Burn?’ said West, frowning.

  ‘It’s a river, Charlie,’ said Campbell, ‘a small river.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘She’s a wound to the back of the head, hit with a blunt instrument, but here’s the thing, that’s not what killed her, she was poisoned, anti-freeze. Also, there were high levels of alcohol in the blood. The only clue we have as to her identity are these two bank cards, that’s all she was carrying.’

  Campbell slid them across the table.

  ‘Have these been dusted?’ said West.

  ‘Er, no, no,’ said Campbell, ‘I’m afraid by the time we’d hauled her from the water and the medics, you know…’

  ‘Raiffeisen Bank?’ said West, ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘Germany,’ said McGreevy, ‘I mean, I’m guessing, but it sounds German.’

  Munro picked up a card and studied it carefully.

  ‘Doris Day,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry Nick, you’ve lost me,’ said McGreevy.

  ‘Kappelhoff. That was Doris Day’s real name.’

  ‘Doris who?’ said Reid. ‘Who’s Doris…’

  ‘Och, Duncan, Doris Day man! Calamity Jane, Que Sera Sera, never mind. Okay, Nick, Iain, Duncan, there cannae be that many Kappelhoffs in the area, let alone the whole of Scotland, run a check and see…’

  ‘There is another,’ said Constable Reid.

  ‘What?’ said McGreevy.

  ‘The shoe man, you know, Rudy, his name’s Kappelhoff.’

  ‘I thought it was Ruben.’

  ‘It is. Ruben Kappelhoff.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Munro, ‘see, we’re off to a flying start already. Charlie, we’ll pay him a visit later, now, has anyone checked these cards? Have you called the Raiffeisen Bank?’

  ‘No, not yet,’ said Campbell, ‘see, those cards, they’re out of date, 14 years old, I mean, what use would they be to…?’

  ‘She was carrying them for a reason, Iain. Duncan, you call the bank, get any information you can on this Freida Kappelhoff, last known address, when the account was closed, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Roger that, chief.’

  ‘We should put out an appeal, too,’ said McGreevy.

  ‘An appeal?’ said Munro.

  ‘Aye, you know, missing person, that sort of thing.’

  ‘She’s not missing, Nick, we’ve found her. However, perhaps you’d like to advertise the fact we have an unidentified body on our hands and so put the fear of God into the public domain?’

  ‘Well, no, not quite, I mean…’

  ‘No appeal,’ said Munro, ‘no tv, no press. Not until we know who she is, not until we have a name, is that clear?’

  ‘Aye, okay, you know best.’

  ‘What about her clothes? Are they at the hospital?’

  ‘No,’ said Campbell, ‘I have them here, all bagged and sealed.’

  ‘Good. We’ll take a look later, now, Iain, I need you to show us where you found her.’

  ‘Oh, James,’ said McGreevy, as they stood to leave, ‘one thing, when you get back, we should go see Isobel.’

  ‘Aye, okay. Who’s Isobel?’

  ‘The Fiscal.’

  Chapter 5

  Sergeant West shielded her eyes from the low, afternoon sun, stood stock-still and, underwhelmed by her surroundings, turned her nose up at the smell of damp, decaying leaves, as the Daff, its waters still high, surged hurriedly by.

  ‘It’s beautiful here,’ said Munro quietly, ‘so, beautiful.’

  ‘It’s a dank, boggy wood with a river, James. Get over it.’

  ‘Nothing like a city girl to lend a new perspective on things,’ quipped Campbell. ‘Here, this is where I found her.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Munro, ‘and this fellow with the dog, where was he?’

  ‘Where she should have been, over there, on the opposite bank, there’s a footpath along the top.’

  ‘And you think this is where she tried to cross?’

  ‘Definitely,’ said Campbell. ‘It’s only knee deep here, if you know where to tread.’

  ‘And where did you search?’

  ‘Hereabouts.’

  ‘Then you’ve been looking in the wrong place,’ said Munro. ‘We need to be over there. Charlie, best take off your boots.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ said West, scowling.

  ‘It’s alright, Charlie,’ said Campbell, laughing, ‘there’s a ford up the way, here. Follow me.’

  Munro looked across the burn to where Freida Kappelhoff had lain, turned around and studied the embankment up to the path. A trail, subtle and unintentional, had been cleared through the sparse undergrowth, as though someone, or something, had fallen down the slope. Fallen twigs snapped underfoot as he signalled to the others to follow and made his way to the top, scouring the ground for clues at a painstakingly slow pace.

  ‘Was Freida a smoker?’ he said, as he reached the path, squatted on his haunches and retrieved a cigarette butt from the ground.

  ‘No idea, chief,’ said Campbell, ‘but I can ask the doctor, why?’

  ‘See here, these are German, ‘HB’. I don’t partake myself, but even I know these are not, what you might call, a popular brand.’

  ‘But anyone could’ve t
ossed those there,’ said West.

  ‘Right enough, Charlie,’ said Munro, ‘anyone who was here long enough to smoke three of them. Bag this, and there’s two more, just there. Whoever was here, was lingering. Iain, where will this take us, if we follow the path?’

  ‘The village, chief, Main Street; that’s where you’ll find Rudy, and your hotel.’

  ‘Okay, listen, light’s fading, I need this area searched tomorrow, 100-yard radius from here, you never know, we may find something. Charlie, let’s you and I go see this Ruben fellow, and keep your eyes peeled.’

  * * *

  Munro and West stood side by side and eyed the neglected bungalow of a building, its peeling paintwork, weathered sign and filthy windows overshadowed by the surrounding rows of pebble-dashed terraces.

  ‘Not the kind of place I’d trust with my Jimmys,’ said West, facetiously.

  ‘Your what?’ said Munro, as they approached the shop.

  West smiled.

  ‘Never mind, grandad,’ she said, ‘looks like he’s gone home, shall we come back tomorrow?’

  Munro peered inside.

  ‘There’s a light,’ he said, squinting through the glass, ‘in the back room, there.’

  He knocked the door, hard. A stocky figure in a sweatshirt with a towel draped around his neck, entered the shop, glowered at them and, with a dismissive wave of the arm, shouted something unintelligible. Munro held a hand to his ear, feigning deafness.

  ‘Closed!’ yelled Kappelhoff, as he yanked open the front door. ‘Go away, bring your shoes tomorrow, I… wait, where are your shoes? What are you wanting?’

  West smiled politely.

  ‘This is Detective Inspector Munro,’ she said, ‘and I’m D.S. West. Can we have a…’

  ‘What? You are police?’ said Kappelhoff. ‘You come to my work, my home, at this hour, disturbing me? I am honest, hard-working man, why do you harass me? You like Stasi, always picking on the small man, easy prey for you blood-thirsty, fascist pigs.’

  ‘Well, we have to do something to fill our time,’ said Munro, softly, ‘all the same, we’d like a wee word, please; unless, of course, you’d rather be arrested for disturbing the peace?’

  ‘Disturb? I not…’

  ‘Threatening behaviour too.’

  Kappelhoff stood aside and ushered them into the back room which, with it’s white-tiled floor, Formica-topped table and galvanised sink, looked more like a hospital kitchen from the 1950s than a lounge. A single, leather armchair sat in the corner, beside it, a small table piled high with unopened mail and a radio tuned to an overseas station. He switched it off.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Munro, surveying his surroundings. ‘Now, we’re not here to persecute you, Mr. Kappelhoff, we’d just like to ask you a few questions…’

  ‘Always questions! I pay my taxes; I don’t make trouble…’

  ‘About Freida.’

  Kappelhoff look stunned.

  ‘Freida?’ he whispered.

  ‘Aye. I’m assuming Freida is your wife?’

  ‘Yes, yes, but Freida and I, we divorce, long time ago. I have not seen her in many years. What has happened?’

  ‘We’ve, er, we’ve found a body,’ said West, ‘and we think it might be her.’

  Kappelhoff placed a hand on the table to steady himself and slowly sat.

  ‘A body?’ he whispered.

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Munro. ‘Sorry, it must be a shock, would you like a moment to…?’

  ‘No, no. I am alright. Where did you find this body?’

  ‘Daff Glen,’ said West, ‘in the burn, it looks like she was… it looks like she may have drowned.’

  ‘And you are sure it is Freida?’ said Kappelhoff.

  ‘Well, no,’ said Munro, ‘that’s why we’re here, we need your help.’

  ‘The police, wanting help from a poor immigrant? I should tell the papers, this is news.’

  Munro lowered his head and smiled.

  ‘Okay, see here, Mr. Kappelhoff,’ he said, ‘the only way we’ll know if it is Freida, is if we can make a positive I.D. of the body and, as you were her husband, I think you’re the man for the job. Are you up for it?’

  ‘Of course, but, God-willing, it is not.’

  ‘Good. We can pick you up. Tomorrow morning. Would 9 o’clock be okay?’

  ‘Yes, yes, 9 o’clock will be…’

  Munro unzipped his jacket and sat down.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I know this might be difficult but there’s a couple of questions I need to ask.’

  Kappelhoff glanced at West and nodded.

  ‘Do you smoke?’ said Munro.

  ‘Smoke? No.’

  ‘How about Freida?’

  ‘No, at least not when she was my wife.’

  ‘Okay, good. Now, do you have a bank account, in Germany? With the Raiffeisen Bank?’

  ‘No,’ said Kappelhoff, ‘my monies are here, with Clydesdale Bank.’

  ‘You’re quite sure?’ said Munro. ‘Because we found a bank card with your wife’s name on it, Freida Kappelhoff.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Freida, she had monies with Raiffeisen Bank, since before we met, but that is her monies, Freida was wealthy lady back in Schleswig, but her name is Brandt, Freida Brandt. Why should she use my name when we not married?’

  ‘Perhaps she forgot to change it after the divorce?’ said West.

  Kappelhoff grinned menacingly at West.

  ‘If you want to forget the past, lady,’ he said, ‘the first thing you do is reclaim your name.’

  ‘Just one last question then, Mr. Kappelhoff,’ said Munro, ‘you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but, why did you and Freida divorce?’

  Kappelhoff hung his head and smiled wistfully.

  ‘I did not want divorce but she grew tired of the humble shoemaker she once loved, I was, too poor for her… tastes.’

  ‘I see,’ said Munro, ‘and was it, amicable? I mean, did you and Freida part on friendly terms?’

  Kappelhoff slammed his fist on the table.

  ‘No!’ he said, ‘I was mad, of course, I was mad! I knew she was seeing another man but I didn’t care, she was my Freida. Then she says to me one day she is going, she has found another man, an educated man with more monies, just like that! Then she leaves. I could have slit her throat!’

  ‘Have you ever heard of anger management?’ said West, sarcastically.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ignore her,’ said Munro, ‘tell me, do you know who this man was?’

  ‘Lucky for him, I did not.’

  * * *

  ‘Chief!’ said Duncan, rather too enthusiastically for Munro’s liking, as they returned to the station.

  ‘Duncan, have you ever heard of Diazepam?’ he said.

  ‘No, chief, should I…’

  ‘It’s been a long day, laddie, now, take a deep breath and hold it while Charlie and I remove our coats, sit down, and wait for you to bring us our tea.’

  ‘Chief.’

  McGreevy sauntered in from his office.

  ‘James,’ he said, ‘I know it’s getting late but don’t forget we’ve yet to see Isobel.’

  ‘Aye, okay Nick, all in good time.’

  ‘How’d you get on with Rudy?’ said McGreevy.

  ‘He’s what you might call... volatile. Aye, that’s the word, I think, volatile.’

  ‘Obviously has issues,’ said West, ‘a week on the Holy Isle would put him straight.’

  McGreevy smiled as Constable Reid returned with two mugs of tea.

  ‘Duncan here, has some interesting news for you,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t say?’ said Munro. ‘Okay, Duncan, take a seat, oh, before I forget, listen, assuming you’ve still no address for Freida, try Brandt – that was her maiden name.’

  ‘Roger that, chief, but there’s no need.’

  ‘You have been busy,’ said West.

  ‘Miss. So, Raiffeisen Bank,’ said Reid, grinning.

  ‘Yes?’


  ‘The bank cards.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, they’re two separate accounts, one is a current account and the other, savings, and both accounts are… active.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Munro, grimacing as he sipped his sugarless brew.

  ‘Every month, the equivalent of £2,500 is transferred from the savings account to the current.’

  ‘£2,500?’ said Munro. ‘My, my, this Freida must be a millionaire.’

  ‘She is,’ said Reid, ‘in euros, anyway. The current balance is 1,180,000, that’s about £920,000.’

  ‘I see,’ said Munro.

  ‘And that’s not all. After the monthly transfer, there’s a flurry of activity on the account, cash withdrawals, maximum amount, till it’s all gone.’

  ‘Do we know where?’

  ‘All over the place, chief. Greenock, Paisley, Glasgow, Falkirk, Ayr.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Not quite. All the statements and replacement cards are sent to an address in Skelmorlie.’

  ‘And, of course you’ve checked that that is the last known address for Freida?’

  ‘Well, no, not exactly; I mean, not yet, chief. That’s next on my…’

  ‘Don’t worry, Duncan,’ said Munro, smiling, ‘we’ll take a wee look tomorrow. Listen, well done laddie. Good work. Now, Charlie, I think you’ve earned yourself a wee drink, take yourself off to the hotel, I’ll be along as soon as I’ve seen the Fiscal.’

  West stood abruptly and grabbed her coat.

  ‘That’s the best idea you’ve had all day,’ she said, ‘hold on, how do I get there? Is it walkable?’

  Sergeant Campbell cleared his throat with a subtle cough.

  ‘I could, er, I could run you there, Charlie,’ he said. ‘It’s not far.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said West. ‘Don’t you have work to do?’

  ‘No, no, I’m finished now, anyway.’

  ‘Very kind, Iain, thanks. Hope your wife doesn’t get jealous.’

  ‘Wife? Oh, I’m not married, Charlie, I’m as single as they come.’

  * * *

  Crawford, Scotch in hand, stared at the screen, her patience waning with every pop-up ad or invitation to take part in a survey that interrupted her quest for a decent Margaux. A knock on the door saved her from screaming aloud. McGreevy entered before she could answer, followed by Munro. She regarded his battle-weary features with intrigue, taken aback by the alluring glare of his steely, blue-eyed gaze.