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

by Pete Brassett

  ‘It’s possible, Charlie,’ he said, ‘it’s possible. The motive could be money, I mean, Freida has a pot while he’s earning nothing and raising their daughter, but I’m not convinced.’

  ‘He does have red hair.’

  ‘Aye, he does that,’ said Munro. ‘What there is of it.’

  ‘If we could get a sample of his DNA, we could run a cross-profile with the hairs I found on Freida’s jacket, which would prove he’d seen her recently.’

  ‘Aye, but if we ask for a swab, lassie, he’ll get suspicious.’

  ‘There is another way,’ said West, grinning, as she unfurled her gloved fist.

  Munro looked at the short, wispy, red hairs in the palm of hand.

  ‘Where did you…?

  ‘Hood of his jacket,’ said West, ‘when I picked it up.’

  ‘By jiminy, Charlie, you’re a sly fox. Well done lassie. Off to the lab, soon as we’re back.’

  ‘Aye, aye, captain. Does that mean we can eat now?’

  ‘Charlie, it will be my pleasure to treat you to the best haggis toastie in town.’

  ‘I’d rather choke on my own vomit.’

  Chapter 9

  ‘Duncan,’ said Munro, as they returned to the station, ‘wee favour, laddie, go fetch a large bag of chips for Charlie here, she’s suffering from malnutrition.’

  ‘Roger that, chief.’

  ‘And when you’re back, we’ve a parcel to go to the lab. Chop, chop.’

  Sergeant Campbell, pausing only to shoot a sideways glance at West, leapt from his desk clutching a sheaf of papers.

  ‘Chief, Charlie,’ he said, ‘I’ve some news for you on the…’

  ‘Hold on Iain, first things first,’ said Munro, ‘where’s Nick?’

  ‘No idea, chief, I assume he’s on a call; he’s not checked in yet.’

  ‘Okay, before I forget, fellow by the name of Callum McKenzie, used to be a teacher down in Largs, works at the caravan park in Skelmorlie. I need to know everything about him.’

  ‘Chief.’

  ‘Now, tell me Iain, can you multi-task?’

  ‘Aye, reckon so,’ said Campbell, perplexed.

  ‘Good. Tell me your news while you switch the kettle on.’

  ‘Lab report, chief. On the hammer.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Munro.

  ‘Get this, it’s a shoe hammer. As used by cobblers.’

  ‘Is it, indeed?’ said Munro.

  ‘Plus, we’ve a DNA match off the face – Freida; and, we’ve some prints,’ said Campbell. ‘Guess who?’

  Munro sat back and stirred the teabag floating in his mug.

  ‘Rudy Kappelhoff,’ said Munro, with a sigh.

  ‘Aye,’ said Campbell, ‘how did you know?’

  ‘It’s obvious, Iain. Too obvious,’ he said, unimpressed.

  ‘Thought you’d be happy, chief,’ said Campbell, perturbed by Munro’s less than enthusiastic response, ‘I mean, does this not place him at the scene?’

  ‘It does not, Iain. It simply places a hammer belonging to Mr. Kappelhoff at the scene.’

  ‘Right. See what you mean.’

  ‘Nonetheless, we should have a word.’

  ‘Salt and vinegar, miss,’ said Constable Reid, half out of breath from his jog to the chippy, ‘oh, and I put a sausage in there too, wasn’t sure, but, you don’t have to eat it.’

  ‘Thanks Duncan,’ said West, appreciatively.

  ‘Charlie, let’s go,’ said Munro, ‘you can eat those on the way.’

  * * *

  Kappelhoff, oblivious to the couple sitting in the car opposite his shop, stood hunched over a jack, wrestling the soles from a pair of riding boots while Munro and West, polishing off the last of the chips, watched in voyeuristic silence.

  ‘It’s like being at the cinema,’ she said, quietly, ‘like watching a silent movie at a drive-in.’

  Munro smiled and unclipped his seat belt.

  ‘Shall we?’ he said. ‘Or are you having dessert?’

  Kappelhoff, his bandana drenched with sweat, begrudgingly downed tools and opened the door.

  ‘More questions?’ he said, scowling. ‘My wife is not yet in the ground but still you come, tormenting innocent peoples.’

  ‘We do our best, Mr. Kappelhoff,’ said Munro, holding aloft a plastic bag containing the hammer, ‘recognise this?’

  Kappelhoff’s eyes widened in recognition.

  ‘Mein schlosserhammer!’ he said. ‘Where did you find this? I have been looking everywhere.’

  ‘You lost it?’ said West.

  ‘Yes, a few days ago. I think someone is stealing it.’

  ‘Really?’ said Munro, smirking. ‘You think someone would come here just to steal an old hammer?’

  ‘People will rob anything, Inspector, even an old man fixing shoes, just to get money for drugs and alcohol.’

  ‘Aye, right enough,’ said Munro, ‘I’ll give you that. You’ve not had a burglary though, have you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you’ve not taken your hammer for a walk up Daff Glen?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. Tell me, Mr. Kappelhoff, have you had many visitors recently? Just the last few days?’

  ‘Hardly nobody. I have been closed for two days, apart from that, just three peoples are coming.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ said West.

  ‘I may be old, lady, but there is nothing wrong with my memory.’

  ‘Sorry. Can you remember who they were?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Kappelhoff. ‘One was a delivery from the supermarket. One was the girl who thinks she is some kind of pop star, but, Sie leidet unter Gröβenwahn.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘A fraud, a fake, she pretends to be wealthy but her shoes are cheap, imitation leather from China. I tell her I can do nothing with them and she curses me, and then there was the workman.’

  ‘Workman?’ said West. ‘Is he regular customer?’

  ‘Nein, I have never seen him before.’

  ‘What was he like?’ said Munro.

  ‘Quiet. He did not like to have conversations, not even “how are you?” or “nice day today”.’

  ‘How did you know he was a workman?’ said West.

  ‘He dressed like one, with the yellow coat, and he had tools in his bag, his rucksack.’

  ‘Forgive me, Mr. Kappelhoff,’ said Munro, ‘but how do you know what he had in his rucksack?’

  ‘I opened it, how else? To put his shoes in. He was taking so long, looking for his wallet.’

  ‘I see, and I don’t suppose you have a name for him, or an address, perhaps?’

  ‘Yes, I have everything, always. I write it down, then, if they don’t pay me, I go see them with my schlosserhammer. Wait, I have his ticket, here, look: one pair slip-ons, loafers, new heels. Mr. McKenzie from Skelmorlie.’

  West resisted the urge to look at Munro and yelp, waiting instead until they’d returned to the privacy of the car.

  ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ she said.

  ‘If it involves Aberdeen Angus and chipped potatoes, then yes,’ said Munro as he started the engine, ‘otherwise, probably not.’

  ‘It’s all too much of a coincidence then, isn’t it? I mean, McKenzie turning up, taking the hammer, giving Freida a whack?’

  ‘Aye Charlie, it is,’ said Munro. ‘See, you have to ask yourself the question why. Why would McKenzie want to kill Freida and then frame Kappelhoff?’

  ‘The money?’

  ‘No, if he wanted to kill Freida for her money, there’s no reason for him to frame Kappelhoff for the murder, is there? I doubt he even knows he was married to her.’

  ‘Okay, but what then?’

  ‘I’m not sure lassie, but McKenzie’s covering his arse for some reason, and we need to find out why.’

  * * *

  ‘Back so soon?’ said McKenzie as he opened the door, ‘I’m just having my soup.’

  ‘We’ll not keep you long,’ said Munro, ‘as
long as you tell us what we need to know.’

  McKenzie returned to the table and dunked a large crust of bread into a bowl of steaming Cullen skink.

  ‘If it’s all the same with you,’ he said, ‘I’d rather eat this before it gets cold.’

  ‘You go ahead,’ said West, ‘we’d just like to know what you were doing in Inverkip a couple of days ago.’

  ‘Inverkip?’ said McKenzie, frowning. ‘You mean Greenock. Oh, no, you’re right, I stopped by on the way back from McLeans, to pick my shoes up.’

  ‘McLeans?’

  ‘Tool shop in Greenock. Had to get supplies. Screws, trimmer line, that sort of thing, okay?’

  West pulled the hammer from her coat pocket.

  ‘Does this look familiar, Mr. McKenzie?’ she said.

  ‘Aye! How’d you get that? That belongs to the old fella who fixed my shoes, been meaning to take it back.’

  West glanced at Munro, befuddled.

  ‘You admit taking it?’ she said.

  ‘I didnae take it,’ said McKenzie, wiping his lips with a tea towel, ‘I found it, in my bag, when I got back. I reckon he dropped it in by accident when he packed my shoes away. I had it there, on the side, by the window, or at least I thought I did.’

  Munro, confounded, scratched the back of his head, and turned to leave.

  ‘One last thing before we go Mr. McKenzie,’ he said, ‘are you sure you didnae lend the hammer to anyone? Someone who needed to hang a picture or something, maybe?’

  ‘Aye, positive.’

  ‘And you’ve not seen anyone who may’ve just, helped themselves?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, the only folk I get to see are the postman and my daughter. It’s not a very sociable existence here, Inspector, gets quite lonely in fact.’

  * * *

  The drive back to Gourock, thought West, with a clear sky above, a rapidly setting sun and an empty carriageway, would have been entirely pleasurable, were it not for the fact that Munro, with his window down, allowed a howling wind to whistle through the car, lowering the temperature to a barely tolerable degree.

  ‘Is that window open for a reason?’ she said, sarcastically. ‘Or are you deliberately trying to lure me into a state of cryogenic suspension?’

  Munro glanced at West, smiled softly and cursed as he simultaneously tried to hit the close button and answer his phone.

  ‘What blethering idiot is trying to call me while I’m driving?’ he said, handing it to West. ‘See who it is Charlie, and get rid of them.’

  ‘It’s the Fiscal,’ she said, with a smirk.

  ‘Don’t answer it, let it go to…’

  ‘D.I. Munro’s phone…’

  ‘Damn it, woman.’

  ‘He’s tied up; can I take a message? No, nothing in the diary… yup, I’m sure that’ll be fine… okay, no problem, I’ll let him know… no, he’ll be there, I’ll make sure of it. Okay, bye.’

  Munro, his lip curled in anticipation of some devastating piece of news, tried desperately to keep one eye on the road whilst glowering at a grinning West.

  ‘What is it lassie?’ he said, impatiently. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘Nothing. I just… you know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Kiplings Bistro, it’s near the hotel apparently.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘7.30. You’ve got a dinner date.’

  Munro took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  ‘Charlie,’ he said, ‘there is a distinct possibility that you may now be responsible for yet another murder in this town. Excluding your own. Call her back. Cancel it.’

  ‘No, can’t make me. Oh, go on James, look, don’t think of it as a dinner date, think of it as more of a business meeting, tap her brain, see if knows anything about McKenzie or Freida.’

  Munro shook his head in despair.

  ‘Maybe you should come then?’

  ‘Three’s a crowd, lover boy. Besides, I’m going to check out the Wherry Tavern.’

  * * *

  Much to Munro’s delight, the bistro, with its spartan furnishings, bright, overhead lights and tightly packed tables, lacked the intimate ambience he’d been dreading, having, as it did, more in common with a café serving up all-day breakfasts than a restaurant with a reputation for first class food. He scoured the throng of excitable diners and blanched at the sight of Crawford, provocatively dressed in a low-cut, black dress more suitable for a night at the opera than a couple of hours in Inverkip, waving from a table towards the back. He forced a polite smile and squeezed his way through the chattering crowd to greet her.

  ‘Isobel,’ he said, ‘you look…’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I was going to say, over-dressed,’

  ‘We can rectify that later.’

  ‘But, I think delightful is more appropriate.’

  ‘Shall we order a drink?’ said Crawford as the waiter appeared.

  ‘Aye, scotch, large one. Better make it two. Actually, no, on second thought, I’ll stick to red. So, tell me Isobel, was there something in particular you wanted to discuss?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Crawford.

  ‘Is it the investigation?’ said Munro, naively intrigued.

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘Then, I’m afraid I don’t understand.’

  ‘You will,’ said Crawford, with a sly wink, ‘by the time we’ve finished the second bottle, you will.’

  Munro, forfeiting the opportunity of tasting the wine lest it delay the waiter filling his glass, took a large swig and gasped with relief.

  ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘I’ll go first, if you dinnae mind talking shop, that is.’

  ‘Fire away,’ said Crawford as she sipped her wine seductively, ‘but let’s order first, before we lose the waiter.’

  Munro tutted and sighed as he hastily perused the menu in search of something that wasn’t foraged, harvested, deconstructed, served with a jus, on a bed, or as part of a medley.

  ‘What are you having?’ he said, frustrated.

  ‘I’ll have the roasted guinea fowl stuffed with porcini mousse, served with a smoked garlic and shallot cream, braised celeriac and Dauphinoise potatoes.’

  ‘Dear God,’ sighed Munro. ‘See, here,’ he said, addressing the waiter, ‘this aged sirloin with garlic butter, Parmesan salad and hand-cut, beer-battered chips?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I’ll have that.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘But without the garlic butter.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Or the Parmesan salad.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘And can you fill the void on the plate with some extra chips, please. Oh, and make sure it’s well-done, I can’t abide anything twitching on my plate.’

  Crawford smiled as she topped up the glasses.

  ‘I like a man who knows what he wants,’ she said, popping a gratuitous olive into her mouth, ‘so, go on James, what do you need to know?’

  Munro took another large sip of wine.

  ‘The big house, up on the estate,’ he said, lowering his voice.

  ‘You mean Dunmore?’

  ‘Aye, that’s it. Has anything ever happened there? You know, anything … untoward?’

  ‘You’d have to ask Nick, he’s been here much longer than me, and it’s his patch.’

  ‘So, nothing so serious that you would have been involved?’

  ‘Afraid not James,’ said Crawford, ‘why?’

  ‘Och, no reason,’ said Munro, ‘I’m fishing really. It’s just that Freida worked there, she lived there too, so, maybe she rubbed somebody up the wrong way.’

  ‘Can’t help you there, but there is some gossip, Lord knows if it’s true; it was a long time ago and you know how Chinese whispers can distort the facts.’

  ‘Okay, go on.’

  ‘All a bit Lady Chatterley really,’ said Crawford, mischievously. ‘Story goes, the lady of the manor had a fling with one of the staff, the ground
skeeper or handyman, something like that.’

  ‘Is that it?’ said Munro.

  ‘Not quite. You see, when her husband found out, naturally he was furious and sacked him on the spot, marched him off the estate with a twelve bore to his back but, much to everyone’s surprise, there was uproar amongst the staff, the female staff, who demanded he be reinstated immediately.’

  ‘Why was that then? Was he related to them?’

  ‘No,’ said Crawford, ‘turns out it wasn’t just the lady of the house he’d been attending to, he’d been working his way through a few of the other members of staff at the same time. Quite the Lothario, if you ask me.’

  ‘What? And they didn’t mind? I mean, that they were … sharing him?’

  ‘Apparently not.’

  ‘Well, well, well. I don’t suppose a name comes with all this diluted gossip, does it?’

  ‘I wish it did, someone with that kind of stamina has got to be worth meeting.’

  Munro cringed and drained his glass as the meal arrived.

  ‘Let’s order another bottle,’ said Crawford, ‘we’ve plenty of time to…’

  ‘No, no,’ said Munro curtly, as he inspected his steak for signs of blood. ‘Sorry Isobel, best not, I’ve an early start, we’ve still lots of ground to cover and time’s against us. I best take myself off as soon as we’ve eaten.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Crawford, conceding defeat, ‘can’t say I’m thrilled about it, I was looking forward to a cosy…’

  ‘Maybe once we’ve closed the case, maybe I could make it up to you then.’

  ‘I’ll hold you to that, James.’

  ‘I’m sure you will Isobel. I’m sure you will.’

  Chapter 10

  The manager, who likened his position to that of the CEO of a multi-national corporation rather than somebody in charge of the day to day running of a local department store, swivelled annoyingly in his leather-backed chair, adjusted the over-sized knot in his tie and smiled cheekily at West.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but like I say, I’ve only two assistant managers, Keith and Fiona; both hands-on, both with a positive, can-do attitude. There’s not a Lorna McKenzie amongst them.’

  Munro cringed as the hackneyed phrases grated on his ears.

  ‘What about other members of staff?’ he said. ‘You know, on the shop floor perhaps? Part-time, temporary even?’

  ‘I know all my staff by name, Inspector. I employ what you might call a personal approach, treat them like we’re all one big, happy family. Team players, go-getters, reaching for the moon and pulling down stars…’