AVARICE: Gripping Scottish detective crime fiction (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 2)
Page 9
‘So?’
‘And at least one other member of staff.’
‘Sly old fox,’ said West, grinning.
‘It was the gardener. Duncan’s father, to be precise.’
‘What? You are kidding?’ said West, exasperated. ‘Does Duncan…?’
‘I’ve no idea, and I’m not about to tell him either.’
‘Duncan’s dad putting it about, who’d have… hold on, do you think Freida may have been the other…?’
‘It’s possible, lassie,’ said Munro, ‘it’s certainly possible. There’s something else, too. Mr. Reid is a smoker. Same brand as those we found in the glen.’
‘Holy crap, then we have to bring him in, surely? I mean…’
‘There’s just one thing stopping me.’
‘Well, come on,’ said West, ‘out with it.’
‘He doesnae drive.’
‘What’s that got to do with the price of eggs?’
‘What need would he have for anti-freeze?’ said Munro.
West slumped in her seat, flummoxed.
‘Well, I suppose he could, I mean, if he really wanted to, he could easily…’
‘No, it doesnae add up Charlie,’ said Munro, starting the car, ‘see, if you buy anti-freeze when you have no need for it, especially in a place like this, all you’ll do is draw attention to yourself. No, whoever poisoned Freida had it to hand. No offence to Mr. Reid, but this is out of his league. It’s too clever by half.’
‘Callum McKenzie would need it though,’ said West, ‘and he’s clever, and he has red hair.’
‘Aye lassie, I know, but he doesnae have the piece of the jigsaw with cigarette stamped on it. But his daughter might. Have you got the warrant?’
‘Yup.’
‘Okay. And listen, not a word to young Duncan, understand?’
* * *
A bedraggled McKenzie, still swathed in her gown and wearing a face like thunder, opened the door and glowered at Munro.
‘I am sorry,’ he said, glibly, ‘I thought you’d be up by now. How’s the head?’
McKenzie sneered.
‘Nobody likes a smartarse, Inspector,’ she said.
‘No, they do not, lassie. Least of all, me.’
‘So, come on, what is it now?’
West, holding up the search warrant, brushed her aside and entered the flat.
‘Let’s take a seat while Detective Sergeant West here, has a wee look around.’
‘What? Oh no you don’t,’ said McKenzie, chasing her to the lounge, ‘you touch anything and I’ll…’
‘You’ll do nothing,’ said West, sternly, ‘but I’ll do you for obstruction. Now, sit.’
Munro, smiling like a proud father, opened the curtains and sat opposite McKenzie at the table.
‘I’d stay on the right side of her, if I were you,’ he said, ‘I can guarantee her bite is much worse than her bark. Now then, where shall we start? Oh yes, bank statements.’
McKenzie sat back and folded her arms.
‘You’ve got the warrant, Inspector,’ she said, defiantly, ‘you find them.’
Munro, unsettling McKenzie with his penetrating gaze, spoke without averting his eyes.
‘Charlie,’ he called, ‘Miss McKenzie here says she not bothered if you make a mess, she’ll tidy up afterwards.’
‘Nice try Inspector, but you don’t frighten me, I’m still not…’
‘In that case,’ said Munro, ‘Lorna McKenzie, I’m arresting you on suspicion of…’
‘What? Are you joking me?’
‘Theft and obtaining goods by deception, you…’
‘Alright! Okay. Hold on, hold on. I’ll fetch them.’
McKenzie went to the sideboard, produced a pile of unopened letters, and reluctantly slapped them on the table.
‘You must be terribly well off,’ said Munro as he opened one, ‘not checking the state of your finances. I have to check mine every month.’
McKenzie nibbled nervously at her nails as he silently scanned the first, then opened a second, then a third, and then a fourth.
‘Well,’ he said, replacing them neatly atop the pile, ‘there’s nothing untoward there, Miss McKenzie, so I fail to see what you were so worried about. Unless, of course, it’s something to do with your welfare payments. A false claim, perhaps?’
McKenzie’s face flushed.
‘No matter,’ said Munro, ‘I’m not here for that. Now, next thing, would you happen to own a burgundy-coloured coat, by any chance? Like an anorak?’
‘Aye. What of it?’
‘Does it have a hood?’
‘Of course, it has a hood,’ said McKenzie, raising her eyes to the ceiling and cursing under her breath, ‘it’s an anorak, for Christ’s sake.’
‘And a rucksack?’
‘What?’
‘It’s like a wee bag,’ said Munro, sardonically, ‘but with straps, so you can…’
‘I know what a bloody rucksack is.’
‘Well, do you have one?’
‘Yes. You’re welcome to it; if you can find it.’
‘Could you describe it?’
‘It’s black!’ said McKenzie. ‘It’s a bloody black rucksack. Okay?’
West returned to the room, shook her head, cleared a space on the sofa and sat down.
‘Where were you last Friday, Lorna?’ she said. ‘Between the hours of 10pm and 3am?’
‘Can’t remember,’ said McKenzie.
‘So, you weren’t here?’
‘Can’t remember.’
‘With your boyfriend, maybe?’
‘Can’t remember.’
‘Have you had an accident recently?’ said Munro. ‘A wee fall perhaps?’
‘No,’ said McKenzie, her bravado waning, ‘why?’
‘Amnesia. It’s often associated with a bump to the head.’
‘A comedian too. Very funny.’
‘So is the cure, lassie. So is the cure. Now, where was I? Oh yes, Lorna McKenzie, I’m arresting you on suspicion of theft, fraud and obtaining goods by deception. I may add to the list a little later, we’ll see how we go. You do not have to… och, I’m sure you’re familiar with the rest. Now, get dressed. Chop, chop.’
Chapter 13
McGreevy, having imbibed enough coffee to induce a mild heart attack, sported an enthusiastic grin and watched, wide-eyed, as West and Munro hauled their suspect to the front desk for Constable Reid to book in.
‘Duncan,’ said Munro, ‘would you take care of our guest please, and make sure she’s comfortable.’
‘Roger that, chief,’ said Reid. ‘Can you confirm your full name please, Miss?’
‘McKenzie. Lorna McKenzie.’
‘And how long will you be staying?’
‘What?’
‘Is it hand luggage only, or do you have any bags to check?’
‘Are you for real?’
* * *
‘So,’ said McGreevy as he clapped his hands, and shuffled back and forth like an amateur tap-dancer, ‘is that her? Is that your suspect? Has she confessed? Will I telephone Isobel and give her the good news?’
‘Do you need the bathroom, Nick?’ said Munro. ‘You appear to be awfully agitated.’
‘No, I’ve been. Several times. So, how about it, James? Will I call her or… no, actually, you should be the one to make the call, I wouldn’t want to steal your…’
Munro waved his hand and sat, exhausted, at his desk.
‘Nick, we’ve still not interviewed her,’ he said, ‘we’ve a way to go, just yet.’
‘Okay. Well, listen, Iain’s been climbing the wall…’
‘Him as well? Are you two on something?’
‘He’s tried calling you,’ said McGreevy, ‘results came in from the lab.’
West checked her phone. Four missed calls.
‘Oh, yeah,’ she said, ‘aw, sweet.’
‘Sweet?’ said Munro.
‘He sent a text as well, put a little smiley face at the end of the message.�
��
‘Good grief.’
Sergeant Campbell, clutching an envelope in one hand and a pint of milk in the other, bounded round the desk.
‘Chief! Charlie!’ he said. ‘I’ve been trying to reach you; I’ve got the…’
‘Results from the lab?’ said West.
‘Aye, that’s right. How did you… no matter, listen, you won’t believe…’
‘By Jiminy, Iain!’ said Munro, as he thumped the desk, ‘will you calm yourself! You’re like a love-struck puppy with ADHD.’
‘Sorry chief,’ said Campbell, ‘I just cannae contain myself, see…’
‘Haud yer wheesht! Now, first things first. Kettle. Two brews, strong. Quick as you like, or Charlie here will be grounded tonight.’
West smiled as Munro shot her a wink.
‘So, Nick,’ he said as McGreevy joined them at the table, ‘I take it you know forensics were over at Freida’s place this morning? Have they any news for us yet?’
‘Nothing yet James, what exactly is it you’re searching for?’
‘If I knew that, do you not think I’d look myself? Favour please, Nick, ask Duncan to give them a wee nudge before he clocks off. We have to move on this.’
‘Here you go,’ said Campbell as he eagerly slammed two mugs of murky, milky water on the table, ‘needs to steep for a minute or two…’
Munro regarded the tea with a look of revulsion and pushed it to one side.
‘Right, Iain,’ he said, ‘go.’
‘Okay. Let’s get the bad news out of the way first,’ said Campbell, ‘Callum McKenzie, he’s off the radar. The hair you pulled from his hood, Charlie, it matches nothing.’
‘You’re kidding?’ said West. ‘Bummer. I could’ve sworn he’d be in with a shout, I mean…’
‘Hold on,’ said Campbell, ‘no need to be disappointed just yet. We have two matches for the hair you found snagged on Freida’s coat.’
‘Two?’ said Munro. ‘How can that be?’
‘You won’t believe it, chief. Get this, the first is Lorna McKenzie. The hair matches the DNA sample they got from her toothbrush. So…’
‘So, what?’ said West. ‘Come on, Iain, we don’t have time…’
‘So, that places her at the scene of the crime, right? In the glen?’
Munro wiped his brow and gritted his teeth in frustration.
‘Have you heard of deja-vu, Iain?’ he said, agitated. ‘It places the hair at the scene. Hair that could have become entangled round that button anywhere, at Freida’s apartment, for example.’
‘At least we know Lorna was with Freida at some point recently,’ said West, ‘that’s something.’
‘Aye,’ said Munro, losing the will to live. ‘Now, Iain, before you try my patience any further, get on with it.’
‘Chief. This one’ll get you, the second match…’
‘For God’s sake, Iain! I’ll crucify you in a moment!’
‘Kappelhoff,’ said Campbell, recoiling. ‘The second match. It’s Rudy Kappelhoff.’
The room fell silent. West stared at Munro in disbelief.
‘And they’re absolutely certain about this?’ she said, quietly. ‘There’s no room for error, there’s no way they could have…’
‘If this was a paternity suit,’ said Campbell, solemnly, ‘it would be case closed. There’s no doubt about it Charlie, Rudy Kappelhoff is Lorna’s father.’
Munro heaved a sigh, hauled himself to his feet and, hands behind his back, circled the desk at a slow, measured pace. West recognised the sombre expression on his face and allowed him to complete a full circuit before speaking.
‘So,’ she said, thinking aloud, ‘if Freida knew she was pregnant, why walk out on Rudy? I mean, why leave your husband just when you’re going to need him most?’
Munro stopped and addressed the ceiling.
‘I’ll tell you why,’ he said, ‘because she didn’t know it was his. She thought she’d fallen pregnant by Callum McKenzie and had no choice but to leave.’
‘I don’t get it,’ said West, ‘surely she could’ve talked it through, I mean, by all accounts she was clever, intelligent, level-headed…’
‘And old-fashioned. She had dignity.’
‘Okay, but what about the hair? The red hair? Neither Rudy nor Freida have red hair.’
‘No,’ said Munro, ‘but I can guarantee one of their grandparents did. It’s a generational thing. Genetic characteristics have a habit of repeating themselves every three generations.’
McGreevy, looking like he’d won the lottery, headed for his office.
‘I have to make a call,’ he said, smiling smugly, ‘shan’t be long.’
Munro watched as he slipped gingerly from the room and closed the door.
‘Iain,’ he said, ‘make sure you’ve some kitchen towel to hand.’
‘Kitchen towel, chief?’ said Campbell. ‘Why?’
‘Because before too long, your boss is going to have egg on his face. Now, as a reward for your rather enthusiastic contribution to this inquiry thus far, I shall allow you to treat D.S. West here, to a libation or two after work. Have her home by 9pm.’
‘9pm? Aye, okay chief,’ said Campbell with a laugh, ‘very funny.’
‘Oh, I’m not joking, Iain. I’m certainly not joking. Charlie, let’s pop downstairs. It’s high time we had a proper chat with Lorna.’
Chapter 14
McKenzie shifted uncomfortably in her seat, unnerved by her surroundings. The interview room, with its high ceiling, large windows and whitewashed walls was not what she’d expected. It was bare, save for the table and chairs they occupied. She cowered as Munro gave her a withering look from across the desk.
‘It’s late,’ she said, meekly, ‘are you charging me with anything?’
‘Not yet,’ said West.
‘Then I want to go home.’
‘All in good time.’
‘You cannae keep me here, you know.’
Munro took the voice recorder from his pocket and placed it carefully on the desk.
‘Oh, but we can, lassie,’ he said without looking up, ‘we can keep you here for twelve hours, and, if you’re very lucky, and behave yourself, we can extend that to 24.’
‘Then I want a lawyer,’ said McKenzie, ‘so’s I don’t incriminate myself.’
‘Okay,’ said Munro, ‘but, see here Lorna, you requesting a lawyer suggests to me that you’ve something to hide but, it’s up to you. You are entitled to one. Now, shall we appoint one for you, or can you afford your own? Och, how silly of me, of course you can. You’re loaded.’
McKenzie glanced nervously around the room.
‘Forget it,’ she said, ‘I can take care of myself.’
Munro pressed a button on the voice recorder.
‘For the benefit of the tape, present at the interview are Miss Lorna McKenzie, D.S. West and Detective Inspector James Munro. So, Lorna, do you understand why you’re here?’
‘Aye,’ said McKenzie, ‘you’re falsely accusing me of being a thief. Of robbing my own mother. Of taking money I never knew she had from a bank in Germany I’ve never heard of.’
Munro paused and smiled gently.
‘Lorna,’ he said softly, ‘we never said it was a German bank. Now, last Friday, were you, or were you not, in Daff Glen?’
‘No.’
‘You’re sure now? Positive?’
‘Yes.’
‘Because your mother was.’
‘Good for her,’ said McKenzie.
‘Actually, no, it wasn’t,’ said Munro, ‘it wasn’t good at all. But see, we found your hair, snagged around a button on her jacket…’
‘So?’
‘The jacket she was wearing…’
‘Means nothing.’
‘The night she died.’
‘Ouch,’ said West, flinching.
McKenzie swallowed hard.
‘Sorry,’ said Munro, ‘I didn’t mean to be so blunt, but I’m afraid your mother’s passed on.’
‘Thing is, Lorna. She didn’t die of natural causes.’
‘Like I said.’
West leaned forward and frowned curiously.
‘You don’t seem that concerned,’ she said, ‘or even shocked.’
‘What do you expect?’ said McKenzie. ‘We weren’t close. She walked out on us, remember? Left us to rot in a stinking caravan park while she was in clover.’
Munro leaned back, folded his arms and stared at her, his eyes narrowing like a hawk sharpening its focus before diving for a kill.
‘What were you doing at Dunmore House last Friday?’ he said.
McKenzie turned her attention to what was left of her fingernails.
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she mumbled.
‘You were seen. Wearing your anorak, with your rucksack on your back.’
‘I don’t believe this; how many times do I have to tell you? I wasn’t…’
‘Do you have a set of keys?’ said West.
‘What?’ said McKenzie.
‘The keys. To your mother’s apartment. Where are they?’
‘I…’
‘Because there’s no other way you could have got in without disturbing someone in the house. And your mother didnae have her keys with her when she was found.’
‘Maybe she forgot them. Amnesia,’ said McKenzie facetiously, ‘probably runs in the family.’
‘Do you know what I think?’ said West. ‘I think you were in the glen last Friday. I think you met your mother. I think you argued and had a bit of a tussle and that’s how come your hair was caught on her jacket. And I think you killed her…’
‘No!’
‘I think you killed her and took her keys…’
‘No! I didn’t do it, I’d never…’
‘… and went to Dunmore House to…’
‘I’m telling you!’ said McKenzie, ‘she was still my Mammy, I’d never do that! I could never … look, okay. I saw her, right. We used to meet, now and then, but I was never comfortable with it. We were strangers and she wanted to be close, be a loving, caring parent. It made me sick, playing happy families after what she’d done.’
‘Would you like a drink of water?’ said West.