TERMINUS: A thrilling police procedural set in Scotland

by Pete Brassett

  ‘No. In fact, in all the time I knew him, I can safely say that I never went. Not even once.’

  ‘Really?’ said Duncan. ‘And was that your choice?

  ‘Not exactly, but I wasn’t complaining,’ said Kennedy, purring. ‘I like my own bed, Constable.’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’

  Dougal, cringing at the flirtatious behaviour, stepped from the doorway and took a seat at the table.

  ‘Have you always lived here, Miss Kennedy?’ he said. ‘I mean, this is your house, right?’

  ‘Aye, it is. And I’ve paid off the mortgage, too.’

  ‘Good for you. So, you’ve never lived anywhere else?’

  ‘Apart from when I was a student, no.’

  ‘And you’ve not been away for any length of time?’

  ‘The longest I’ve been away is one week. About ten years ago. Tenerife. I’m not one for travelling.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Dougal, rubbing the side of his head.

  ‘Are you okay, Constable?’ said Kennedy. ‘Have you a headache coming on?’

  ‘It’s not coming, Miss Kennedy. It’s here. See, I’ve a wee problem with what you’re telling us.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Well, when Lucas Rietveld rented that house on Braemar Square, he was asked to put down his previous address. And he did. This one.’

  ‘Well, that’s just typical of the bastard,’ said Kennedy, huffing. ‘Probably so’s they’d come after me if he defaulted on the rent.’

  ‘No,’ said Duncan, dropping the cheeky grin, ‘that’s not it. See, Mr Rietveld took out a lease on that house nearly two years ago. That’s nineteen months before you met. So, how does that work?’

  Kennedy hesitated, stared first at Duncan, and then Dougal, before adopting a supercilious smile.

  ‘Now what would I gain from lying to the police?’ she said. ‘Because if that’s what you’re implying, then perhaps I should call my lawyer.’

  ‘I’d say that’s an excellent idea,’ said Dougal as he stood. ‘Alison Kennedy, I’m arresting you on suspicion of interfering with an investigation and obstruction. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned, something you later rely on in court. Do you understand?’

  Chapter 19

  Although he’d never experienced the luxury of dining in a five-star hotel – the nearest he’d ever got was a three-star affair during a two-week break in Cumbria with his beloved Jean, and those had been painted on the wall by the owner himself – Munro, nonetheless, was an advocate of table manners. He sat with a napkin tucked firmly into his collar, carving up his pizza with a knife and fork like a mathematician with OCD whilst West, favouring what she considered to be the more authentic continental approach, used both hands to shovel it in like a ravenous squirrel in the first throes of winter.

  ‘Heathen,’ said Munro.

  Dougal and Duncan tumbled through the door like a couple of errant schoolboys.

  ‘Perfect timing,’ said West, with a mouthful of margherita. ‘Dive in.’

  ‘Best be quick,’ said Munro. ‘Charlie’s only had four slices and as you know, she’s got the appetite of an abandoned bulldog on the backstreets of the Gorbals.’

  Dougal helped himself and passed the box to Duncan.

  ‘No toppings?’ he said.

  ‘Jimbo doesn’t like pepperoni,’ said West, ‘or olives. Or pineapple. Or anchovies.’

  ‘A pizza’s no place for fruit, lassie. Let alone a hairy fish with a week’s worth of salt in its gullet.’

  West wiped her hands and slid a piece of paper across the desk.

  ‘Before I forget,’ she said, ‘Jimbo’s got a new mobile. Stick his number in, he’d love to hear from you.’

  Duncan glanced across at Munro as he tapped the number into his phone.

  ‘What’s up with your arm, Chief?’ he said. ‘Did you ditch the skootie?’

  ‘Indeed, I did,’ said Munro. ‘Although, a word to the wise, should you ever have cause to remove one yourself, I’d think twice about using an angle grinder. It’s not as easy as you think.’

  ‘By the way,’ said Dougal, ‘Alison Kennedy’s downstairs. We’re holding her for obstruction. How’d you get on this morning? With Aletta?’

  ‘Not a sausage,’ said West, ‘the poor woman doesn’t know if she’s coming or going. The last time she saw Jazz was when he left to do that airport run.’

  ‘Or not. As the case may be. I still can’t see why he’d want to lie about that. I mean, what was he hiding?’

  Munro put down his cutlery, pulled the napkin from his collar, and moved to the kitchen.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said, filling the kettle, ‘he wasnae hiding anything at all.’

  ‘Here we go,’ said West. ‘Jimbo’s about to rock the boat, I can tell.’

  ‘The footage from Kilbride’s camera,’ said Munro, ‘it shows Jazz and MacAllister arriving at Carducci’s place around mid-morning, is that not right, Duncan?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right, Chief. About half ten, I think.’

  ‘And according to Aletta, Jazz left the house around five-thirty, so that would’ve given him ample time to get to the airport and back before taking MacAllister over to Carducci’s place.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll buy that,’ said West. ‘Go on.’

  ‘We know Gundersen came back from Eindhoven on the three o’clock flight. Soon after he landed, he called Alison Kennedy to put an end to their relationship, then he telephoned Emily Fisher who, as we know, told him that the police had been snooping around. So, what if he decided to keep his head down and stop overnight in Edinburgh?’

  ‘Genius!’ said Dougal. ‘That’s why Jazz left at five-thirty. To pick up Gundersen!’

  ‘Aye, okay,’ said Duncan, ‘that makes sense, but where did he take him? Not to his place on Braemar Square, that’s for sure.’

  Munro, sighing despondently at the ensuing silence, dropped a tea bag into each of the mugs, threw his head back, and closed his eyes for the count of ten.

  ‘For the love of God!’ he said, slamming the counter with the palm of his hand. ‘Has no-one anything to say? By jiminy, surely you can work it out between the three of you?’

  Dougal lowered his head in shame while West, frowning with the intensity of someone in need of a laxative, nibbled on her lower lip.

  ‘Got it!’ she said, confidently. ‘Jazz didn’t drop Gundersen anywhere! He was with him in the taxi the whole time.’

  ‘Hallelujah!’ said Munro, glowering at Dougal and Duncan. ‘So, you two, monkey-see and monkey-do, what does that mean?’

  ‘It means,’ said Dougal, keeping his head down, ‘that after they’d picked up MacAllister, he had the perfect opportunity to take care of Jazz and then return the car to the yard at Kestrel.’

  ‘No, hold on,’ said West, standing to relieve Munro of his kitchen duties, ‘that doesn’t work. They’d have had to ask Beth for the key and she would’ve told us that.’

  ‘Not if they didn’t need one,’ said Duncan. ‘Jazz didn’t have any keys on him when I searched his pockets. Stands to reason, Gundersen must’ve lifted them.’

  Munro returned to his seat, folded his arms and stared across the desk.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘fingers on buzzers. Final question. Why? Why would Gundersen want to murder Jazz Banerjee?’

  ‘Because,’ said Dougal, wary of sticking his head above the parapet, ‘he’d been crossed? Jazz had a bundle of meth stuffed up his chimney, right? So, maybe he was trying to peddle the stuff himself and got found out.’

  ‘Aye. It’s possible,’ said Munro. ‘But do you not think the death penalty’s a wee bit harsh for a simple case of theft?’

  ‘Maybe not,’ said Dougal, ‘considering he had a note of Gundersen’s accounts on him, maybe it wasn’t just the fact that he had the drugs, maybe he was accessing his accounts and depleting his funds?’

  ‘Makes sense to me,’ said West.

  ‘Not to me, it
doesn’t, Charlie!’ said Munro, raising his voice. ‘Not by a long chalk. How did he get hold of those account numbers? Why did he do it? What’s the link? Where’s the motif?’

  Munro went the window and stood, hands clasped behind his back.

  ‘Dear God! Can you lot not think for yourselves? Look, who did Gundersen meet in Oslo, way back when?’

  ‘Angus Buchanan and Remo Carducci,’ said Dougal.

  ‘Good. And after using them to expand his business, what did they do?’

  ‘They forced him out.’

  ‘Good. Anita Carducci goes inside giving Lars Gundersen…?

  ‘The ideal opportunity to muscle in on the business?’

  ‘At last. We’re getting somewhere.’

  ‘So,’ said West, demolishing the last slice of cold pizza, ‘Anita Carducci gets out, tries to pick up where she and Remo left off, and ends up with her throat slit because Gunderen’s trying to reclaim what he sees as rightfully his.’

  ‘Hold on,’ said Dougal, ‘if that’s the case, then maybe the gear we found up the chimney didn’t belong to Gundersen at all. Maybe it belonged to Anita Carducci.’

  ‘Makes no odds who it belonged to,’ said West. ‘Either way, the fact that he had it is reason enough to want him out of the way.’

  ‘And what about the account details?’ said Munro. ‘Where did they come from?’

  ‘Well,’ said Dougal, ‘if we assume MacAllister’s not being entirely truthful about knowing her passenger in the Golf, then she’d be the obvious source. And she knows Jazz, so she could easily have given them to him.’

  ‘No,’ said West as she began pacing the room, wagging her finger in the air, ‘that doesn’t add up. MacAllister’s too lightweight for that, but, she got pally enough with Carducci to move in with her, right? So, what if MacAllister gave the account details to Carducci so that, between them, they could ruin Gundersen.’

  ‘Then why pass them on to Jazz?’ said Munro, relieved, at last, that they were making some headway.

  ‘Easy. Carducci’s done time and MacAllister’s on a suspended sentence. One foot wrong and they’d both be back inside, whereas Jazz has no previous and, if their intention was to plunder the accounts, then he’s got a legit business they could use to launder the cash.’

  ‘Well,’ said Munro, ‘it’s a theory, at least. Which is more than we had ten minutes ago. Okay, Duncan, I need you to call every hotel in Edinburgh, start with those in the vicinity of the airport, and see if Gundersen checked in under either name.’

  ‘Roger that, Chief.’

  ‘And before you do that, call Beth at the taxi office. See if she had any contact with Jazz, any contact at all, before he went off-air.’

  Duncan pulled his phone from his pocket and read a single text.

  ‘Dougal,’ he said, ‘you’re good to go, pal. Warrant’s come through.’

  ‘Warrant?’ said West. ‘For where?’

  ‘Kennedy’s place,’ said Dougal. ‘I’m going for a snoop around.’

  ‘Okay, cool. Be as quick as you can. We’ll interview her just as soon as you’re back.’

  ‘I almost forgot,’ said Duncan, tossing a pile of envelopes on the desk as Dougal fled the room. ‘I must’ve picked these up by mistake.’

  ‘What are they?’ said West, dragging them towards her.

  ‘Bank statements, mainly. And a couple of mobile phone bills.’

  ‘Hold on, these belong to Alison Kennedy. Are you telling me you took these from…? Duncan, for Christ’s sake, do you know…?’

  ‘Well, laddie,’ said Munro, grinning, ‘I do believe you’re on the road to redemption. Now, you’d best get on the phone while I attempt to erase those envelopes from my memory.’

  * * *

  West put the phone bills to one side, ripped open the bank statements and, having arranged them in chronological order, sat with her head in her hands, analysing the figures in the credit column.

  ‘Doing alright for someone in her position,’ she said, placing a tick next to some figures while marking others with a yellow highlighter. ‘Jimbo, take a look at this. The ones with a tick are obviously her salary – Glencree Limited, same amount, every month. Now, look at the ones in yellow.’

  Munro took his glasses from his breast pocket, perched them on the end of his nose, and drew a breath as he perused the figures.

  ‘My, my,’ he said, with a subtle shake of the head. ‘There’s no doubt it. The woman has a healthy sideline in something. Twelve thousand pounds?’

  ‘That’s just this month,’ said West, ‘look at the others. Seventeen last month.

  ‘And twenty-two the month before. I wonder if she’s looking for a business partner.’

  ‘Pass me that bit of paper from Jazz’s stuff, would you?’

  West compared the list of foreign account numbers to those on Kennedy’s statement, looked at Munro and smiled.

  ‘Cayman,’ she said. ‘All those massive sums came from the same account in the Cayman Islands…’

  ‘I bet she’s not declared it on her tax return.’

  ‘…so, the question is…’

  ‘The question is, Charlie, why would the man she knows as Rietveld transfer so much money into the account of a lowly, care home worker?’

  West stared unblinkingly at Munro as though the answer would come to her via the gift of telepathy.

  ‘Because,’ she said, smirking, ‘that was her fee. Her slice of the proceeds from the sale of the properties he’d pilfered from the people in the home. She was tipping him off, giving him the inside track on who was about to pop their clogs, and that’s when he swooped in and drafted their wills.’

  ‘Chief!’ said Duncan, yelling from across the room, ‘I just spoke with Beth from the taxi office. She said she did speak to Jazz, just after midday, apparently.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He wasn’t very talkative. She says she only called to ask if he was available for a couple of jobs and he fair took her head off. He said he’d just been to Glebe Crescent and was en route to another pick-up.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘No,’ said Duncan, grinning, ‘guess where he was going? Glencree.’

  Munro removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

  ‘Well,’ he said, wearily, ‘it would appear Miss MacAllister was telling the truth after all. Jazz did drop her off. At Robbie’s place.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Duncan, ‘and then he went to Glencree to pick up Alison Kennedy.’

  Chapter 20

  Despite the position offering successful applicants similar benefits to an all-inclusive holiday resort – including free meals and accommodation – the majority of candidates invited to attend an interview would invariably adopt an aggressive and understandably defensive attitude when fielding questions from the panel, batting them back with obtuse, sometimes facetious, but more often than not, less than candid answers, in an attempt to avoid incriminating themselves.

  Alison Kennedy, however – having spent decades dealing with not only the sick and the dying, but their grief-stricken relatives as well – was a past-master at keeping calm in the face of adversity. Unfazed by her surroundings, she sat, as cool as a cucumber, waiting for her hosts to arrive.

  ‘Ah, Constable McCrae,’ she said, greeting him with a smile, ‘have you not brought your dashing friend with you?’

  ‘No, no, Miss Kennedy. I’ve two others I’d like you to meet. DS West, and this is Detective Inspector Munro.’

  ‘Inspector?’ said Kennedy. ‘I do so like a man with some experience under his belt.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Munro, taking a seat.

  ‘Indeed. I find they’re much more open to reason. There’s an air of logic to their way of thinking and they’re not given to making rash, impulsive decisions based purely on circumstance.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘And,’ said Kennedy, with the subtlest of winks, ‘they know a good thing when they see it.’

  Munro – t
he crow’s feet around his piercing, blue eyes accentuated by his almost bashful smile – leaned forward and hesitated before he spoke.

  ‘You know something, Miss Kennedy?’ he said, softly. ‘If I was ten years younger…’

  ‘Yes, Inspector?’

  ‘…I’d have thrown the book at you by now. But, as I’ve mellowed with age, I’m going to drag this out a wee bit longer. It’s so much more enjoyable that way.’

  West, trying to keep her mouth from curling at both ends, cleared her throat and stabbed the voice recorder.

  ‘DS West,’ she said. ‘Also present, DC McCrae, DI Munro and Miss Alison Kennedy. Shall we begin?’

  Kennedy folded her arms and forced a smile.

  ‘After you, Sergeant.’

  ‘Okey dokey. Lucas Rietveld. Your boyfriend. Your ex-boyfriend. You met a few months ago, is that right?’

  ‘About four months ago, aye, that’s right.’ said Kennedy. ‘Give or take a few weeks.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said West. ‘And you’ve never lived together? Co-habited? Shared the same address?’

  ‘No. We have not.’

  ‘But he visited you a lot? At your house? On Kirkland Street?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘How often would you say that was? Twice a week? Three times? Four?’

  ‘He’d stay most weekends,’ said Kennedy. ‘And he’d come by once or twice during the week. Depending on his schedule.’

  ‘So, when he visited you, Miss Kennedy,’ said Dougal, ‘did he visit with the intention of stopping over, or was that a more impulsive decision?’

  ‘I don’t see why that would make a difference,’ said Kennedy.

  ‘Well, I’m just wondering if would bring an overnight bag, that’s all.’

  ‘He did, aye. Most of the time.’

  ‘Okay, so, he had no need for all those clothes in your wardrobe?’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

  ‘Your wardrobe,’ said Dougal, ‘it’s half full of men’s clothes. As is your laundry basket, and there are a couple of gentleman’s overcoats hanging in the closet in the hallway.’

  ‘Do you know,’ said Kennedy, feigning surprise, ‘I’ve never noticed. They must’ve just accumulated over time.’