Say You're Sorry: A Gripping Crime Thriller (A DCI Campbell McKenzie Detective Conspiracy Thriller No 1)

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Say You're Sorry: A Gripping Crime Thriller (A DCI Campbell McKenzie Detective Conspiracy Thriller No 1) Page 15

by IAN C. P. IRVINE


  "So, you feel good because at last you're finding some way to pull Tommy McNunn back into the picture?"

  "The drugs that Urqhart had came from McNunn. It was a large shipment. McNunn would've been really pissed off with Urqhart. It could be enough for a motive to kill him."

  "What about the other police officer? He's still alive and kicking. Why not him too?"

  "I don't know. What was his partner's name?"

  "I don't know either. I haven't seen the file yet."

  "It would be interesting to see how close they were..."

  McKenzie was thinking of the photograph that he had of Urqhart with McNunn. Was the other officer involved too? And, if their intelligence was right, and if Urqhart was working with McNunn, why did he sell his drugs to Petrovsky? Why not give them back to McNunn? Or was he just hoping to make a fast buck and hope that McNunn never found out?

  So far, he hadn't shown Wessex the photo of Urqhart and McNunn together. She didn't know that they were having McNunn followed at random intervals. McKenzie hadn't told her. There were lots of things Wessex didn't know, even though sometimes McKenzie was really tempted to tell her everything. It would actually be useful to get a second opinion or a sounding board off which to occasionally bounce some of his ideas about McNunn and his organisation, but it was probably in part because of their shared kiss that he refrained from doing so. He was scared to share too much with her, lest the act of sharing created a greater sense of attraction to her.

  The kiss had been a mistake. A one-off. But since then, occasionally he had caught himself looking at her a little too often.

  And he knew that it was a slow path that would only lead to ruin, especially if his wildest dreams were ever even partially fulfilled in any way.

  "Are you okay?" Wessex asked, ripping him from his thoughts.

  "Sorry, yes. I'm just tired. But on that point, can you please try to discover how close they were? Try to make a few enquiries about his partner at the time. Look for anything unusual. Any connections or dealings with McNunn? Anything. He swapped partners a few months ago. When you and I talked to his new partner, PC Middleton, just after Urqhart's death, there was no suspicion of anything funny going on, and Middleton wasn't aware of anything suspicious in Urqhart's behaviour. Perhaps you could try to find out why Urqhart got a new partner? Did he fall out with the old one? Who arranged the swap? Anything you find out would be good."

  "Absolutely. No problem. But I think you can relax now Campbell. We've got our man. It's okay to get it wrong once in a while. I think deep down you know that McNunn has nothing to do with this. It's just the vendetta that you hold against him, which for some reason, keeps driving you to pin everything you can on him."

  "I'm sorry? A vendetta? What on earth are you talking about? In case you've forgotten, Tommy McNunn is one of Scotland's biggest organised crime leaders. I don't have any vendetta against the man. But I do want to make sure that he goes down. He's a murderer just like Petrovsky, and just as dangerous. Maybe they weren't made from the same mould, but until we can get them both off the streets, Edinburgh will just continue to slide deeper and deeper into the depths of depravity and lawlessness."

  "It's okay, Campbell, I get it. I do," Wessex interrupted him. "I understand. And we will get him. It's just that I don't think he's to blame for Urqhart's death."

  "That's where you and I differ on this one. Deep down, I actually think that McNunn IS involved in this somehow. And this can't be a coincidence. The fact that McNunn is linked to the drugs seizure means more than we're seeing just now."

  Even as he said it, though, McKenzie wondered if he had already figured it out.

  Sometimes the obvious was the most likely solution.

  And if he was right, all McKenzie had to do now was find some way to prove it.

  Just then, there was a knock on the door and DC Lynch hurried into the office.

  "Yes?" McKenzie asked.

  "We just got a report of a body being found in a shallow grave in East Lothian."

  "And? Is there a connection to the Urqhart case?"

  "Could be. Or it may just be coincidence. It seems that a pack of foxes was caught chewing on some cooked meat they'd dug up on the edge of a field near North Berwick. When the farmer chased them off and took a closer look, it turned out that the meat was actually part of a body they were ripping apart and devouring. It was really quite a deep grave, but the foxes were driven mad with the smell, and had dug the body up, regardless. Not far from the grave there was a pile of burnt and smouldering tyres. It looks like the poor bastard who was killed had been necklaced."

  "Any idea who it was?"

  "Yep, the man was still carrying his wallet. It was Alex Anderson. Petrovsky's third in command."

  -------------------------

  Andheri

  Near Mumbai, Maharashtra

  India

  Friday

  3.55 p.m. India Standard Time (IST)

  Anand had been excited all day long. He had arrived at work full of nervous excitement and anticipation.

  Jonathan's car would be delivered back to his house sometime during the morning, and definitely by lunch time in Scotland.

  He had instructed the garage to park the car outside Jonathan's house, then put the keys in an envelope and mark it 'URGENT: FOR THE ATTENTION OF MR JONATHAN STUART OR HIS CLOSEST RELATIVE'. The garage was to ring Jonathan's doorbell several times and try to hand the key over to him personally. Failing that, if he was not reachable, they should post the envelope through his door.

  Inside the envelope they were to put a copy of the email that Anand had sent to them, which read:-

  "Dear Mr Stuart,

  I hope this letter finds you in good health. Enclosed in this envelope you'll find the keys to your Ford Mondeo, which has now been fully repaired and valeted. You will find the car parked in the street outside your house.

  Please can you call Swiss Insurance as soon as you receive this letter, and ask for Anand Mhasalkar, so that I can explain what has happened, and check that you're happy with the delivery and repairs to the car.

  If I'm not there when you call, please try again later, and may I request that you do not speak to anyone else. I would like to explain this to you personally.

  I trust you will find this a pleasant surprise!

  Your sincerely,

  Anand Mhasalkar

  P.S. If you are a relative who opens this letter, please call me too, and let me know how Jonathan is. We at Swiss Insurance wish him a speedy recovery from his recent illness."

  Anand had given his direct number, and he had not left his desk all day, save to go to the bathroom quickly, just in case Jonathan had called while he was away.

  It was now coming to the end of Anand's Friday afternoon shift and still Jonathan had not called.

  Anand had tried calling him every thirty minutes and had already left two long voice messages.

  He had also called the garage just after lunch in the UK, who confirmed that the car had been delivered safe and sound. Unfortunately, the woman who delivered the car had not found anyone at home, and had, as instructed, posted the envelope containing the keys through the letterbox.

  "Did you get the right address?"Anand had queried, upsetting the lady slightly. They had checked the address with each other, and no, there had not been any mistake.

  Anand knew that he had now done everything he could. As soon as Jonathan walked through the door of his home, he would find the envelope, and even before that he would have seen his beloved Mondeo: the woman from the garage had apparently been able to park the car in a space directly outside his front door.

  So, where was Jonathan?

  It was five to six, an hour after Anand should have gone home. Anand had already closed down his station and was gathering his possessions to leave, when one of the agents a few desks away called to him: "Anand, hang on a second, ...are you expecting a call from Mr Jonathan Stuart?"

  Anand turned to his colleague, hi
s heart skipping a beat, and a smile bursting out all over his face.

  "Yes! Yes! Please, put him through!"

  Anand bent forward and picked up the phone...

  -------------------------

  Radisson Blu Hotel

  The Royal Mile,

  Edinburgh

  Friday 11 p.m.

  Tommy McNunn had been sitting waiting on the bed in Room 456 for twenty minutes before Caroline knocked four times, paused, knocked again twice in quick succession, then three times more slowly.

  He jumped up off the bed and rushed to open the door for her.

  Grabbing her by the wrist, he pulled her into the room, closing the door quickly behind her.

  "It's broad daylight. What are you playing at?" he demanded, walking back to the bed, pulling her behind him. "Anyone could see you."

  Not waiting for a reply, he pushed her gently in front of him, and bent her over the bed, lifting her skirt from behind and reaching inside to pull down her knickers.

  "No, not now," she protested, pushing backwards and spinning round in his grip to face him. "We have to chat."

  "Afterwards. Just looking at you dressed like that turns me on."

  "No. Afterwards. Maybe, but now we have to talk." She stepped away from him, creating some distance. Tommy gave up and sat down on the bed.

  "This better be important. I was pretty busy. I've got a lot on this afternoon. So, what is so important that you have to suddenly demand to see me?"

  "First, were you responsible for turning one of Petrovsky's men into toast?"

  McNunn stared at her.

  "How did you know?"

  "Just answer the question. Yes or no. And if yes, why didn't you bloody tell me about it? Petrovsky's not even been sentenced yet, and you're creating a war?"

  "Sometimes fortune favours the brave."

  McNunn reached behind him and slipped his hand under the pillow, pulling out a little box which he offered to Caroline.

  "For you. Consider it a little 'thank you' for suggesting that I get rid of Petrovsky the way you did. It was your idea, and a good one. Thanks to you, I'm going to be able to take over the whole of the east coast. It'll just be me and Billy Bob Patterson left. For now, he can keep Glasgow. Once I've sewn up Petrovsky's businesses, Billy and I can talk and come to some agreement about territories. Here, take it..." he said, pushing the box towards her again.

  Caroline took it from him and opened the lid. It was a long, obviously very expensive string of pearls.

  She smiled, and came towards him, wrapping her arms around him, while he remained sitting on the edge of the bed.

  "Thank you. It's beautiful. I love it."

  She kissed him, and McNunn immediately began to respond, one hand reaching for her breasts and the other cupping her bottom.

  Caroline pushed him back again, although this time more gently.

  "Why didn't you tell me? And what are you planning to do? Kill all Petrovsky's management team? Get rid of the leaders, so that you can just step into Petrovsky's shoes?"

  "Yup. That's the plan. In fact, I'm going to take out another one this afternoon. Death by drowning, or strangulation. Whichever one he prefers. You know, I always like to ...."

  "...give them a choice. I know." Caroline finished his sentence. "And who's doing it? Your usual two clowns?"

  McNunn stood up.

  "What's up? Why the sudden concern who's helping me?"

  "I heard a rumour today, which is why I needed to see you straight away. Someone has been spreading rumours that it was you who pushed Urqhart over the edge of Salisbury Crags. And from what you told me before, the only two people who know you did it, were Bill and Ben, your two flower pot men."

  McNunn's face began to change colour.

  "When did you hear this? And from where?"

  "That's not important just now, what's important is that you need to find out which one of them is talking, and silence him. As soon as possible. If the police pick him up and he talks to them, you're dead. And Petrovsky walks free. You can forget all our carefully laid plans of world domination. This time tomorrow you'll be in a cell in Shotts prison."

  "Fuck."

  "Have you any idea which one it was? I thought they were both completely loyal to you?"

  "So did I. Shit!"

  "Listen, I've got to go. But you've got to take care of this. And soon. Do you understand?"

  For a moment, she stood looking at him. She could already see the cogs turning in his brain, thinking, planning.

  Walking up to him, she kissed him gently on the cheek and whispered in his ear.

  "Take care of your business first, and then tonight, I'll take care of you. Okay?"

  McNunn looked her in the eyes, holding her gaze for a second, then nodded.

  She turned and walked towards the door.

  "Danielle?" he called after her, using her real name. "Thank you! And when I see you tonight, bring your old uniform with you again. It's a real turn on. The cops are always trying to fuck me. It's nice to be able to return the favour every now and again!"

  Danielle, - 'Caroline' - , smiled and slowly opened the door, glancing out into the corridor and quickly checking that it was clear.

  Outside she hurried towards the lift, but decided instead to take the stairs.

  Leaving through the back of the hotel, she walked down a side street and turned into the Cowgate.

  Opening the door to her police car which she had parked a few hundred metres along the street, DI Wessex climbed in, turned the key in the ignition, and drove off.

  Chapter 22

  Andheri

  Near Mumbai, Maharashtra

  India

  Friday

  9.55 p.m. India Standard Time (IST)

  Anand lay on his bed, crying.

  That morning he had felt on top of the world. Excited. Full of optimism for the day ahead. For the first time since he had started his job, he had looked forward to going to work. He had even turned up before his shift was due to start!

  But now, his world was very, very grey. Dark foreboding thunderclouds filled his head, and sorrow filled his heart.

  As he lay on his bed, curled upon in a ball, his knees pulled tightly into his chest, he ran the conversation from the telephone call over and over in his head.

  "Hello, is this Anand Mhasalkar?"

  "Yes, hello, Mr Stuart? Jonathan? Is that you?"

  "Hello, no, I am sorry. This isn't Mr Stuart. My name is Donald Donaldson. I'm a solicitor from the firm of Donald Donaldson & Sons. I've just opened your letter and found the car keys for Mr Stuart. I'm calling you just now as requested."

  Anand hesitated for a second before replying, "May I ask, how is Mr Stuart, how is Jonathan? I've been very worried about him. You see, I was the one who called the ambulance and had him taken to hospital. He collapsed while I was talking to him on the phone."

  "Aha...yes," the man at the other end replied. "I'm aware that someone from the insurance company called the ambulance. Mr Mhasalkar, I'm afraid I have some very bad news for you..."

  Anand swallowed hard, fearing what he was going to hear next.

  "Unfortunately, Mr Stuart passed away on Tuesday."

  "Passed away?"

  "Yes, I'm sorry but Mr Stuart died. I'm his solicitor. I'm overseeing his estate now and I’m responsible for fulfilling his last wishes. I've just come around to the house to make sure everything is secure and to collect a few documents."

  Anand had felt suddenly light headed, and pulled his chair towards him, sitting down with a hard thump.

  "How? Why?... What did he die of?"

  "I'm sorry, I don't know if..."

  "Mr Donaldson... Jonathan and I got to know each other quite well over the past few weeks. I really like him. And if he didn't wake up after he collapsed, I may even be the last person he ever talked to." Anand paused, taking a deep breath. "I need to know why he died. Did he die of a heart attack caused by the stress of dealing with the insurance company,
... of dealing with me? I'm worried, really worried. I need to know if I killed him?"

  Anand could hear the man at the other end of the phone take a deep breath.

  "Mr Mhasalkar, please don't worry. I don't think his death was your fault. I believe he died of complications from advanced lung cancer. After he collapsed, he did recover consciousness in the hospital, although I was told by the nurses that he went downhill quite quickly after that. There was nothing anyone could do for him. If he hadn't had a heart attack, he would've died anyway. He was a very ill man."

  Anand heard what the man was saying, but didn't immediately take it all in.

  "He's dead?" he repeated aloud back to the solicitor in Edinburgh.

  "Yes, Mr Mhasalkar, I'm afraid he is." The man confirmed, then said nothing for a moment. As a solicitor who often had to break the news of deaths to relatives or loved ones, he knew that sometimes saying nothing for a while was the best policy.

  "I'm sorry to be the bearer of such bad news, Mr Mhasalkar."

  "It's okay. Thank you, Mr Donaldson. I appreciate you telling me."

  "Mr Mhasalkar, may I ask, since I've got you on the phone, I was wondering, do you know anyone in your company called David?"

  "Yes. Actually, that's me. It's the name that I give to customers in the UK so they think they're dealing with someone local. Someone not in a call centre in India..." Anand replied, a little surprised. "Why do you ask?"

  "Because, when Mr Stuart was admitted to hospital he was clutching a piece of paper in his hand, which he was apparently very reluctant to let go of, and which he held on to very tightly until he died. He'd scribbled a few notes down on the paper, and your name was mentioned on it."

  "What did it say about me?"

  "I have it just here...Hang on a second please, while I get it out of my wallet."

  There was the sound of rustling on the other end of the phone.

  "Okay, got it. It's written in pencil. It says, 'Call David at Swiss Insurance and apologise for hanging up the other day.' Then on the line beneath it says, 'Stand up for myself. Make Sally proud of me. Even if it's the last thing I do, make the other driver say he was sorry. Make him say he was sorry!' "

 

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