What was interesting however, was that a fire accelerant had obviously been used to start the fire.
Which meant that someone had brought a supply of it, probably petrol, and had it ready to burn the bodies.
It could perhaps have been siphoned from the petrol tank. True. But it was more likely that either a supply had been hidden somewhere nearby, prior to the men being brought there, and then quickly retrieved after the killings, or potentially, that the killer had arrived in a separate car, carrying the petrol, got into the car, killed the men, then retrieved the petrol from their own vehicle.
This scenario implied that the killer would have probably known the victims, and either met them at the location or followed them to it.
Unfortunately, it seemed that the location was also used by hill walkers, and there were other car tracks to be found in the car park. All still relatively fresh.
It was early days yet, but McKenzie sensed that the killer was probably known to the deceased.
It was Wessex that pointed out that there could have been more than one killer.
Which then threw all McKenzie's theories into the air. One of the killers could have forced them to drive to the car park, where they were met by the other, who already had the accelerant with them.
The only thing that seemed quite likely, was the murders had been planned.
The who and the why were the big questions.
"Another?" McKenzie asked Wessex, standing up from his cosy seat in the pub. "Don't worry, I'm driving, so feel free to have whatever you want. It's been a rough day."
Reaching out to take the glass from her, his eyes met hers as he awaited her reply.
For a second, both their eyes locked with each other, the gaze lasting a fraction longer than normal. McKenzie suddenly became aware that his fingers were resting on hers around her grip on the glass, and he became acutely aware of the intimacy of the moment.
"Another?" he asked again, breaking the moment. Whatever that moment was.
"Yes, please." She smiled, her eyes twinkling brightly, and making McKenzie even more acutely aware of just how incredibly, dangerously gorgeous she was.
He sensed her fingers slowly retracting from under his as she gave over possession of the glass to him. He stood up tall, smiled back, turned and walked to the bar.
It had been a moment. That's all. Over as fast as it had begun. But the sensation he had felt and the way it had stirred him, lasted for a lot longer.
Had it been just him, or had she been part of that moment too?
Confusingly, it wasn't the first time something like that had happened. There had been a couple of moments of such intimacy before. And each time it happened, it really screwed with McKenzie's mind.
Getting himself a fresh orange and lemonade, and another large glass of white wine for Wessex he returned to his seat.
She was looking at him. Studying him as he sat down.
She said nothing as he handed over her glass, and for a while, neither of them said anything.
"So," he asked, breaking the almost intolerable silence."What are you thinking about now?"
She shook her head.
"Lot of things." She replied. "About us. About you and me. About the bodies in the car. And the man in the river."
Campbell was surprised by the candour of her reply, but before he could ask her what she meant, she continued of her own volition.
"I think we definitely have a war on our hands. They've started to kill each other. To wipe each other out. And we have several choices. One, we let them go ahead. We let them cull each other. Effectively, they then do for us what we've been trying to achieve for years, by getting rid of the scum on the streets for us. Or we stop it all before it all gets way out of hand. If we don't, there are going to be bodies everywhere. And we can't guarantee that there won't be any innocent bystanders who get killed by accident, simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Campbell nodded, trying to focus his mind back onto the case, and suppress his personal thoughts.
"Tempting as it may be, I'm afraid we have to pursue the second course of action. We have to stop it getting out of control," he replied.
"And how do we do that?" she asked, her fingers playing with her glass on the table. "How do we prevent them all from wiping each other out? It's not as if we can arrest them for their own protection. So? How do we stop a war? Let Petrovsky out of prison?"
"Or arrest Tommy McNunn as soon as possible. That might work just as well."
Wessex nodded and took a sip of her drink.
"I've never really asked you before, but what do you really think of McNunn? I mean, really? I can't help but feel, that in some ways you admire him?" she asked.
McKenzie laughed.
"What on earth would make you think that?" he asked, putting his drink down on the table and looking at her very seriously."McNunn's an animal. A thug. And a cold-blooded murderer. His only saving grace is that he's educated. Went to some posh grammar school in England before moving up here when his parents divorced. McNunn isn't his real name. It's the name he adopted to help him blend in with the other kids. His real name is Tommy Nunn. If his parents had stayed together, McNunn would probably have ended up in University, and by now he'd have been a doctor or something. Or, God forbid, maybe even a lawyer. He seems to have a fascination with the law. The only problem is that he uses every single ounce of cleverness that God gave him, to find ways of breaking the bloody law without getting caught. The number of times he's walked away scot free from things we know he's guilty of. What's worse, is that I dread to imagine just how many things he's got away with without anyone even suspecting him."
"He's clever." Wessex replied. "And you've got to admit, he's not without a certain amount of charm?"
McKenzie coughed. "What, do you fancy him or something?"
Wessex laughed. "What? McNunn? You're kidding, right?"
"So, okay, what sort of man are you interested in, then?"
Wessex paused, smiled and cocked her head to one side before replying, softly."I'd have thought that might be obvious by now..."
A tingle passed down McKenzie's spine, something somewhere between a spasm of excitement, and the fear you feel when you look over a cliff and have to fight off the incredible urge to jump.
McKenzie smiled and rapidly considered how he should best reply. Either he was completely misreading the situation or Wessex was flirting with him. Although flirting was perhaps the wrong word for it: maybe, just as he was wondering if she was attracted to him, she wondered the same about him in return and was just probing for some sort of reaction.
Shit. This was dangerous water. To admit anything now, to respond to her in any sort of positive way, wouldn't be healthy. Nothing good would come of it, and McKenzie was worried where it would lead.
Why he was feeling like this, he didn't quite know. There was nothing really wrong with his relationship with Mrs McKenzie. They'd been married, happily, for over ten years. No children yet, but being eight years younger than himself, Fiona was only thirty-two and had several years left in which they could have kids if they wanted. Which they did. One day.
And Fiona was a good-looking woman.
The thing with Wessex was driving him mad. It had been on slow-burn for almost two years now. The more time he spent with her, the worse it got. He'd never even been remotely tempted to stray beforehand with anyone else, so why recently? And with Wessex? What was so special about her?
Of course, the answer was obvious. Wessex was beautiful, had an incredible figure, and was incredibly smart. Any man who looked at her must surely feel the same way. What made it worse was that McKenzie worked with her almost every day. Day in and day out.
"Oh, blast!" McKenzie suddenly exclaimed rather loudly. "Oh no, I'm in deep shit. I forgot. I promised that I'd take my wife out to the theatre this evening!" McKenzie quickly looked at his watch."It's half-six. If we leave now, I'll get back in time. But we'll have to hurry. Sorry, do
you mind?"
It wasn't true. There was no theatre that evening. He'd made it up, a lie told out of necessity rather than choice.
Thinking about being unfaithful, if ever, is one thing. Doing anything about it is another.
"Shame," Wessex said, standing. "The evening was just beginning. Listen, why don't you hurry back by yourself? I fancy taking a walk around the town and grabbing a curry. Don't worry, I'll get a bus back. It won't be a problem."
"Are you sure?" McKenzie asked, picking up his jacket, and checking for his car keys.
"Yes. I'll be fine. Off you go. I'll see you on Monday."
-------------------------
McNunn picked up his mobile on the fourth ring. He was in his office, messing around on a spreadsheet, playing with some figures.
"It's me. Where are you? Can you talk?" Caroline asked.
"At home."
"Mrs McNunn?"
"Out with friends. Not my friends."
"Fancy spending tonight with a friend of your own?"
McNunn straightened up in his chair, immediately interested.
"A night might be difficult, but a few hours would be good."
"Fine. Get here soon though. I'm waiting for you."
"I'm on my way. One question though, - where are you?"
"Galashiels. The Red Rose. The table at the back of the restaurant. Bring one of your fast cars. The one with the long bonnet. The hard, red bonnet."
Only four minutes later McNunn was hitting eighty miles an hour on his way out of Edinburgh.
Chapter 24
Tommy McNunn's House,
Edinburgh
Two days later.
Monday
4.30 p.m. G.M.T.
As Tommy McNunn opened his front door and stepped inside, Mrs McNunn hurried towards him, tears streaming down her face.
"Where've you been all day?" she cried, "I've been calling you. I've left you a dozen phone messages. Why didn't you reply?"
"I was at the golf-club before going for a swim at the gym. But then I got a call and ended up down at St Leonards again, talking with DCI McKenzie."
Mrs McNunn wiped her tears away with the back of her hands and reached out, grabbing Tommy's arms.
"Why? What's the matter? Is everything okay?"
"No. I need a whisky. Everything is not okay. Rab and Dougie are both dead. Someone turned them to toast over the weekend. On Saturday. McKenzie wanted to tell me they'd found the bodies, and to see what my reaction was. He was fishing for clues as to who killed them."
"Rab? Dougie? Dead?" Mrs McNunn replied, the colour suddenly draining from her face. "No wonder they didn't return my calls... I've been calling them all day! Oh, Tommy, are you okay? Are they worried about you? Do they think whoever killed them may try to kill you?"
Tommy half-smiled.
"Frankly, Charlotte, my dear, the day the bloody police start worrying about my health is the day hell freezes over. And that's never going to happen, is it?"
Tommy kissed his wife on the cheek, and gently took her hands from his arms, and pushed passed her. "I need a whisky."
Charlotte McNunn followed him through to the lounge where he was already pouring himself a large malt.
"So, what's the emergency. What can beat the fact that some bastard has just murdered two of my men?"
"The Green Mean Machine has gone. They came and got it today. They took it..."
Charlotte blurted out, referring to Tommy's favourite car.
"Don't worry about it. They took it away last week. The garage came and picked it up last Monday. To repair the damage the old man did to it."
"I know. I know. But someone from the garage called up this morning after you left and said it was all fixed. They brought it back on a lorry, and dropped it off outside on the street, because they couldn't get the lorry up the drive. I told them it would be fine there..."
"So where is it now?"
"They took it away!"
"You're not making any sense, woman. Calm down. What the hell are you talking about?"
"Somebody from another garage came just after lunch, handed me these papers and told me they were taking the Mean Machine away to crush it." Charlotte tried to explain, pushing a wad of letters and papers towards him." He said you hadn't paid your road tax, and that the DVLA had written to you a thousand times to tell you to pay it, but you've been ignoring the letters. He was accompanied by a police officer. I couldn't really stop them."
Tommy put the whisky down on the table and grabbed the papers out of his wife's hand. Plonking himself down in a leather chair, he quickly scanned the forms in his hand.
"You're joking, right?" he asked aloud, as he spoke.
"No, Tommy, I'm not."
"Shit...this is from the DVLA. And this is a legit court order. Issued just this morning. Why didn't you stop them?" he asked, suddenly getting angry and shouting at his wife.
"I tried, Tommy, I tried. But they said they were sent to take it, and it was too late to stop them."
"FUCK!" Tommy shouted aloud, jumping to his feet, and waving the form that the man from the garage had given her, in the air. "I'm going to call them right now, and if they've fucking touched my car, I'm going to bloody kill them. What the hell is going on? I always pay all the car tax on all my cars. Especially that one!"
He started to dial the number on his mobile phone.
"Hello? Is that Grentham's Garage? Yes? Good, I need to speak to the manager, or the man who came to my house this afternoon and stole my car!"
Charlotte could hear a voice saying something, but couldn't understand it. Tommy put it on loudspeaker.
"What do you mean you can't talk to me? You fucking took my car, and I want it back!"
"I'm sorry. You have to talk to the DVLA. We're just agents who are acting on their behalf under the authority of the courts. But you'd better hurry. We're closing at five thirty and the car will be crushed before then. It's part of the instructions. Pick up the car, and crush it within five hours."
"Listen, mate. If you fucking put one scratch on that car, you're fucking dead? Do you understand me?"
"Like I just said. It's got nothing to do with me, pal. You need to speak to the DVLA. And you'd better hurry. They'll be closing soon too."
The man hung up.
"FUCK!!!!!!" Tommy shouted at the top of his voice, even scaring his wife who was used to all his moods and anger fits.
Tommy immediately located the letter from the DVLA and called the number given.
The phone was ringing, but no one was picking up. Tommy checked his watch. It was just before 5 p.m., but the letter said they were open until 7 p.m. He let it continue to ring, getting more agitated as every second passed.
Suddenly a voice came on the line. A voice recording, asking McNunn to make a series of selections, and informing him that the phone conversation would be recorded.
His hand shaking, he responded to the series of choices, and waited to speak to a human being.
Finally, someone picked up. A woman, not knowing what was just about to hit her.
"Hello, is that the DVLA?"
"Yes. How may I help you?"
"I got a letter from you today telling me that I haven't paid my car tax for the past two years. Which is rubbish - I always pay my car tax. I have five cars and I pay tax on all of them. I've got receipts. Lots of them. Despite that someone came to my house today and took my car away to crush it. I need you to call them immediately and tell them not to do it. They say that if you don't call them immediately they're going to crush the car before they close today."
"Hello, sir," the woman continued calmly, seeming to have successfully ignored the angst and urgency in McNunn's voice. "Can you please give me your name, post code, date of birth and the number plate of the car you're referring to?"
McNunn rattled through his personal information, checking his watch again. Five minutes past five. His car would be crushed within the next twenty-five minutes.
"What are you
doing?" McNunn demanded.
"I'm checking your file. I've just found it, and if you give me a few moments, I'll read through it all and find out what's going on. If you'll just be patient with me, sir."
McNunn pressed the mute number on his phone and spoke to his wife, who was standing watching him anxiously.
"If they don't fucking sort this out, I swear, I'm going to fucking drive down to Swansea or Cardiff, wherever the hell the DVLA is nowadays, and I'm going to bloody rip their throats out with my bare hands..."
"Hello?" the woman at the other end interrupted him.
"Yes?" McNunn replied.
"Hello? Are you still there?" the woman asked.
"Hi, Yes. I'm still here."
"Excuse me, sir, can you hear me?" the woman asked again.
Tommy's wife stepped forward and re-pressed the mute button on the phone.
"Yes, hello, sorry, I'd pressed the mute button. I'm here." Tommy replied to her.
"Ah, brilliant. I was worried we'd lost you. Anyway, I've had a chance to check your records, and from what I can see, there has been no mistake. According to my computer you haven't paid tax on the car for two years, and we've written to you a total of seven times regarding that non-payment. The first of those letters requested immediate payment, and these were followed by several threatening court action, which could lead to the crushing of your car in the extreme case. Since you ignored those letters, I'm afraid, we then initiated court action, which you also ignored. This resulted in a final letter, and a court summons, which was again ignored. According to the computer records, that court session took place today, and instructions were then confirmed with Grentham Garage in Edinburgh to seize your car, take it away and crush it. Which I believe they'll be doing before close of play today."
Mrs McNunn had been watching her husband slowly turning purple. Like a volcano building up pressure in the final moments before it exploded, she could see the veins and arteries in his body rising to the surface of his skin and begin to protrude.
She took a step backwards, anticipating what was going to happen next.
Say You're Sorry: A Gripping Crime Thriller (A DCI Campbell McKenzie Detective Conspiracy Thriller No 1) Page 17