TERMINUS: A thrilling police procedural set in Scotland (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 5)

by Pete Brassett

‘So, why,’ said West, ‘have the Dutch not issued a European Arrest Warrant? I mean, I’d have thought they’d want to get their hands on him themselves.’

  ‘They still might,’ said Dougal, ‘even though Gundersen’s not a Dutch national, he still based the charity there and used it as a conduit to launder the cash, so there’s every chance.’

  ‘Works for me,’ said West as she answered her phone. ‘We find him, they extradite him, less paperwork. Perfect. Duncan, how’s it going?’

  ‘Miss. I thought you should know, I’m on Braemar Square. I’ve just had a quick look around the house Rietveld was renting, and it’s empty.’

  ‘Well, it would be, wouldn’t it? He’d have cleared out as soon as…’

  ‘No, no. I mean empty, as in, no-one’s lived there for ages. There’s no bed sheets, no clothes, no personal effects. Not even a smell of aftershave or shower gel.’

  ‘Well, he must’ve been living there at some point, Duncan,’ said West, ‘why else would he rent it?’

  ‘Who knows? Anyway, I’m told the landlord stays on the next street, I’m away to see him, just now. I’ll give you a bell if I find anything.’

  * * *

  If there was one thing Duncan loathed about the public at large, it was the contempt they showed towards members of the police force when unexpectedly disturbed in the comfort of their own home during the course of an inquiry. However, whilst most had a propensity to howl, growl or scowl, or simply burst into tears, none had ever received him with the kind of welcome normally reserved for the bearer of a cheque from the National Lottery.

  Belying his seventy-three years, the youthful Tam Paterson – with a shock of thick, white hair and a voice like a baritone – greeted him with open arms in a performance worthy of a department store Santa Claus intent on scaring the hell out of a four-year-old.

  ‘Police!’ he said, his voice booming across the street. ‘You’ve come to tell me they’ve fixed my door, is that it?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Duncan, bewildered by the amateur dramatics, ‘but they’ll not be long, I’m sure.’

  ‘Excellent! What can I do for you, Officer? You are an officer, aren’t you?’

  ‘I am. Detective Constable Reid, sir.’

  ‘A detective! Can this day get any better?’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Duncan, stifling a grin. ‘I just need to check, the house on Braemar Square, you are the landlord, right?’

  ‘Landlord, owner and keeper of the faith. Indeed, I am.’

  ‘And your name is?’

  ‘Thomas! Call me Tam!’

  ‘Okay. Can I have a wee word, Tam? About your tenant?’

  ‘My tenant! Aye, of course! Come in, come in. Will you take a drink? I’ve not long boiled the kettle.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Duncan, smiling as he followed him inside. ‘I will.’

  * * *

  Sitting within the confines of the kitchen, Paterson, eager to assist, lowered his voice to something approaching a normal level and handed Duncan a mug.

  ‘So, tell me what you need to know, Detective, and I’ll see if I can help. How’s that?’

  ‘That’s perfect,’ said Duncan, ‘just perfect. Your tenant, Mr Rietveld, have you ever had any complaints about him, any trouble?’

  ‘Not a peep,’ said Paterson. ‘He’s the perfect gentleman – quiet, well-mannered. He’s foreign, I think. Very well-to-do.’

  ‘And have you any idea what he did for a living?’

  ‘I’ve never asked. Probably works for a bank or something.’

  ‘Probably?’ said Duncan. ‘Sorry, but do you not have to check your tenants’ employment status before you take them on?’

  ‘Not if I trust them.’

  ‘What about the agency who look after the house, do they not want some assurance that the rent’s going to be paid?’

  ‘There is no agency,’ said Paterson, sipping his tea. ‘All they do is charge a high fee for changing a light bulb. I’ll have none of that. It’s a private let.’

  ‘And he’s always paid the rent on time? Never defaulted?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Cash or cheque?’

  ‘Standing order. Every month, regular as clockwork.’

  ‘And how did he get the house? What I mean is, how did you advertise it?’

  ‘Shop window, up the way, there.’

  ‘Okay. Now, you say it’s a private let?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right.’

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, here, Tam,’ said Duncan, ‘I’m not trying to trip you up or anything, how you conduct your business is your affair, okay? I’m not interested in that. But was this a verbal arrangement you had with Mr Rietveld or did he sign a lease?’

  ‘Why, he signed a lease, of course. I do everything by the book, Detective, it’s all above board. Twelve months, renewable. Do you know where he’s gone? I’ll not find another like him.’

  ‘I’m afraid not, we’re still trying to locate him. Listen, would you happen to have a copy of the lease, here? Or do you keep it somewhere…’

  ‘No, no. It’s right here,’ said Paterson as he reached across the table and opened the cutlery drawer, ‘my filing system is second to none.’

  Duncan took the manila envelope and pulled out a wodge of papers, frowning as he speed-read through them.

  ‘Tam, I have to make a call,’ he said as he gathered them up, ‘do you mind if I take these with me? I’ll be right back.’

  * * *

  Safe in the privacy of his car, Duncan spread out the sheets on the passenger seat and reached for his phone.

  ‘Duncan, what’s up? said West.

  ‘Miss. Is Dougal with you? He needs to hear this.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ said West as she switched to speaker.

  ‘Okay. I’m with the landlord of the house Rietveld was renting and it seems he’s not as clever as we thought. I’m sending you a photo of the form that was sent to the bank to set up a standing order, it’s got all his account details on it. It’s the RBS on Sandgate.’

  ‘Okay, we’re on it,’ said West, ‘bit sloppy of him, considering.’

  ‘Aye, schoolboy error, to say the least. But get this,’ said Duncan, ‘he took out the original lease nearly two years ago and the current one’s up for renewal in a couple of months.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘His previous address is down as Kirkland Street, Maybole.’

  ‘Okay, so what?’

  ‘Kirkland Street,’ said Dougal, leaping from his desk, ‘is Alison Kennedy’s address.’

  ‘Well, that’s alright isn’t it?’ said West, ‘they obviously lived together at some point, then he moved out.’

  ‘Miss,’ said Dougal, incredulously, as he headed for the door, ‘according to Alison Kennedy, she and Rietveld only met four months ago, Duncan’s just told us the original lease is nearly two years old. She’s been lying through her teeth.’

  ‘At least someone’s on the ball,’ said West, flinching as the door slammed. ‘Duncan, listen up, ask the landlord if you can take a look around the house. If Rietveld left in a hurry, chances are he may have forgotten something.’

  ‘Roger that, miss. Thing is, we’ve not got a warrant.’

  ‘Which is why you’re going to ask him nicely, okay?’

  * * *

  Duncan, overshadowed by the gregarious Paterson, stood in the hollow lounge and, in the absence of any built-in cupboards, storage units or even a chimney breast, began unzipping the cushion covers on the two-seater sofa.

  ‘I appreciate this, Tam, it’s very good of you,’ he said. ‘I assume the furniture is yours, is that right?’

  ‘Aye, it is,’ said Paterson as he glanced around the room, bewildered. ‘He’s not much in the way of possessions, has he?’

  ‘He’s no possessions, full stop,’ said Duncan. ‘Have you not been here recently?’

  ‘I only come when the lease is due for renewal, or unless there’s a problem, so no. I’ve not been for almost a year.’
>
  ‘Was it like this the last time you came?’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t say it was overflowing with bits and bobs, not by any stretch, but at least there were a few books about the place, coats hanging up, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s try the kitchen,’ said Duncan. ‘I need you to stay with me, Tam. I may need a statement off you later just to verify I’ve not done anything untoward. Are you okay with that?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  Had Duncan known what it was he was looking for, it may have incentivised him to search harder but, having checked the cupboards, the washing machine and the oven, all of which were bare, his enthusiasm was on the wane.

  ‘This is incredible,’ he said, despairingly, ‘I mean, there’s not even a tin of beans or a stale loaf of bread. He must’ve eaten everything before he left.’

  ‘Will I look in here, for you?’ said Paterson, pointing at the fridge, unsure if he was allowed to touch anything.

  ‘Aye, may as well,’ said Duncan. ‘Check the freezer box as well.’

  ‘Oh, it’s as empty as a pauper’s purse. It’s been switched off, too.’

  Duncan peered through the window at the overgrown garden.

  ‘Is there anything out back, Tam?’ he said. ‘Do you have a tool shed, maybe?’

  ‘No, just the weeds, by the looks of it.’

  ‘A cellar?’

  ‘Somewhere for my tenants to keep their fancy wine collection? I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Upstairs?’

  ‘Two bedrooms and the bathroom.’

  ‘Okay, let’s take a look, then that’s us away.’

  * * *

  The bedrooms were identical. Same size, same wardrobes, same curtains, same divan beds, both stripped of linen, the mattress on one was still wrapped in its plastic shroud.

  ‘It doesn’t make any sense, Detective,’ said Paterson as they moved to the bathroom. ‘Why would the man be paying me rent if he’s not staying here?’

  ‘It’s a mystery,’ said Duncan, pointing to the bath panel. ‘Would you mind if I had a peek behind here?’

  ‘Be my guest. It should just pop off.’

  Hoping to find something more than a couple of spiders and a handful of dust, Duncan eased it off and sighed.

  ‘Well,’ he said, perched on the edge of the tub, his arms resting on the wash basin. ‘That’s that. Thanks for your help, Tam, I appreciate it. You’ve saved us a lot of time, you know that?’

  ‘Glad to be of service. Is there anything else I can help you with, before you go?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Duncan, pensively, as he toyed with the tap. ‘You’ve done more than enough. Och, would you look at that, he’s turned your water off, too.’

  ‘Now, why on earth would he do that?’

  ‘Beats me, but you’d best check the stopcock out front.’

  ‘That’ll not help,’ said Paterson. ‘The mains only runs to the kitchen. Everything else is fed from the tank.’

  ‘The tank?’

  ‘Aye. In the loft.’

  * * *

  Duncan, standing in the hallway, craned his neck and stared at the hatch in the ceiling.

  ‘Can we get in there?’ he said, removing his coat.

  ‘Aye. There’s a wee pole in the corner, there,’ said Paterson, ‘hook it into the latch and give it a tug, the ladder’ll drop down.’

  Duncan, torch in hand, moved gingerly up the steps and disappeared from view before reappearing moments later, head first, with a satisfied grin plastered across his face and water dripping down his arms.

  ‘I’ve found out what’s blocking your pipes,’ he said as he passed down a small, plastic bag bound with gaffer tape. ‘Would you place this on the floor for me, please.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Evidence. There’s more to come.’

  Tam stacked all twelve packages neatly in a pile and stood to one side as Duncan slid down the ladder.

  ‘What’s in the bags, Detective?’ he said, enthusiastically. ‘Is it contraband? Or body parts, maybe?’

  ‘Thankfully, no,’ said Duncan, laughing. ‘I’ll let you know in due course, Tam, but unfortunately I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Paterson, dismayed. ‘That is disappointing. Is it something I’ve done?’

  ‘Aye. But in a good way, Tam. A very good way, indeed.’

  * * *

  West gathered up her notes, checked her watch and knocked back the last dregs of coffee as Munro relieved himself of his sling and flexed his shoulder.

  ‘Are you sure you should be taking that off?’ she said in a matronly manner.

  ‘Never surer,’ said Munro, ‘my arm’s been wasting away in that blessed thing. I’ll have this stookie off tonight, as well.’

  ‘Shouldn’t a doctor do that?’

  ‘I can handle a blade as well as the next man, lassie. Is that your phone?’

  ‘Yes, it is. We’re going to get you one today, then you can share the burden. Duncan, make it snappy, we’re on our way out, Aletta’s just arrived.’

  ‘Oh, you need to hear this, miss. Trust me. You need to hear this.’

  Chapter 18

  According to the staff at the Glencree care home, Alison Kennedy – living up to her reputation as a selfless, earthbound angel – was purportedly meeting with Father Dalgetty to run through the eulogy for yet another dearly departed soul before returning home to enjoy what was left of her day off.

  Torn between visiting St Cuthbert’s and bestowing further grief upon the ageing priest, and concerned that what she’d told the care home may have been but a ruse to buy some time so she could abscond without fear of pursuit, Dougal – disappointed that someone as seemingly as honest as herself would lie about her relationship with Rietveld – gambled instead on visiting her at home.

  Sitting astride his scooter, patience wearing thin, he reached for his phone.

  ‘Duncan,’ he said, checking his watch, ‘are you all done there?’

  ‘Aye, aye, Dougal. And guess what? You know that wee package you found up the chimney at Jazz’s place?’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘Well, I’ve found some more at the house Rietveld was renting. We now have a baker’s dozen. Result, right?’

  ‘Are you for real? That’s brilliant,’ said Dougal. ‘Shame he’s dead, it would’ve been nice to get a conviction.’

  ‘I can’t believe you said that. You, of all people. So, what’s up?’

  ‘Can you sort out a warrant for Kennedy’s place and get yourself over here? Kirkland Street, by the school.’

  ‘Roger that, pal. See you in ten.’

  * * *

  Dougal hopped into the passenger seat of the Audi, slumped back, and sighed.

  ‘Something up?’ said Duncan. ‘Do you think there might be trouble? Is that why you called?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Dougal, ‘there’ll be no trouble. I just thought, if we’re to bring her in, she’s not going to jump on the back my scooter, is she? And this is more discreet than a squad car.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about being discreet; if her reputation’s shot, it makes no difference what she travels in. So, where is she?’

  ‘Gone to see the priest, then she’s coming back here. Apparently. I just hope she’s not done one. Listen, as we’ve got a minute, I think I owe you an apology. We didn’t exactly get off on the right foot.’

  ‘Nae bother. Forget it.’

  ‘It’s just that I never knew you’d worked with them before.’

  ‘Them? You mean Westie and the chief? Oh, aye,’ said Duncan. ‘It was a hoot. They were up in Gourock. I was in uniform then. In fact, it was the chief who encouraged me to cross over to the dark side.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Right enough, and I’ve never looked back. Although, if I’m honest, I have to say, Dumfries isn’t as dark as I’d like.’

  ‘Either way,’ said Dougal, ‘no hard feelings? Okay?’

  * *
*

  Duncan perked up as he noticed an attractive, bottle-blonde dressed in white jeans and an impossibly tight tee shirt, slinking her way along the street, jangling a set of door keys in one hand.

  ‘That’s not her, is it?’ he said. ‘I thought you said she was a fifty-something in charge of a care home?’

  ‘She is.’

  ‘If that’s the case, pal, then that’s the kind of place I’d like to end up in.’

  * * *

  Dougal stepped from the car and raised his arm in a half-hearted wave.

  ‘Constable McCrae!’ said Kennedy, as Duncan, hands in pockets, ambled up beside him. ‘What a pleasant surprise, and I see you’ve brought a friend.’

  ‘Aye, this is DC Reid, Miss Kennedy.’

  ‘Alright?’ said Duncan with a wink and a grin. ‘Mind if we have a word. Inside?’

  ‘My pleasure,’ said Kennedy, coyly. ‘Follow me.’

  * * *

  Duncan, not one to wait for an invitation, pulled up a chair as Kennedy tossed her keys on the table and sauntered towards the kitchen.

  ‘So, what can I get you boys?’ she said. ‘Tea? Coffee?’

  ‘Not for me, thanks,’ said Dougal, hovering by the doorway.

  ‘In that case,’ said Kennedy, kicking off her shoes and curling up on the sofa, ‘I’m going to relax. Father Dalgetty’s a sweetie but he does take it out of you.’

  ‘I’m sure he appreciates your help, Miss Kennedy,’ said Dougal, ‘can’t be easy for someone of his age.’

  ‘He’s as strong as an ox, Constable. Just a bit slow, that’s all. So, what can I do for you?’

  Duncan locked eyes with Kennedy, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  ‘Just a few questions,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘It’s about your ex,’ said Dougal. ‘Lucas Rietveld.’

  ‘That bawbag?’

  ‘Aye, I hope it’s not too raw for you.’

  ‘I can think of better things to talk about, but if we must. Come on, then. Let’s have it.’

  ‘Okay. You said you and Mr Rietveld first met four months ago, that’s right, isn’t it?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Kennedy, ‘four months, or thereabouts, though God knows what I saw in the man. Hindsight, it’s a wonderful thing, do you not think?’

  ‘I do. If you don’t mind me asking, did you ever live together? At the same address?’