‘No,’ said Mary, ‘he gets off on putting them through the mincer when they can’t make the repayments. And when I say “mincer”, I’m not far off the mark. I’d watch out if I were you.’
‘And why’s that?’
‘They’ve both got letters after their names – GBH.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh, aye. Positive. They’re nutters.’
* * *
Unsettled by the barrage of verbal abuse hurled at her by an irate Jardine, Rona – concerned that he might return at any moment – grabbed the poker from the fire and dashed upstairs where, hiding behind the net curtains, she waited anxiously until the sight of an ageing Peugeot bumping up the pot-holed drive brought her bounding down the stairs.
‘Am I glad to see you!’ she said, smiling with relief as she flung open the door. ‘It’s like I said, I’m not long home when…’
‘Wheesht!’ said Munro as he raised his hands. ‘Let’s not have a rerun of our conversation earlier, Miss Macallan. Now, first things first: this is Detective Inspector Charlotte West.’
‘Sorry,’ said Rona. ‘I’m getting ahead of myself. We spoke earlier, did we not?’
‘Yup, we sure did,’ said West as she began texting on her phone. ‘Before we go any further, can you give us a description of this Jardine bloke? I want to send it to my team as soon as possible.’
‘Aye, easy. He’s a short-arse – five-four, five-five. Brown eyes, blondish hair. Freckles.’
‘Very good,’ said Munro. ‘Age?’
‘Oh, mid-thirties, I’d say. And he’s stocky, looks like he’s made out of Lego.’
‘That’s very observant of you.’
‘Well, you have to be, don’t you? Observant, I mean. Especially when you’ve got livestock to look after. Will we go inside?’
* * *
With breakfast a distant memory, West eagerly accepted the offer of a mug of tea and several slices of crusty, homemade bread smothered with goats’ cheese before proceeding to quiz Rona at length about her encounter with Jardine under the watchful eye of Munro – who sat sipping his brew like an adjudicator at a chess match – before concluding, somewhat disappointingly, that there was no obvious reason for Jardine’s minatory behaviour nor any apparent connection with her errant boyfriend.
Declining an invitation to meet the chickens and pet the ponies, she remained indoors and watched from the window as Rona escorted Munro to the far side of the meadow where a simple wooden cross marked the spot where Esme had been laid to rest, leaving her with nothing but the monotonous tick-tock of a wall clock for company.
‘Duncan!’ she said as she whipped her phone from her hip. ‘It’s like a flipping morgue here. Have you spoken to Craig’s wife?’
‘I have,’ said Duncan. ‘It’s all sorted. Dougal’s on his way to the bank as we speak, then he’s off to Jardine’s flat. You’ll like this; guess where he lives.’
‘Oh, I haven’t got time for games, Duncan, just tell me.’
‘Miller Street. He’s got an apartment right next door to Alan Byrne.’
‘Byrne? Bosom buddies, eh?’
‘They’d have to be. Apart from working together, they’ve both been running some kind of loan racket.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘I kid you not, miss. I got it straight from the horse’s mouth. Almost. They loan out cash to desperate neds, then batter them black and blue if they default on the repayments.’
‘What? Well, why the hell would anyone do that?’
‘They’re unhinged,’ said Duncan. ‘According to Mary Ferguson they’ve both got form – GBH.’
‘Well, why didn’t that come up when you ran a check on Byrne?’
‘I’ve no idea. I suppose if it was a while back then maybe the conviction’s spent.’
‘Shouldn’t make any difference. Check it again,’ said West. ‘I want to know exactly where and when they were sentenced. Got that?’
‘Miss.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Aye, there is,’ said Duncan. ‘Craig Ferguson; he’s not had a job in months. He was dismissed for inappropriate behaviour.’
‘You what? You mean, like sexual assault?’
‘She wouldn’t say, but we could find out if we have to.’
‘No, not yet,’ said West, ‘let’s keep that one up our sleeve for now. Hold on a mo’, if Ferguson’s out of work, then how is he paying the bills?’
‘I’m not sure, miss. Savings, maybe?’
Assuming that West was employing the silent treatment as a sign of her disdain for the ludicrous suggestion that a young, married couple with a baby had enough savings to sustain them for five months or more, Duncan held his tongue and prepared himself for an ear-bashing.
‘Miss?’ he said sheepishly. ‘Are you still there?’
‘Yeah, sorry Duncan,’ said West as she watched Munro amble across the meadow, ‘just trying to get inside someone’s head.’
‘Come again?’
‘Nothing. Listen. Craig Ferguson; long-term unemployed, right?’
‘Aye, apparently.’
‘He’s got a wife and a child to support plus a mortgage to pay, and yet he’s running around in a brand new motor. How does that work? I mean, are they claiming any benefits?’
‘Even if they were, it wouldn’t be enough to pay for all of that.’
‘Then where’s the dosh coming from?’
‘Like I said, savings?’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘Okay,’ said Duncan, ‘then maybe it’s severance pay? Maybe he got some kind of pay-off?’
‘Or maybe,’ said West, ‘he knew exactly what his brother-in-law was up to and he tapped him for a loan.’
‘Could be, but wouldn’t Mary Ferguson know about that?’
‘Why would she? Look, you just said Jardine likes to batter his clients black and blue, right?’
‘Aye, that’s what she said.’
‘So, Craig loses his job and gets a loan off Jardine, but when he can’t repay it, Jardine collars him and puts him in the ICU.’
‘Oh, I’m not sure, miss,’ said Duncan. ‘His own brother-in-law?’
‘You don’t know much about families, do you, Duncan? Did Mary Ferguson mention anything about her relationship with her brother?’
‘As a matter of fact, she did. They don’t get along, at all.’
‘Well, then. There you go.’
‘And she and Craig are getting a divorce.’
‘Bingo.’
‘There something else,’ said Duncan. ‘She’s a drug addict. Well, an ex-addict.’
‘You have got to be kidding! Why didn’t you say so earlier?’
‘With all due respect, miss, I’ve only just found out! She’s on a programme at the Crisis Centre in Glasgow.’
‘Even better,’ said West as she gazed from the kitchen window, her eyes boring into Munro as he and Rona headed towards the house. ‘What’s she on? Methadone?’
‘I imagine so,’ said Duncan. ‘It’s the opioid of choice for recovering junkies.’
‘But it could be ’prenorphine?’
‘Could be.’
‘Okay,’ said West, frowning as her mind went into overdrive, ‘let’s rejig that scenario. Craig Ferguson loses his job, right? So, he gets a loan off Byrne and Jardine, then when he realises he can’t repay it, he turns to his wife for help. She knows her brother wouldn’t piss on her if she was on fire so she swipes some ’prenorphine from the clinic and between them they get rid of Byrne. Jardine finds out and knocks the living daylights of Craig.’
‘I’m not sure my brain was built to handle so much information, miss. It’s possible, I’ll give you that, but…’
‘But what?’
‘But surely there’s an easier way of doing it?’
‘There is,’ said West, ‘but this didn’t cost them anything and what’s more, it just looks like an overdose, right?’
‘Okay, but then why has Jardine got it
in for Rona Macallan?’
‘Easy,’ said West. ‘Jardine knows his sister hasn’t got two pennies to rub together so there’s no way he’d get his money back from her, but if he knew Craig was having an affair with Rona Macallan…’
‘Of course!’ said Duncan. ‘He’d go after her for the cash. So, what now? Will I head back to the office?’
‘Yes,’ said West, ‘as quick as you can. I want a list of any convictions Byrne and Jardine have got, spent or otherwise, and I want you to contact the rehab place you mentioned and find out if they’ve had any break-ins, robberies, or any stock go missing in the past couple of weeks.’
‘By stock, you mean Buprenorphine?’
‘That’s exactly what I mean. And if they have, see if it coincides with any of Mary Ferguson’s appointments.’
‘Roger that. Where will you be?’
‘I’m going to drag Jimbo down the hospital and have another word with her.’
* * *
Saddled with living out of a suitcase until the restoration work on his house was complete and, thanks to his retirement, prohibited from leading any kind of official investigation, an unsettled Munro – not given to bouts of melancholy – couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy as he watched the goats and the chickens nibbling on grass and grain burdened with nothing more than the simple task of sating their appetites.
He stood in the doorway and mustered a half-hearted smile as West, a hairgrip clenched between her teeth, pinned her tumbling brown locks atop her head.
‘Blimey,’ she said, perturbed by his doleful expression, ‘you alright? You look like you’ve just run over a koala bear.’
‘Aye,’ said Munro. ‘I’m fine, lassie. It’s a lovely cross Miss Macallan’s made for the grave. Fashioned from birch, no less. If my Jean didnae have a headstone, I’d take her one of those.’
‘Cheerful as ever,’ said West, zipping her coat. ‘Where is she?’
‘Putting the goats in the pen, just in case. She’ll be along in a minute or two.’
‘Can’t hang around, Jimbo, we’ll say our goodbyes on the way out.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Charlie, why the rush?’
‘We need to have a word with Mary Ferguson.’
‘We?’
‘Yeah, I could do with the company.’
‘No, no, you’re on your own, Charlie. I’ve something I must attend to. I’ll drop you there and Duncan can pick you up.’
‘Don’t be daft, it won’t take long.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Rona, wiping her feet on the mat, ‘don’t tell me you’re off already?’
‘Sorry, Miss Macallan,’ said West, ‘duty calls, as they say.’
‘Oh well, I suppose if you must. It’s just that…’
‘Miss Macallan,’ said Munro, ‘there’s no need to fret. We’re already looking for this Jardine fellow and I can assure you there’s very little chance he’ll be back. Take yourself indoors and lock the door. You’ll be fine, I promise you. Just fine.’
Chapter 8
With the autumn harvest almost over, the desolate fields flanking the road to Ayr – overshadowed by an ominous raft of thunderous grey clouds laden with the threat of a torrential downpour – looked bleaker than normal.
Munro, his right hand on the wheel, the left on the gearstick, and his mind elsewhere, said nothing as the wipers glided effortlessly across the rain-spattered windscreen.
‘You’re quiet, Jimbo,’ said West. ‘Something up?’
‘No, no. I’m just… thinking.’
‘About what?’
Munro hesitated and cast a sideways glance at West.
‘The house,’ he said. ‘Aye, that’s it. The house.’
‘Yeah, must be a pain in the backside but these things take time. If you start rushing them, they’ll only cock it up.’
‘Quite right, Charlie. Good things come to those who wait.’
‘Exactly.’
‘But sometimes that good thing can be somewhat disappointing.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Ignore me,’ said Munro. ‘I’m havering.’
‘Well, it goes without saying you can crash at mine for as long as you like, you know that, don’t you?’
‘I do indeed, lassie. And for that, I’m grateful. Believe me.’
‘No sweat,’ said West, smiling. ‘Oops, hold on, phone call. Dougal, did you get my text about Jardine?’
‘Aye, miss. I did. I also got a mugshot from security, the one he uses on his pass. I’ve circulated it with details of his car, everyone’s on the lookout for it.’
‘Nice one.’
‘And there’s no-one at his flat. I did wait a while but no joy. Will I get Glasgow to give the door a nudge?’
‘God, no,’ said West. ‘Hang fire on that, we can’t go knocking his door down. Not yet.’
‘Okay,’ said Dougal, ‘in that case I’m heading back to the office. Oh, by the way, I’ve some news on that bolt from the crossbow, too.’
‘Well, dinnae keep it to yourself,’ said Munro. ‘Speak up.’
‘Boss! I didn’t realise you were there! It’s not good, I’m afraid. They’re ten a penny…’
‘Cheap at half the price.’
‘…and they’re not restricted. A wean could buy them.’
‘Well, at least you tried, Dougal. It’s much appreciated.’
‘Let’s not give up just yet, boss. Are you coming in later?’
‘Aye, just as soon as Charlie’s had a word with this Ferguson lassie. Give us an hour or so.’
* * *
Content to wait in the warmth of the car while she attended to business, Munro watched as West, seemingly impervious to the worsening deluge, strolled casually across the car park with her hands in her pockets, before reaching for his phone.
‘James!’ boomed DCI Elliot. ‘This is a surprise! How the devil are you? Taking a break from all that painting and decorating, I imagine?’
‘Actually, I’m outside the hospital.’
‘Nothing serious, I hope?’
‘No, no. I’m waiting for Charlie.’
‘Charlie? Is she okay?’
‘Aye, we’re all okay!’ said Munro impatiently. ‘Listen, can you spare a few minutes? I need a wee word.’
‘Sorry James, but I’m on my way out.’
‘By jiminy, George, you’ve turned clock-watching into an art form.’
‘Now, now, James,’ said Elliot as he stood to leave. ‘As it happens, Mrs Elliot has prepared something special for my supper.’
‘Oh, aye?’
‘Beef Wellington.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t want to sour a beautiful relationship,’ said Munro, glibly. ‘After all, you and your belly have known each other a long time.’
‘Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?’
‘Sarcasm? Come, come, George, you know me better than that.’
‘Well, what’s so important that it can’t wait until the morning?’
‘I need to speak to you about… about re-engagement.’
‘Good grief!’ said Elliot, falling to his seat. ‘It’s not been a week since you retired! What’s going on?’
‘I’m dying of boredom.’
‘James. Look. I’d have you back at the drop of a hat, but re-engagement? That could take weeks, and it’s not without its complications, either. Like your pension for a start.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
‘And you know you can’t just walk back into your old job, it’ll be desk duties or… or you’d have to be a special.’
‘Och, well,’ said Munro. ‘Plan B it is, then.’
‘Plan B?’
‘How are your staffing levels, George?’
‘You know full well, James. Dire.’
‘Then would you not be happy to enlist the services of a civilian volunteer?’
‘A what?’
‘There’s already a couple in the office.’
‘Aye, there are!’ said Elliot, flabbergast
ed at the suggestion. ‘But they’re on reception, James! Filing duties and the like! To be honest, I’m not even sure there is such a thing as volunteer DI.’
‘Well, think of me as a consultant, then. Or an advisor. Listen, George, the fact of the matter is, if I dinnae start doing something productive soon, then that’s the end. That’s me away.’
‘Where to? Back to Carsethorn?’
‘To an early grave.’
Munro allowed himself a wry smile as the ensuing silence indicated things were swinging in his favour.
‘You do realise,’ said Elliot, ‘that as a volunteer there’ll be no salary? You’ll not get a bean for your efforts, you know that?’
‘I’ll not need a salary, George.’
‘And there’ll be no rank, so you’ll not be able to head-up an inquiry, you’ll never be an SIO.’
‘Aye. I know.’
‘And it’s Charlie you’ll have to answer to. There’ll be none of this running off and doing your own thing.’
‘Understood.’
‘Okay,’ said Elliot, smiling at the prospect of Munro returning to the fold. ‘I’ll look into it.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow. There’s no guarantees mind, not at this stage, but if it’s doable, then you’re in. With one proviso.’
‘And what would that be?’
‘Expenses.’
‘Och, I’ll not be troubling you with that, George.’
‘Oh, but you will, James. I insist.’
* * *
Wishing she’d worn a sou’wester rather than her hoodless jacket, a sodden West jumped in the front seat, hastily unpinned her hair and shook her head like a lively Labrador after a satisfying dip in a lake, showering a grinning Munro in the process.
‘What are you looking so happy about?’ she said.
‘Och, you’ll find out soon enough, lassie. You’ll find out soon enough.’
‘I’m getting worried about you and your mood swings, you’re acting like a schizo’.’
‘How’d you get on?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said West as she slipped off her coat and buckled up. ‘She seems straight-up. I just find it hard to believe that anyone in her position could be so trusting… no, so naïve, about her finances.’
‘How so?’
‘Well, she doesn’t worry about money, so she claims, she leaves all that to Craig and so far as she knows, apart from the mortgage, they, or rather Craig, don’t have any loans or debts, no maxed-out credit cards and they definitely don’t claim benefits. And to top it all, he bungs a few hundred quid into her account every month. And when I said it seemed a bit odd bearing in mind that her husband’s been unemployed for yonks, she just stared at me like… like I’d asked her if she knew what DNA was.’
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