PENURY: A bizarre death tests Scotland’s finest (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 12)

by Pete Brassett

  ‘How so?’ said Duncan.

  ‘He doesn’t trust me to keep my mouth shut if I have a wee bevvy.’

  ‘Charming,’ said West, ‘I think we’ll add coercive control to the list of charges when we nick him. Right, Miss Riley, here’s the thing, you do realise that if you want him out of your life, you’re going to have to make a statement, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Riley, a look of trepidation on her face. ‘Does that mean he’ll know it’s me who’s blagged?’

  ‘Possibly. Either way, you’ll probably have to show your face in court, too.’

  Riley, looking doubtful, stood and nibbled her fingernails as she paced the floor.

  ‘Suddenly,’ she said, ‘I’m not so sure. I mean, what if he only gets a few months and a fine? He’ll batter me like a fish supper when he gets out.’

  ‘He’ll be away a lot longer than that,’ said West. ‘A lot longer. And like you said, we came to you. You can always tell him we twisted your arm. A bit of police brutality always goes down well with the likes of him.’

  ‘The thing is,’ said Duncan, ‘once we secure a conviction, you can kiss goodbye to all of this; the big TV and your fancy clothes.’

  ‘I don’t want fancy clothes,’ said Riley. ‘I want my sweats and trainers back. Okay. I’ve decided. You’re on. Let’s put him away.’

  ‘Not so fast, hen. There’s no guarantees on that score, not just yet anyway.’

  ‘I’ll take my chances,’ said Riley. ‘I think I’d rather be on your side than his.’

  ‘Right, I’m not being funny,’ said West, ‘but that’s probably the best five minutes of your entire life.’

  ‘So what now? Are you going to wait for him to come back?’

  ‘No. We’ve got some groundwork to do first, the worst thing we can do is scare him off. What I need to know right now, and you need to be straight with me, is if he’s living here or not.’

  ‘No. He is not.’

  ‘So he’s not down as a legal occupier of this flat?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why is his motor registered here?’

  ‘I didn’t know it was,’ said Riley. ‘I thought that was illegal.’

  ‘It is,’ said West, ‘unless he’s got plans to move in, in the very near future.’

  ‘No, he’s certainly not doing that.’

  ‘Then he’s definitely committing an offence.’

  ‘So can you not arrest him for that?’

  ‘We could,’ said Duncan, ‘but there’s a chance he could walk away with a hefty fine and you wouldn’t want that. No, no, we need to wait until we can charge him with something more substantial, dealing or possession, and we need to gather evidence for that.’

  ‘How long will that take?’

  ‘Can’t say, hen, but for now we’ll be needing a phone number and an address. Does he stay nearby?’

  ‘Not far,’ said Riley. ‘Taylor Street.’

  ‘Okay, we’ll be in touch. All you have to do in the meantime is keep your nose clean and act like you’ve never seen us, got that?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘And a word of advice,’ said Duncan. ‘If you’ve been winding us up, you’ll be back inside before you know it.’

  * * *

  West, rattled by Riley’s abrupt about-face, slipped the key into the ignition, turned to Duncan, and frowned.

  ‘You’re not convinced, are you?’ he said.

  ‘I’m in two minds,’ said West. ‘I mean, why the sudden change of tune?’

  ‘It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind,’ said Duncan with a smile. ‘No offence, miss, but you’ve done it yourself.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, but I was engaged to be married, she isn’t.’

  ‘It’s like walking a maze,’ said Duncan. ‘It doesn’t matter how miserable you feel, you can’t do anything about it until you can find a way out. She just found hers.’

  ‘Okay then, answer me this,’ said West. ‘If McIntyre lives on Taylor Street, why has he left his motor here?’

  ‘Trust me, miss, you’d not leave a go-kart on Taylor Street, let alone a Lexus. So, will we pay him a visit?’

  ‘No. I think we need to put a tail on him first, see what he gets up to. If we’re going to put him away, then we need to catch him with his pants down.’

  Chapter 7

  As a young officer pounding the streets of a nostalgically nicer and altogether less troubled Ayr city centre, George Elliot – with his towering frame and innate sense of justice – achieved a certain notoriety amongst the criminal fraternity for his ability to apprehend the villains polluting his patch with nothing more than the promise of a week in the infirmary if they refused to come quietly, a universally successful proposition which not only spawned a fearsome reputation as The Bear but also kept his fellow officers in line.

  However, keen to placate an anxious spouse who, with the prevalence of armed fanatics roaming the streets, had become increasingly concerned that she’d be drawing a widow’s pension a little sooner than expected, he happily accepted a more sedentary position and duly ensconced himself behind a desk where he juggled rosters, penned performance reviews, and winced at budgets whilst supplementing his wife’s healthy eating regime with a variety of calorie-laden snacks.

  Startled by the unexpected knock on the door, he hurriedly swept the last of the teacakes into a drawer and adopted an appropriately studious expression as he tried to fathom a spreadsheet sitting on his screen.

  ‘James!’ he said, retrieving the packet. ‘You scared the life out of me! Will you take a teacake?’

  Munro smiled and pulled up a chair.

  ‘You should watch yourself, George, or you’ll end up in the diabetes hall of fame.’

  ‘Well I need to keep my strength up.’

  ‘I take it Mrs Elliot’s still attacking your waistline, then?’

  ‘Aye. And do you know what delights I have to look forward to this evening?’

  ‘Enlighten me.’

  ‘Couscous,’ said Elliot. ‘A vegetable stir-fry with couscous. I ask you, how’s a man supposed to survive on that?’

  ‘Well, at least eat something that’s not covered in chocolate,’ said Munro. ‘A ham sandwich, perhaps?’

  ‘You’re right!’ said Elliot. ‘What I’m needing is a decent steak! I know; Cecchini’s. They do a smashing bistecca fiorentina. What do you say?’

  ‘I’d be inclined to go for something a little less exotic, myself.’

  ‘Have what you like, James! You’re retired and I’ve an expense account, let’s go.’

  ‘Hold on,’ said Munro, ‘I think you might lose your appetite once you’ve heard what I’ve got to say.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I was viewing a house yesterday. In Auchencairn.’

  Elliot clasped his hands behind his head and looked to the ceiling.

  ‘Ah, it’s a beautiful part of the country,’ he said, wistfully. ‘I’d love a wee cottage down there. The problem is Mrs Elliot. She’s not a fan of what you might call rustic. She likes modern. Modern and sterile. Sorry, I digress. You were saying; Auchencairn.’

  ‘Aye. I was viewing a house and I happened to come across… an incident.’

  Elliot lowered his arms and leaned on the desk.

  ‘What kind of an incident?’

  ‘A body,’ said Munro. ‘I’ll keep it brief. The SIO is a DI Byrne.’

  ‘Ho! Hold on! You’ve spoken to the SIO?’

  ‘Aye. And he was grateful for my input. It’s his first case and he was floundering, to say the least.’

  ‘Dear God, so you took it upon yourself to help him out?’

  ‘I thought I’d give him the benefit of my experience. Aye.’

  ‘But he’s not even on our patch! Still, I suppose if it was just a friendly chat, then no harm done.’

  ‘I’m not finished,’ said Munro. ‘There’s a witness. He stays here. In Ayr.’

  ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘I did.’ />
  ‘I’ll be needing a dram with my lunch.’

  ‘Byrne’s not going to mention it, for obvious reasons, but it may come up in the witness statement.’

  ‘And what happens then?’ said Elliot, rubbing his forehead. ‘At the very least you’ll have done yourself out of a job! An unpaid job, I’ll give you that, but a job all the same!’

  ‘Och, that doesnae bother me,’ said Munro. ‘It means I’ll have more time with Murdo. Anyway, I just thought I’d mention it, that’s all.’

  ‘Could you not apply your talents to something a wee bit closer to home?’

  Munro, saying nothing, simply sat back and smiled.

  ‘Well, James, I’ll be frank. If something resembling a cowpat comes hurtling towards the fan, then you’re on your own, do I make myself clear? And don’t go asking the team for help, I simply don’t have the resources just now, we’re at breaking point.’

  ‘I’ll not need help,’ said Munro. ‘Not much anyway.’

  Elliot gripped the desk with both hands, pushed himself back, and stood.

  ‘I’d like to say I’m lost for words,’ he said, reaching for his coat, ‘but there’s one in particular that springs to mind.’

  ‘I’m guessing discharge.’

  ‘Wrong. It’s Cecchini’s. You can give me the details over lunch.’

  * * *

  Nestled in the darkest recesses of the bustling restaurant, Elliot, wiring into his T-bone with the savage gusto of a ravenous wolf, listened intently as Munro fired his imagination with images of possessed villagers offering up a sacrifice to a pagan deity before finally relenting and, against his better judgement, agreeing to some limited and strictly unofficial assistance on the proviso that any request for help played second fiddle to the team’s already full agenda.

  Having satisfied his uneducated palate with an agreeably bland portion of deep-fried haddock and chips, Munro left Elliot to settle the bill and sought the privacy of his car to return one missed call from an unassigned number.

  ‘Thanks for calling back, I appreciate it.’

  ‘Och, it’s you, Mr Byrne. I had no idea. Are you okay?’

  ‘No. Aye. No. I’m on my way up to MacDuff’s place.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with my hearing, do you have to shout?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Byrne, ‘I’m on speaker, do you mind?’

  ‘I can cope. What’s the problem?’

  ‘It’s all getting out of hand, Mr Munro, I need to talk it through with someone, is that okay?’

  ‘Aye, go on,’ said Munro. ‘What’s the story?’

  ‘Well, the good news is we found Barlow’s car, it was parked on the square, one of those wee Fiat 500 numbers.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘We’ve all but stripped it and still no sign of a phone.’

  ‘Och, it’s not the end of the world,’ said Munro. ‘Not yet anyway. What else?’

  ‘We’ve traced her next of kin to Penrith. They’ll be coming up to ID the body just as soon as the post-mortem’s complete.’

  ‘Well it sounds like you’re on the ball,’ said Munro, ‘but experience tells me that whenever someone starts a sentence with the good news is, it invariably means there’s bad to follow.’

  ‘There is,’ said Byrne. ‘Barlow’s house in Dumfries, it’s been ransacked.’

  Munro, thrilled at the prospect of having to unravel a case as complex as an ancient labyrinth, listened carefully.

  ‘There’s no sign of a forced entry and it’s definitely not a burglary.’

  ‘What makes you so sure?’

  ‘There’s plenty of valuable stuff about the place,’ said Byrne, ‘jewellery, a fancy watch, a drawer full of cash, all untouched.’

  ‘So you think someone was looking for something?’

  ‘Aye. Definitely,’ said Byrne. ‘There’s a box room downstairs, like a wee office, that’s the worst hit, there’s all kinds of bank stuff and receipts and bills scattered all over the place.’

  ‘So what does that tell you about the perpetrator?’ said Munro. ‘Assuming of course that he’s not a locksmith.’

  ‘That he must have had a key, which means he’d have been known to Barlow.’

  ‘Good. And SOCOs?’

  ‘They’re on the scene just now. As soon as they’ve finished up we can do a more detailed search.’

  ‘And in the meantime,’ said Munro, ‘I presume you’ve got someone running a background check on Miss Barlow?’

  ‘Sort of,’ said Byrne. ‘Well, no. Not exactly.’

  ‘Then you need to up your game, laddie! By jiminy, you’ve a whole team of officers at your disposal, why are you not using them?’

  ‘I am! It’s just that there’s so much going on it’s difficult to keep on top of things.’

  ‘Well, you’d better get used to it,’ said Munro, ‘because that’ll not change anytime soon. If you cannae stand the heat, I suggest you get out of the kitchen.’

  ‘I can handle it,’ said Byrne. ‘I know I can. I just have to get used to the responsibility.’

  ‘Right, listen to me,’ said Munro. ‘You need to pull over, take a deep breath, then call the office. I’ve told you before, if whoever trashed Barlow’s place was known to her, the only way you’ll find them is by digging up her past. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Then get on it! Start with old work colleagues, employees, and work your way back, all the way back to old school friends if you have to.’

  ‘I’m trying and that’s why I need to get my hands on her phone,’ said Byrne. ‘See here, Mr Munro, apart from her Facebook page which reveals nothing at all, it’s like she doesn’t exist, she’s not even got an address book and her folks haven’t seen her in a couple of years so they have no idea who she’s mixing with.’

  ‘Does she not have a computer?’

  ‘We’ve not found one,’ said Byrne. ‘Which means her phone is my only hope. At least it’ll have a list of contacts and maybe even her email, we can see exactly who she’s been in touch with.’

  ‘So you can think straight,’ said Munro. ‘Well done, but if you’re going to make any progress, you need to start turning those thoughts into actions.’

  ‘I will,’ said Byrne. ‘Honest, I will.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Now redeem yourself by telling me you’ve completed the door-to-door enquiries.’

  Byrne hesitated and cringed before answering.

  ‘Nearly,’ he said. ‘I mean, uniform are on it. They start tomorrow.’

  ‘As I thought,’ said Munro, sighing, ‘more time wasted. You best get a move on, at least you’ll not have a problem with MacDuff. I think you’ll find him most accommodating.’

  * * *

  Frustrated by his failure to identify little more than a manufacturer’s logo on the assailant’s coat, Dougal, despite a restless night, rose early and returned to the office to view the footage afresh, his relief at finding the place devoid of colleagues short-lived as a carnivorous canine emerged from beneath a desk.

  Erring on the side of caution, he raised his feet and sat cross-legged on the chair before scanning the video with his “Amped FIVE” image-enhancing software, his elation at capturing some unique markings on the attacker’s left hand rapidly dissipating as Duncan and West breezed through the door.

  ‘Don’t you ever sleep?’ said West. ‘You’d be better off setting up a camp bed in the corner of the room.’

  ‘This fella’s been doing my nut in,’ said Dougal, rubbing his eyes, ‘but I’ve made some cracking progress.’

  ‘What have you got?’

  Dougal flipped the monitor to reveal an enlarged and remarkably sharp image of the perpetrator’s hand pressed against the wall.

  ‘There!’ he said, triumphantly, ‘a tattoo on the fingers of the left hand, the initials “L.I.F.E.”.’

  ‘He’s probably got “roaster” inked across his forehead,’ said Duncan. ‘I’ve never seen the point of tattoos myself, and I
never will. Anything else?’

  ‘Aye, his trainers, they’re Nike. I’ve matched the style, they’re called Air Force 1.’

  ‘Obviously the shoe of choice for high-flying presidents,’ said West. ‘Do you want some grub?’

  ‘What have you got?’

  ‘Chips for me, Duncan’s having soup and a roll, so that leaves a pie or haggis in batter.’

  ‘No, you’re alright,’ said Dougal, ‘thanks for the offer but I need to crack on.’

  ‘Well, we’ll not disturb you,’ said Duncan, ‘although there is one thing I’ve been meaning to ask.’

  ‘Oh, aye?’

  Suppressing an almost irresistible urge to rib him about his tryst with the young Kay Grogan, an elfin scenes of crime officer who shared his passion for solving mysteries, Duncan, concerned that his timorous counterpart was gathering dust on the dating shelf, cut straight to the point.

  ‘You’ve not told us how it went,’ he said. ‘Your first date with the adorable Kay.’

  Dougal, his face flushed with embarrassment, swallowed hard and stared at Duncan in disbelief.

  ‘Kay?’

  ‘Aye, you remember Kay, the wee lassie who’s fallen head over heels for some copper who’s too daft to realise a good thing when he sees it.’

  ‘Oh. Kay. It was okay.’

  ‘Just okay? Don’t tell me you dragged her for a wee walk in the woods with one of your packed lunches?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Dougal. ‘Actually, I took your advice after all.’

  ‘So you booked a restaurant?’

  ‘No, I daren’t. I get confused by all the cutlery. We grabbed a fish supper and went back to mine.’

  ‘You sly old dog!’ said West. ‘I never knew you had it in you!’

  ‘I haven’t!’ said Dougal, breaking into a sweat. ‘No, I mean, we didn’t! Jeez-oh! Look, it was very pleasant, that’s all.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘We had dinner. And we listened to some music.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ said Duncan. ‘Barry White. The Walrus of Love always gets the blood pumping! Then what?’

  ‘We talked.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Oh leave him alone,’ said West. ‘Stop getting so personal.’

  ‘It’s just a question.’