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

by Pete Brassett

  ‘If you’re telling me that, it must be relevant. How exactly?’

  ‘It was owned by Jack Muir, too. He converted it to retail twenty-odd years ago. When he died his son, Fraser, got that as well.’

  * * *

  Not wanting to have his conversation stifled by the presence of any other customers, Munro glanced up and down the street before stepping briskly through the door and greeting the lady behind the counter with a disarming smile.

  ‘It’s James, isn’t it?’

  ‘None other,’ said Munro. ‘And yourself, Barbara, how are you?’

  ‘Better now the sun’s shining.’

  ‘Aye, it’s a beautiful day,’ said Munro, reaching for the chiller cabinet. ‘In fact, it’s feeling positively tropical.’

  ‘Oh, I’d not go so far as that!’ said Barbara, eyeing the sausage roll in his hand. ‘Will I heat that up for you? I can pop it in the microwave if you like.’

  ‘Very kind but not necessary. It’s for the journey back, just in case I get peckish.’

  ‘Well if you’re hungry now I could fire you up a bacon roll, or a cheese toastie, perhaps?’

  ‘No, you’re alright,’ said Munro, ‘I had something before I came out although if it’s not too much trouble a cup of hot, strong tea wouldnae go amiss.’

  ‘No bother,’ said Barbara. ‘Milk?’

  ‘Aye, full fat and three.’

  ‘So, are you up at your house, then?’

  ‘I’m still waiting for the sale to go through but the agent’s been kind enough to let me in so I can measure up for a few wee bits and bobs.’

  ‘That’ll be carpets and curtains, then.’

  ‘Aye, something like that.’

  ‘Get ahead of the game,’ said Barbara, ‘that’s the way to do it. That way when you pick up the keys you can crack right on.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Munro, ‘and I’ve plenty to do.’

  ‘That’s all part of the fun, making the place your own – you’ll enjoy it. I hope you’ve saved your pennies, have you seen the price of carpets these days?’

  ‘I have not,’ said Munro. ‘You make it sound as though I’m in for a wee shock.’

  ‘Aye, you are! They’re not cheap, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Perhaps I should have fought for my inheritance after all!’

  Like an avaricious widow-chaser at the wake of a wealthy landowner, Barbara, unable to conceal her interest, placed the tea on the counter and smiled at Munro with a covetous glint in her eye.

  ‘So, you’re a man of means, then?’

  ‘Quite the opposite,’ said Munro. ‘I didnae get a penny.’

  ‘Oh. I must’ve misheard you. I’ll not pry, it’s personal.’

  ‘Och, it was a long time ago,’ said Munro. ‘I had, for want of a better word, a falling-out with my father. Succinctly put, my sister got everything.’

  ‘And you got nothing?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘You have my sympathy,’ said Barbara, ‘the same thing happened to me.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Aye, the other way around, of course. It was my brother who hit the jackpot and he’s ten thousand miles away. He emigrated years ago and he’s never been back. Not once. Not even for the funeral.’

  ‘I get the impression you didnae see eye to eye.’

  ‘No,’ said Barbara, ‘we did not. See here, James, as far as my father was concerned, Fraser was the blue-eyed boy and I… well, I was never good enough.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Munro, ‘but I’m sure he must have had his reasons.’

  ‘Let’s just say I wasn’t of the same stock, but I’m not fussed, I’m over it now. What you’ve never had, you never miss.’

  ‘Right enough,’ said Munro, as he reached for his wallet. ‘I suppose it’s true what they say after all – you can choose your friends but you cannae choose your family. How much do I owe you?’

  ‘One pound and seventy-nine pence. Still, I take solace in the fact that Fraser never got his hands on the old Commercial. I might have felt different about things if he had.’

  ‘Och, that’s right,’ said Munro, ‘I remember you saying, it was sold to the woman who… who died.’

  ‘That’s right, so Fraser didn’t get a penny.’

  Munro, looking mildly inquisitive, handed over a five pound note.

  ‘Forgive me for asking,’ he said, ‘but I’m a wee bit confused, would your brother not have got the proceeds from the sale of the house?’

  ‘Ordinarily, aye, I suppose he would,’ said Barbara, but my father was canny with cash. He didn’t want that amount of money just sitting in the bank doing nothing so he opened a saving account in my mother’s name and put it all there.’

  ‘That was very shrewd of him,’ said Munro, ‘but why not a joint account?’

  ‘He didn’t see the point. He was convinced he’d go before her. That way she’d have the lot without having to go through all those legal wrangles and all that waiting around before she could get her hands on it but as it turned out she went just before him.’

  ‘It’s a shame she didnae get to enjoy it.’

  ‘Aye, right enough, but neither did Fraser. By the time the executor got his hands on the paperwork the account was all but empty.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Aye, but my folks, James, for all their foibles, they loved their charities, their wildlife. They were soppy like that. I’d not be surprised if they gave it all away.’

  ‘How very philanthropic of them.’

  ‘Phil and who?’

  ‘Generous.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Well, I’ve kept you long enough,’ said Munro, smiling as he slipped the sausage roll into his pocket. ‘It’s been a pleasure. You can let me have the next instalment of your life story the next time I’m in.’

  ‘Aye, I look forward to that, James. I look forward to that very much indeed.’

  * * *

  Unfazed by flashing lights, sudden movements, or loud noises, Murdo, had he been conscripted into service by Police Scotland, would have been described as ‘bombproof’, however, belying his ability to sleep through the fiercest of thunderstorms or the deafening bang of a barrage of fireworks, he possessed the uncanny knack of waking at the sound of anything edible being unwrapped.

  Stirred by the crinkle of a cellophane wrapper, he raised his head, sniffed the air, and pawed at Munro until a half a sausage roll landed on the seat beside him.

  Munro, polishing off the rest, reached for his phone and called the office.

  ‘Dougal,’ he said. ‘Have you a moment?’

  ‘All the time in the world, boss. What’s up?’

  ‘Jack Muir,’ said Munro as he started the engine, ‘I need everything you can possibly find pertaining to his estate. I’m particularly interested in what he did with the proceeds from the sale of the Commercial Hotel. Is that possible?’

  ‘More than possible,’ said Dougal, ‘it’s all detailed in the email from the solicitors in Dalbeattie. How’d it go with Miss Muir?’

  ‘It was interesting. She’s a nice enough lady but my instinct’s telling me there’s more to her than meets the eye.’

  ‘Well, while we’re on the subject, you might be interested to learn that–’

  ‘Sorry, Dougal, it’ll have to wait,’ said Munro, ‘I’m driving now. Save it for when I get back.’

  Chapter 17

  For the majority of the working population there came a point in the day when the tedium of tackling the mundane was replaced by the expectation of an evening filled with the frivolity of socialising, dining, or simply vegging in front of the television, but for those beset with the emotional stress of a virtuous occupation and whose selfless commitment compelled them to toil relentlessly until the job was done, there was often little to look forward to but a stiff drink and a relaxing soak in a steaming hot bath.

  Pacified by the leisurely drive back to base through the unspoilt environs o
f the Galloway Forest Park, Munro – touched by the plight of Miss Barbara Muir who, despite her outward appearance, seemed to be hiding her grief beneath a veil of contentment – paused in the doorway flabbergasted at a scene reminiscent of an under-staffed care home with West, mouth agape, reclining in a chair with her feet propped on the table, Duncan slumped over a desk with his head in his arms, and Dougal, normally a hyper-active bundle of nervous energy, yawning as he struggled to stay awake.

  ‘Dear God,’ he said. ‘Did somebody leave the gas on?’

  Duncan opened one eye and looked towards the door.

  ‘We’re pure shattered, chief.’

  ‘It’s hardly surprising,’ said West, stretching her arms. ‘It’s been a bit full-on recently, hasn’t it?’

  Munro closed the door, unclipped Murdo from his leash, and placed a carrier on the table.

  ‘Your dedication to duty is to be commended,’ he said, ‘but you’ve nae stamina.’

  ‘I think you’ll find sleep deprivation has something to do with that.’

  ‘Nonsense, lassie. You simply need to keep your strength up. I suggest you start the day with a hearty bowl of porridge, get plenty of protein down your neck and maintain a healthy intake of antioxidants.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said West, ‘but there’s only so much tea a girl can take.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Munro, ‘I was referring to wine. The red variety of course. Now then, Charlie, you’ll be pleased to know you no longer have to go scavenging behind the cooker for something to eat. I stopped along the way and picked up some provisions.’

  ‘Please tell me it’s not haggis again.’

  ‘Certainly not. It’s fillet steak, some ready-to-roast potatoes, and a not inexpensive bottle of Bordeaux but you’ll not get your paws on any of it until the day is done.’

  ‘I’ll say this for you, Jimbo, you certainly know how to dangle a carrot.’

  ‘So what’s with all this fatigue? You’re not telling me that Riley woman’s worn you out?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ said West, ‘but you’ll pleased to know we got there in the end. She made an almighty gaff when I was questioning her about MacDuff. She let slip that she knew John Drennan after all.’

  ‘So you’ve charged her?’

  ‘Yup. But what I really need now is to find that homeless bloke. If we can get him to verify Drennan’s story then we’ll be one hundred per cent watertight.’

  ‘Well despite that loose end, it sounds to me like you’ve a cause for celebration.’

  ‘Don’t put the champagne on ice just yet,’ said Duncan. ‘Riley’s only a part of the problem, chief. We’ve yet to locate McIntyre and we’ve still no idea who killed MacDuff.’

  ‘Well that’s where our worlds collide,’ said Munro. ‘If I can find Rebecca Barlow’s assassin, then we’ll have MacDuff’s killer, too.’

  ‘Good luck with that,’ said West. ‘It’s a tall order, even for you, especially if that doughnut DI Byrne’s still on the case. I hear you went back to Auchencairn.’

  ‘I did indeed. And I’m not ashamed to say I feel for Miss Muir. She’s certainly had more than her fair share of grief to bear.’

  ‘But?’ said West. ‘I feel a “but” coming on.’

  ‘But without wanting to sound callous, I get the distinct impression she’s not quite as innocent as she seems.’

  ‘How exactly?’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure,’ said Munro. ‘She showed little remorse for the passing of her parents but was clearly elated by the fact that her brother didnae get a penny from the sale of the old Commercial Hotel.’

  ‘Some people are like that,’ said West. ‘Self-centred and selfish.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Munro, ‘but it was her attitude, too. She was too flippant, too blasé about where the money actually went when most folk in her situation would be inclined to harbour a grudge.’

  ‘Sorry, chief,’ said Duncan, ‘but you’re losing me. If her brother didn’t get the money, then who did?’

  ‘Nobody,’ said Munro, ‘and that’s my point. Apparently the funds were placed in a savings account which was opened in her mother’s name and according to Miss Muir, when she died her father gave it all away.’

  ‘Who to?’

  ‘A handful of charitable causes. But I’m not convinced.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Because,’ said Munro, ‘for somebody like Jack Muir who was of a certain age and acting under the guidance of his solicitors it would have made more sense to specify the beneficiaries in his will, not just fritter it away to anyone who took his fancy. No, no, mark my words, Duncan, my instinct tells that the money went somewhere else.’

  With the bored nonchalance of a Mensa candidate answering the tie-break in the final round of a pub quiz, Dougal, stifling a yawn, sat back and raised his hand.

  ‘I can tell you where it went,’ he said. ‘I tried explaining on the phone, boss, but you cut me short.’

  ‘Sometimes,’ said Munro, ‘you need to be more forceful and stand your ground! Well, dinnae keep me in suspense, laddie! Let’s have it!’

  Dougal took a large swig of Irn-Bru, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and opened the email on his computer.

  ‘She was telling the truth about where the money went,’ he said, ‘it was an online savings account and as you know it was opened in her mother’s name but here’s the thing, boss; can you guess what her name is?’

  ‘By jiminy!’ said Munro, rolling his eyes. ‘It’s not the time for twenty questions, laddie! Enlighten me!’

  ‘It’s Barbara,’ said Dougal. ‘Barbara Muir.’

  Munro glared across the room, cocked his head, and frowned.

  ‘Are you telling me they share the same name?’

  ‘Aye, and that’s the beauty of it,’ said Dougal. ‘You see, boss, with this kind of account, money can be deposited from pretty much any source and by any means but in compliance with the anti-money laundering legislation, money can only be taken out by transferring it into one other account, and that account must bear the same name as the savings account holder.’

  ‘So Barbara Muir was able to take the money from her mother’s account, place it in her own, and the bank was none the wiser?’

  ‘Aye. And I’ve all the evidence here to prove it,’ said Dougal. ‘There’s a daily limit to the amount that can be transferred which is currently twenty grand but even so, it didn’t take much more than a week for her to get her hands on the lot.’

  ‘It’s true what they say,’ said Munro, ‘the female of the species is deadlier than the male. The woman’s as shrewd as a snake but tell me this, how did she manage to enter her details on her mother’s account without her knowing?’

  ‘I’m guessing,’ said Duncan, ‘because her mother didn’t open the account herself. It sounds to me like Barbara Muir opened it for her.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ said West.

  ‘Muir senior was in her nineties, right? Most folk that age haven’t a scooby about online stuff let alone bank accounts. They’d rather have a chequebook or a mattress that needs stuffing.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll go along with that,’ said West, ‘but why would they open it in the first place? What, at their time of life, made them think they needed an online account?’

  ‘The word “coerced” springs to mind,’ said Duncan. ‘Maybe Barbara Muir convinced them it was the right thing to do but the question still remains – why?’

  ‘Oh, keep up,’ said West, ‘that’s easy, to get her hands on the money, of course.’

  ‘No offence, miss, but that’s not adding up.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because when that account was opened the old Commercial Hotel wasn’t even up for sale.’

  West gazed at Duncan with the vacuous expression of a waxwork dummy while Dougal, smiling blithely, stared at Munro with a mobile phone hanging limply from his wrist.

  ‘I’ve a feeling,’ said Munro, ‘that the answer to this particular puzzl
e lies with the brains of this organisation.’

  ‘Duncan’s right,’ said Dougal. ‘The property wasn’t on the market but Barbara Muir knew it would be sold.’

  ‘How?’ said West. ‘Are you telling me she had a sixth sense?’

  ‘No, but she did know how to send a text. This is Rebecca Barlow’s iPhone. I managed to retrieve most of the deleted messages and it seems she didn’t make an offer on the Commercial out of the blue, Barbara Muir contacted her and asked if she’d be interested in acquiring the property at a reasonable price.’

  ‘The scheming cow,’ said West. ‘So she orchestrated the whole thing?’

  ‘Aye, it certainly seems that way,’ said Dougal. ‘She might be a lot of things but she’s clever, I’ll give her that.’

  * * *

  Disappointed that somebody like Muir who appeared to be a compassionate pillar of the community could in reality be so cold and calculating, Munro, with his faith in human nature on the back burner, placed a hand on his chin and gazed ruefully into space.

  ‘What’s up?’ said West.

  ‘People, Charlie. People. They were put on this earth to disappoint. I’m sticking with dogs from now on.’

  ‘It’s not all bad. At least you know how Barlow got her hands on the Commercial.’

  ‘It’s not enough,’ said Munro. ‘Agreed, the string of messages on the mobile phone explains how the hotel came to be sold and if nothing else they cast a bleak shadow on Miss Muir’s sense of morals, but they contribute nothing as far as Miss Barlow’s untimely death is concerned.’

  * * *

  Conscious of a dinner date with Kay looming on the horizon, Dougal, keen to convey as much information as possible in the shortest space of time, grabbed a wodge of papers, coughed politely into his hand, and waved them at Munro.

  ‘These are all the other messages and emails I recovered, boss. You can read them when you get a chance.’

  ‘Much obliged,’ said Munro, ‘but I’m not sure that will help.’

  ‘Oh, it will, boss. Trust me, it will. You see, there’s a few here from Daniel McIntyre.’

  West jumped from her seat and swept the sheaf of papers from the table.