RANCOUR: A gripping murder mystery set on the west coast of Scotland (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 8)

by Pete Brassett

  ‘Right enough,’ said Munro, ‘but it’s not one of mine.’

  Relenting, West took a swig of wine, yanked her phone from her hip, and rolled her eyes.

  * * *

  Though no stranger to the bitter conditions of a winter in the Lowlands, Duncan – driving with his mobile wedged firmly between his ear and the hem of his woolly watch cap – shuddered as the biting breeze blasting through the vents of the decrepit Defender cut him to the core.

  ‘Duncan,’ said West, ‘can I call you back?’

  ‘No chance, miss. It’s pure Baltic here, I need to get this conversation over with.’

  ‘But we’re just about to eat.’

  ‘Good for you,’ said Duncan, ‘I’ve had to make do with a cheeseburger and a milkshake.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m heading back to the office. I’m going to leave your motor in the pound…’

  ‘Crikey, I forgot about that.’

  ‘…and with any luck it’ll get towed away.’

  ‘Thanks, mate. Anything else?’

  ‘Aye. Happy Christmas.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Result, miss. On the flask.’

  ‘No way!’ said West. ‘Right, hold on, I’m going to stick you on speaker but you’ll have to yell. Okay, what did they find?’

  ‘Tomato soup.’

  ‘No time for jokes, Duncan, I’m dishing up.’

  ‘It’s no joke. The flask contained tomato soup and the cup had two lovely samples of DNA.’

  ‘Two?’

  ‘Aye. One’s a positive for Ella MacCall but there’s no match for the other.’

  ‘No match?’ said West. ‘No, no. That can’t be right, I mean it has to be Ricci. It just has to be.’

  ‘It probably is,’ said Munro, ‘but it’s too soon, Charlie. His profile will not be on the system yet.’

  ‘Is that you, chief?’ said Duncan. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Surviving laddie. I’m surviving.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. The chief’s right, miss. I’d not panic, not just yet.’

  ‘Well if it’s not there tomorrow,’ said West, ‘you’ll have to get FS to do it, got that? Right, get yourself home and…’

  ‘I’m not finished yet.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘The girls.’

  ‘Of course,’ said West. ‘Sorry, mate. How’d you get on?’

  ‘Good and bad,’ said Duncan. ‘I spoke to Megan Dalgleish and Holly Paterson first. They know something, I can tell, but they’re not saying. They just clammed up. Didn’t help having their parents in the same room but we could bring them in, I mean they’re not juveniles anymore.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said West. ‘I hope that’s the bad?’

  ‘Oh aye. Now for the good: Kirsty Young. She said there is something she wants to tell us but she’s too scared. She’ll not say a thing unless we can guarantee her safety.’

  ‘She wants protection?’

  ‘Aye, miss. She’s afraid of reprisals.’

  ‘From who? Ricci?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Will I tell her yes?’

  West, biting her bottom lip, pondered as she piled the French fries onto the plates.

  ‘Okay look,’ she said. ‘Dougal’s already charged Ricci on the insurance ticket which means even if he doesn’t go down, he’ll be out of harm’s way for a couple of days at least so yeah, do it. You can pick her up in the morning.’

  ‘Roger that, miss. And if it’s not Ricci she’s worried about?’

  ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’

  Baffled by his insouciance, West hung up, sat down, and eyed Munro with a hint of suspicion.

  ‘Well,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you going to ask?’

  ‘Ask what, Charlie?’

  ‘About MacCall, the DNA on the flask. Kirsty Young wanting to spill the beans?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Munro. ‘If it’s all the same with you, lassie, I’d rather get acquainted with my supper.’

  ‘That’s not like you, Jimbo. That’s not like you at all.’

  * * *

  As an authority on the foibles of human nature, Munro had rightly attributed the stabilising influence of a steady girlfriend as the reason behind Duncan’s new-found fervour for the cerebral side of policing. Dougal, however, remained unimpressed with his significant other’s inability to quash his predilection for dressing like a jakey and his aversion to the benefits of a boil-wash.

  ‘Jeez-oh!’ he said as he bounced through the door, ‘it’s not even seven, did you not sleep?’

  ‘I’ll have you know I was up with the birds. A look like this doesn’t come easy.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Dougal, ‘but why so early?’

  ‘I’ve an errand to run.’

  ‘The launderette?’

  ‘Aye, that’s funny, pal. It’s Kilmarnock actually. I’m to fetch Kirsty Young. She’s a tale to tell and if I’m right it involves a fella by the name of Ricci and a wee ride on a ferry.’

  ‘That’s smashing,’ said Dougal. ‘If she can place him behind the wheel then we can hang him out to dry.’

  ‘Exactly. So I’ll have myself a wee brew then that’s me away. How about you?’

  ‘Nick Riley. I’m going to scoot over to his place and find out if there was anything going on between him and Helen Sullivan or if she was just renting a room.’

  ‘My money’s on a room with benefits,’ said Duncan. ‘Is Westie not here yet?’

  ‘Westie,’ said West as she tossed her jacket on the desk, ‘is right behind you.’

  ‘Sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to…’

  ‘Relax.’

  ‘Is the chief not with you?’

  ‘Nope. He mumbled something about turpentine and took off like a shot. Truth be known, I think he’s run-down, big-style. Dougal, you know him as well as anyone, where do you think he’d go if he wanted a holiday?’

  ‘No-brainer, miss,’ said Dougal. ‘Islay. Do you not remember that’s where he and wife went on their honeymoon?’

  ‘Of course it was. Okay, one of you two do me a favour, see if you can get him a decent hotel for a week or two, or better still, a cottage.’

  ‘No bother,’ said Duncan, ‘I’ll take a look now before I head off. Is this to go on expenses?’

  ‘No,’ said West. ‘My treat. Let’s call it an early birthday present. Right, let’s crack on. Dougal, give me some good news while you stick the kettle on.’

  ‘Sorry, miss, no can do.’

  ‘Why? Are we out of milk?’

  ‘Plenty of milk. Just a shortage of good news. Brace yourself.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘I spoke to Mackenzie. He doesn’t have a scooby where he is.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘McIver. He’s not home and the garage is all locked up.’

  West, momentarily stunned by the revelation that her number two suspect could be hundreds of miles away, looked to the ceiling and cursed.

  ‘Dammit!’ she said, slamming the table. ‘That’s all we need. When was he last seen?’

  ‘The pub last night,’ said Dougal. ‘He popped in about six o’clock but he didn’t hang about.’

  ‘And it’s taken this long to find out he’s legged it?’

  ‘In all fairness, miss, they probably assumed he’d just gone home. Mackenzie says he only became concerned when the garage didn’t open for business this morning.’

  ‘Okay,’ said West. ‘Get him on the blower, tell him to scour the whole island, maybe his mountain rescue mates know where he is. Our friend McIver’s just pipped Ricci to the top spot. Hold up, what time’s the first ferry from Brodick to Ardrossan?’

  ‘Eight-twenty, miss. I’ve already checked.’

  ‘So he’s still got plenty of time to make that. Make sure Mackenzie has someone down there just in case, then call CalMac and get a passenger list for all the sailings since six o’clock last night.’

  ‘On it,
’ said Dougal as he handed her a brew. ‘I do have some other news, it’s not brilliant but at least it proves Ricci’s not a habitual liar.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The hockey club. He did go to see them after all. He met with the manager, a Miss Sarah Crawford, but she’s not happy with him.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He was that keen she thought they had a deal but she’s not heard from him since. It’s a shame really because they’re really quite good, they came fourth in the national league last year.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were into hockey,’ said Duncan. ‘Is that what floats your boat, all those short skirts and big, navy blue knickers?’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said West. ‘Besides, that’s netball.’

  ‘See here, miss,’ said Dougal as he spun his laptop round, ‘this is the most recent photo on their website. That’s young Ella MacCall on the end there and by the looks of it, she’s not too happy about losing.’

  West, reminded of her school days and her absolute hatred of anything sporty, scrutinised the image and, unsettled by what she saw, called across the room.

  ‘Duncan,’ she said, clicking her fingers. ‘Here. Quick.’

  ‘Do I have to, miss?’ he said as he ambled over, ‘it’s not really my…’

  ‘Remind you of anyone?’

  Duncan placed his hands on the desk, leaned forward and groaned in disbelief as his eyes focused on the lissom blonde standing behind Ella MacCall.

  ‘Is that not McIver’s pal?’ he said. ‘The PE teacher?’

  ‘If it isn’t,’ said West as she sipped her tea, ‘then she’s got a double. You’d better get yourself some Kwells, you might need them.’

  Chapter 14

  With Duncan and Dougal on their respective assignments and Munro busy scouring the shelves of the local hardware store for a bottle of paint thinners, West – relishing the unique experience of being alone in the office – seized the opportunity to take a peek at the two cottages Duncan had left bookmarked on the screen and, though pleasantly surprised by his choices, dismissed the first on the grounds that she wasn’t a millionaire whilst the owners, judging by the price of a week’s rental, probably were.

  The second, however – a traditional, white-washed crofter’s cottage in Port Ellen - was set on a private beach not far from the Carraig Fhada lighthouse and, apart from being affordable, enjoyed a commanding view across the North Channel to Rathlin Island and regular visits from schools of Bottlenose dolphins and hungry sea otters.

  Questioning the validity of the old adage ‘it is better to give than it is to receive’ she tapped in her credit card details and finalised the booking before turning her attention to the job in hand.

  * * *

  ‘PC Mackenzie,’ West said. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Aye, all good, Inspector. And yourself?’

  ‘Could be better. Any luck with McIver?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Mackenzie. ‘I’m still waiting on CalMac for the passenger list. I’ve done the rounds again and he’s not been seen since last night.’

  ‘Is he in the habit of taking off like this? Doing a disappearing act out of the blue?’

  ‘No, no. That’s what worries me. See here, Inspector, even if John was just hopping across to the mainland, he’d always tell someone where he was going.’

  ‘And he’s not doing anything with mountain rescue, like a training exercise or something?’

  ‘No. I’ve checked. They’ve nothing scheduled and they’ve not had a call-out.’

  ‘Well, keep looking,’ said West. ‘You never know, he might have had an accident.’

  ‘Aye, right enough. Rest assured we’ll keep our eyes open.’

  ‘Okay listen, I need to have a word with his mate, Isla Thomson.’

  ‘Oh, no need,’ said Mackenzie. ‘I already told your Sergeant McCrae, she’s not seen him either.’

  ‘It’s not McIver I need to speak to her about. Have you got a number?’

  ‘I have indeed but she’s probably busy just now, preparing for lessons. Will I not just ask her to give you a call?’

  ‘No thanks,’ said West. ‘Number please.’

  ‘As you wish, Inspector. As you wish.’

  * * *

  Assuming that she owned a car without the benefits of Bluetooth or was simply in the habit of not taking unsolicited calls, West – refusing to leave a voicemail – repeatedly hung up and redialled until a less-than-cheerful Thomson finally answered her phone.

  ‘Who the hell is this?’ she said curtly, ‘I’m trying to get to…’

  ‘Isla Thomson? It’s DI West. We met at McIver’s garage.’

  ‘Could you not just leave a message?’

  ‘People have a habit of ignoring messages,’ said West. ‘And this is important.’

  ‘Well if it’s John you’re after, then for the umpteenth time, I’ve not seen him.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried about him? I mean, he’s your mate, you work together?’

  ‘He’s a grown man,’ said Thomson, ‘he can look after himself.’

  ‘Charming,’ said West. ‘Anyway, this is nothing to do with McIver.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I’m calling about the Irvine Community Sports Club.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘You never said you coached a hockey team there.’

  ‘Why should I? It’s not important, is it?’

  ‘It is when Ella MacCall was on your team.’

  West sat back and smiled at the ensuing silence.

  ‘I see,’ said Thomson, sheepishly.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us you knew her?’

  ‘You never asked.’

  ‘Okay,’ said West, ‘then why didn’t you tell McIver when you found her on Goat Fell? Or PC Mackenzie? Or the ambulance crew?’

  ‘Because it wasn’t worth it,’ said Thomson. ‘Look inspector, I hardly knew the girl, she was just another player on the team. Besides, if you’d seen what she looked like when we found her, even I couldn’t be sure it was her.’

  ‘Fair enough, but even if you had your doubts you should’ve said something to Mackenzie. At the very least it would’ve saved us a lot of time and trouble.’

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t make your life easier,’ said Thomson. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Not quite,’ said West. ‘I understand your club was looking for a new sponsor…’

  ‘Hold on. A sponsor? What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘As I was saying,’ said West, ‘you were looking for a new sponsor. Have you found anyone yet?’

  ‘I’m not sure. You’ll have to speak with Sarah Crawford. The last I heard she was doing a deal with Alex.’

  ‘Alex? You mean Alessandro Ricci?’

  ‘Aye, that’s him.’

  ‘Why do you call him Alex?’

  ‘Because that’s how he introduced himself.’

  ‘So you’ve met?’

  ‘Aye, a few times. Nice fella.’

  ‘So, you know him quite well?’ said West. ‘Mr Ricci?’

  ‘Not inside-out but well enough.’

  ‘In what way? I mean, do you socialise together?’

  ‘That’s none of your business.’

  ‘Sounds like an admission of guilt to me,’ said West. ‘You do know he’s got a partner, don’t you?’

  For the second time in what was turning out to be a revealing conversation, West smiled and waited patiently for a response.

  ‘No,’ said Thomson. ‘I did not.’

  ‘He’s quite the player, your mate Alex, wouldn’t you say? What did Ella think of him?’

  ‘Ella?’

  ‘That’s right. I’m assuming you know that she and he were…’

  ‘Are you joking me?’ said Thomson. ‘No, that’s not right, he’s old enough to be her…’

  ‘I’m deadly serious, Miss Thomson.’

  ‘Well, if it’s true then I’ll not be seeing him again. There ought to be a law agains
t that kind of thing.’

  ‘There is,’ said West, ‘in a manner of speaking.’

  ‘Well, if you’re done, I’ve a class to teach.’

  ‘Then I won’t keep you,’ said West. ‘Oh, and a word to the wise, Miss Thomson, don’t go doing a disappearing act like your mate McIver. I might be coming to see you soon.’

  ‘Is that a threat, Inspector?’

  ‘No. Just a friendly invitation to stick the kettle on.’

  * * *

  Regarding Thomson’s association with Ricci to be, at best, an ill-judged dalliance, and her cold-hearted indifference to MacCall’s demise the result of ferrying countless cadavers down the mountainside, West remained, nonetheless, intrigued as to why Ella MacCall was the only one in the team photograph to look so desperately unhappy.

  Staring intently at the photo on Dougal’s laptop, she sought clues in her defensive stance, her aversion to the camera, and her dour expression until, becoming increasingly frustrated, she closed the window to focus her attention on Ricci’s two other victims.

  Mindful of the fact that she’d need irrefutable proof that the tattooed inscriptions on the backs of Sullivan and Jackson were born of the same hand and not two different members of some burgeoning cult, she placed the magnified images side by side and scrutinised their wounds before calling McLeod for some much-needed reassurance.

  ‘Charlotte. This is a pleasant surprise.’

  ‘Alright, Andy? How the devil are you?

  ‘Oh, same as usual,’ said McLeod. ‘Up to my wotsits in death and decay, rotting flesh and dismembered limbs.’

  ‘I’m beginning to realise why I’ve never dated a pathologist. Speaking of which, have you had a close encounter with a razor yet?’

  ‘Why? Do you fear the beard?’

  ‘I fear what’s living in it.’

  ‘Well, in answer to your question,’ said McLeod, ‘the answer is no.’

  ‘Shame. Better keep this strictly business then. Did you get a photo of Jessica Sullivan’s mate, the girl with a similar tattoo?’

  ‘Sophie Jackson? I did, aye. She’s lucky not to have ended up on my slab as well.’

  ‘You’re not wrong there,’ said West. ‘Okay, look, I need to be absolutely sure both tattoos were the work of the same person and I’ve had some thoughts.’

  ‘On you go.’

  ‘Well, I’m no expert but it looks to me as if the same implement was used in both cases, nothing as sharp as a scalpel, but nothing too dull either. Obviously a blade of sorts, but probably one that’s been used.’