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

by Pete Brassett

  ‘When did you find out she was taking pills?’

  ‘The first I heard was when she called me from the hospital, she’d taken a tumble and fallen in the harbour.’

  ‘In Troon?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right. She said she thought she was losing her marbles because she couldn’t even remember going there.’

  ‘Listen, hen,’ said Dougal, ‘you’re into social media, right? Did you know Ella had a Facebook page?’

  ‘I did, but it’s not hers, not really.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Ella was never into stuff like that,’ said Kirsty. ‘Isla set it up for her.’

  ‘But you’ve seen the wee videos on there?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘And do you know who filmed them?’

  ‘I’m guessing Thomson.’

  ‘Not your pal Alex?’

  ‘No, you’d never get the three of them together.’

  ‘The thing is,’ said West, ‘why would Ella post a film of her falling in the drink for all the world to gloat at?’

  ‘Like I said, she didn’t. Truth is, Inspector, I doubt Ella even knew they were there.’

  Having experienced first-hand the psychological trauma of a coercive relationship, West – though touched by empathy for Ella MacCall – could not justify jealousy as a reasonable excuse for Thomson’s behaviour and remained doubtful of her culpability.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, becoming bored by what was beginning to sound like an extract from an agony aunt column, ‘so Isla Thomson wasn’t happy about being given the heave-ho. Frankly, I don’t see why it’s such a big deal.’

  ‘Oh, you’re not listening, are you?’ said Kirsty. ‘She wasn’t unhappy, she was raging! She was that possessive, she just couldn’t handle not being in control.’

  ‘Possessive?’ said Duncan. ‘How so?’

  ‘She’d not let Ella out of her sight if she could help it. They had to talk on the phone every evening if they weren’t together and she even did her best to keep us apart. She told her that if she ever left, if she ever found someone else, then she’d be sorry.’

  ‘Well why did Ella not get some help? Some counselling maybe?’

  ‘She did,’ said Kirsty. ‘She talked to Alex. He was a grown-up, she said. She figured he’d protect her and get Thomson off her back.’

  ‘But it didn’t work out that way, did it?’ said West.

  ‘No, it did not,’ said Kirsty. ‘Thomson’s not a dafty, Inspector. She knew full-well what Ella was up to, so she got pally with Alex; she was trying to drive a wedge between them, make her jealous so she’d come back.’

  ‘So, you’re convinced Thomson was responsible for Ella’s death?’

  ‘Aye, I’m certain of it.’

  ‘Okay. And how do you think she did it?’

  Kirsty held West’s gaze for just a second, then lowered her head.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said sheepishly. ‘All I know is, Ella may have been fed up but she’d not kill herself.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry,’ said West, ‘but don’t you think it’s a bit extreme? The old “if I can’t have you, nobody will”?’

  ‘Not with Thomson, no. She’s a psycho. See here, Inspector, even on the journey over she and Ella never said a single word to each other. Not a word. Until Ella said we were thinking about taking a walk up Goat Fell.’

  ‘Hang on,’ said West perking up. ‘You mean she didn’t try to stop you?’

  ‘Did she hell,’ said Kirsty. ‘When Megan and I said we were having second thoughts because it looked like snow was on the way, Thomson said we were acting like a couple of lightweights. She said she knew the mountain like the back of her hand. She said she knew how the weather would turn. She said by the time we got a mile or two up the path, the cloud would lift and we’d be on our way.’

  ‘But she didn’t go with you?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Kirsty, ‘but get this. That afternoon she shows up and she’s all sweetness and light, smiling and chatting to Ella like nothing was wrong. She even brought us a map with the path highlighted in marker pen, then stood there sharing a flask of soup before giving it to Ella and sending us on our way.’

  West, postulating that the mention of the flask might lend some credence to her story, pushed herself off the wall and, deep in thought, walked heel to toe around the room.

  ‘What was your relationship with Isla Thomson, Kirsty?’ she said.

  ‘Are you joking me? I’m not that way inclined. And even if I was, she’s not my type.’

  ‘No. I mean in general. How did you two get on?’

  ‘We didn’t. We exchanged pleasantries, that was it.’

  ‘So, you’ve no reason to feel vindictive towards her?’

  ‘I have not.’

  ‘She’s never crossed you? Upset you? Threatened you?’

  ‘No, never. Why?’

  ‘Because,’ said West, ‘there’s one thing I can’t fathom out. One thing that doesn’t quite add up.’

  ‘What’s that then?’

  ‘You say Isla Thomson drove you, Ella and your friends from Ardrossan and dropped you all at the Ormidale Hotel.’

  ‘That’s right, aye.’

  ‘In a silver Vauxhall?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘That car belongs to Alessandro Ricci’s partner, Helen Sullivan.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ said Kirsty, ‘all I know is, I’ve seen Alex driving it about the place.’

  ‘So how did Thomson get her hands on it?’

  ‘She borrowed it off Alex.’

  ‘Where was her car?’

  ‘At home,’ said Kirsty. ‘It’s too small for all of us to fit in so she got a lift to hockey with a pal of hers from some garage on Arran, then drove us back in the Vauxhall after practice.’

  ‘I need to be crystal clear about this, Kirsty,’ said West. ‘You’re absolutely sure it was Isla Thomson who drove you off the ferry and dropped you at the hotel?’

  ‘Aye, of course, that’s what I’ve been saying all along.’

  ‘Well, here’s the thing, sweetheart,’ said Duncan. ‘Isla didn’t go back to Ardrossan that night. She stayed on Arran. So how do you think that car got all the way back to the mainland?’

  ‘Is that all that’s bothering you?’

  ‘It’s a big all,’ said West.

  ‘Thomson drove it back onto the ferry then hopped off,’ said Kirsty. ‘Alex picked it up when it docked in Ardrossan.’

  Conscious of the fact that her impetuous behaviour was behind a raft of snap decisions and rash judgements which had hitherto blighted her career, West – gambling on upping her success rate – walked briskly back to the desk.

  ‘I’ve got a call to make,’ she said, her finger hovering above the stop button. ‘Interview terminated. The time is 3:55 pm.’

  ‘Terminated? But what about me?’ said Kirsty as West disappeared through the door. ‘I’ll not go home. What if Isla…’

  ‘Don’t you worry, hen,’ said Duncan. ‘We’ll sort you out.’

  * * *

  Pausing on the landing of the concrete stairwell, West pulled her phone from the holster and hit redial.

  ‘Hello, Inspector,’ said Mackenzie. ‘And how are you?’

  ‘No time for that,’ said West, her voice bouncing off the walls. ‘There’s something I need you to do.’

  ‘Is this about the email?’

  ‘What email?’

  ‘The one I sent this afternoon,’ said Mackenzie. ‘John McIver. He was booked on the 11:05 this morning. Arrived Ardrossan midday.’

  ‘So, where the hell has he gone?’

  ‘I’ve really no idea.’

  ‘Has he got family or friends on the mainland?’

  ‘Not unless you count the fellas at the motor spares depot.’

  ‘Well, he must know someone,’ said West. ‘Ask around, I don’t give a monkey’s if everyone’s sick to death of talking to you, I need to know where he’s gone.’

/>   ‘I’ll do my best. Is that it?’

  ‘Not by a long chalk. Isla Thomson.’

  ‘Oh aye. Are you still chasing her?’

  ‘Not any more,’ said West. ‘You are.’

  ‘I’m not with you.’

  ‘I want you to arrest her on suspicion of the murder of Miss Ella MacCall.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Deadly. I need her dabs uploaded and a DNA swab as soon as you’ve nicked her. And don’t forget to bring it with you.’

  ‘No disrespect,’ said Mackenzie, ‘but are you sure about this? I mean, this is Isla Thomson we’re talking about here.’

  ‘Just do as you’re bloody well told,’ said West. ‘There’s a ferry at 4:40, make sure you’re on it.’

  Waiting until she’d finished her conversation, Duncan – hovering a few steps down – glanced up at her and frowned.

  ‘Miss?’

  ‘Thomson should be on the next ferry over.’

  ‘So, we’re going with it?’

  ‘We have to,’ said West, a distant look of bewilderment in her eyes.

  ‘But?’

  ‘But if Thomson did spike MacCall’s flask, where the hell did she lay her hands on the drug?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure if the scallies on the streets can get hold of it, miss, then she probably can.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe,’ said West. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘What will we do with Kirsty?’

  ‘You sort it. I’ll be upstairs.’

  Chapter 17

  Unaccustomed to the formalities of meetings or interviews with anyone but the bank manager, John McIver – a self-taught, self-employed, and self-assured singleton with an undeniable talent for mending and maintaining anything of a mechanical nature – felt as nervous as a canary in a coal mine as he wandered around the empty office waiting for someone to arrive.

  Unsure whether to stand or sit, he flinched, ducking instinctively as West, puffing from a sprint up the stairs, burst through the door.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ she said, catching her breath, ‘if it isn’t the elusive Mr McIver.’

  ‘He said it was okay to come up.’

  ‘Who did?’

  ‘The fella downstairs,’ said McIver, removing his cap. ‘I told him you were expecting me, I hope that’s okay.’

  ‘He’s a got a cheek,’ said West. ‘Security’s bad enough as it is without some halfwit allowing a suspected murderer to wander about the place.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  West regarded McIver as if she’d just been roused from the midst of a particularly unpleasant dream.

  ‘Ignore me,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said McIver. ‘Bobby, that is, PC Mackenzie, he left me a message. He said you were wanting a word with me.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said West, ‘so I was. It doesn’t matter now, you’re off the hook.’

  ‘What hook?’

  ‘Forget it,’ said West as she checked her watch. ‘You can go. Sorry you’ve had a wasted journey.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not wasted,’ said McIver, ‘I’m here to collect some stock and I’m stopping over too. I thought I’d have myself a few bevvies and a bite to eat.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  McIver, hovering as if hankering after an invitation to stay, finally turned for the door.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘that’s me away then. Cheery-bye, Inspector.’

  ‘Yeah, bye-bye,’ said West flippantly when, in a rare moment of lucidity, she remembered his prescription. ‘John! John, come back!’

  McIver poked his head round the door and smiled.

  ‘There is something after all,’ said West, ‘come in and take a pew.’

  ‘Okey-dokey,’ said McIver, ogling her tight T-shirt and figure-hugging jeans. ‘Is this about tonight? Because if it’s company you’re after I’ve no plans. Not really.’

  ‘Oh please,’ said West as Duncan returned. ‘Thanks but I’m working late. Fancy a cuppa?’

  ‘Aye, go on then.’

  ‘Duncan, stick the kettle on, would you?’

  ‘No bother. Mr McIver, how’s yourself?’

  ‘Not bad, Constable. You?’

  ‘Aye, all good. Milk and sugar?’

  McIver nodded as West perched herself on the desk opposite.

  ‘You take stuff to help you sleep, don’t you, Mr McIver?’ she said.

  ‘I do,’ said McIver. ‘It’s not a regular thing. I only take it if I have to. Mostly after a call-out or like tonight, here in town. I can’t take the noise.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I’m not bothered about that,’ said West waving her arm. ‘Remind me again, what is it you’re on?’

  ‘Flunitrazepam.’

  ‘Rohypnol, Miss,’ said Duncan. ‘That’s the same stuff…’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said West. ‘Mr McIver, if I remember correctly, when we met you said you’d just collected a new batch from your GP. Is that right?’

  ‘Aye, absolutely. I was in a rush, mind, to make the surgery before it closed. That was some dash off the ferry, I can tell you.’

  ‘And then you went home?’

  ‘No, no. I headed back to the garage to lock up.’

  ‘Was anyone there?’

  ‘Only Isla. She was tanking up a customer for me.’

  ‘And were you there long?’

  ‘Oh, about a quarter of an hour,’ said McIver. ‘Twenty minutes tops.’

  ‘And where did you leave your pills?’

  ‘In my coat.’

  ‘And your coat was where?’

  ‘Oh, now you’re asking. On the bench maybe. Or in the office. That’s where I keep the cash when I lock up.’

  ‘And did Isla wait for you?’ said West. ‘I mean, did you leave together?’

  ‘Let me think. No, as I recall I was bolting the doors at the back of the workshop when she shouted to say she was off.’

  West paused for a moment, sipped her tea, and stared at McIver.

  ‘This new pack of tabs,’ she said. ‘Have you taken any yet?’

  ‘No, no. But I’ll be needing one tonight, that’s for sure.’

  ‘So you’ve got them with you?’

  ‘Oh aye,’ said McIver as he reached into his pocket. ‘Would you like a wee look?’

  McIver sat back and laughed as West, much to his amusement, pulled on a pair of gloves.

  ‘I’ve not got anything contagious,’ he said. ‘You’ll not catch anything off there.’

  West glanced up and smiled politely.

  ‘Thirty tablets,’ she said as she opened the carton. ‘Three strips of ten, right?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right.’

  ‘And you’ve not taken any?’

  ‘If I had, my head would be on the desk.’

  ‘Then why,’ said West holding up a strip,’ are there three missing?’

  ‘Dear, dear,’ said McIver, unfazed by her discovery. ‘Not again.’

  ‘Again? You mean this has happened before?’

  ‘A few times, aye. It’s not right. I told my GP but she said it’s likely to be a glitch at the factory.’

  ‘Hell of a glitch,’ said West. ‘Listen, what time do you go to bed?’

  McIver’s mischievous smile dissipated as he locked eyes with West.

  ‘Ten,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘I shall be in my pit by ten.’

  ‘Good. I need to hang on to these. I’ll get them back to you in a couple of hours. Where are you staying?’

  ‘The Beechwood on Prestwick Road.’

  ‘Thanks. Now drink up. I’ve got work to do.’

  West handed Duncan the carton as McIver, feeling as confused as a chameleon in a kaleidoscope, shuffled from the room.

  ‘Get this dusted,’ she said, ‘if there’s anything there, it’ll be on that strip and with any luck it’ll belong to you know who.’

  ‘Roger that, miss.’

  ‘By the way, what have you done with Kirsty?’

  ‘Holiday
Inn and twenty quid to fetch herself some dinner.’

  ‘That’s generous of you.’

  ‘Not really,’ said Duncan. ‘It’s all going on expenses.’

  * * *

  Jaundiced by the dim glow of the harbour lights, West – leaning on the bonnet of the Defender – nodded as Mackenzie strolled towards them like an agent arriving at Checkpoint Charlie ready to exchange a couple of spooks.

  Ignoring the inquisitive glances of the other passengers, she watched as he placed his hand on Thomson’s head and eased her into the rear of one of two patrol cars parked alongside.

  ‘You okay?’ said Duncan. ‘You look frazzled.’

  ‘It’s not easy,’ said Mackenzie. ‘Arresting a friend, it just doesn’t feel right.’

  ‘Get over it pal. If she’s not guilty, she’ll be back tomorrow.’

  ‘Ignore him,’ said West, stifling a smile. ‘He’s just hacked off because we’ve not had lunch. Prints?’

  ‘Aye, all done,’ said Mackenzie as he pulled a small jiffy bag from his tunic pocket. ‘And this is the swab.’

  ‘Nice one, Constable. So, what does the night hold in store for you?’

  ‘Not much. I’m back on board that thing. She’ll sail in twenty minutes and if I’m not on it, that’s me humped. There’ll not be another until the morning.’

  Leaving the driver of the second patrol car with the DNA sample and strict instructions to ask for DS Dougal McCrae when he got to Pacific Quay, Duncan – dreading the ride back in the dilapidated Defender – buttoned his coat against the impending chill.

  ‘How long’s that going to take?’ said West as the blue lights faded into the distance.

  ‘Well, if he gives it some wellie, miss, I’d say he could do it in half an hour. Maybe less.’

  ‘Good. So, if we’re lucky, by the time we’ve given Thomson a good grilling, we could have a result.’

  ‘Aye, maybe,’ said Duncan as he fastened his safety belt. ‘Talking of grilling, miss, are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

  ‘Large kebab, onions, chilli sauce?’

  ‘Oh, you’re on the money there. I think I could probably go a wee shish too.’

  ‘Sorry, big boy, but you’re going to have to wait. Let’s get Thomson sorted first, then remind me to ring Jimbo. He’s acting odd and I’m not sure I like it.’

  Chapter 18