PERDITION: A Scottish murder mystery with a shocking twist (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 7)

by Pete Brassett

  ‘So, what did you give her?

  ‘Why, four bottles, of course. Ten millilitres each.’

  West, hiding her delight, walked towards the door.

  ‘Just out of interest,’ she said, ‘if that was given to someone by mistake…

  ‘You mean a human?’

  ‘Yeah, say twenty, thirty mils, what would…?’

  ‘Oh, not good, Inspector. Dearie me, no. Not good at all.’

  Chapter 18

  With her confidence boosted to unprecedented levels, West – feeling as high as a hippy with a pipeful of hash – crashed back to earth as they approached Macallan’s house and pulled into the empty drive.

  ‘It’s gone!’ she said, excitedly. ‘Jimbo! The Defender. It’s gone!’

  ‘Calm yourself, lassie. She’s probably away up the shops.’

  ‘Shops my arse!’ said West as she leapt from the car. ‘She’s done a bleeding runner!’

  Unfazed by her panicked reaction, Munro unfastened his safety belt and glanced towards the field before reclining his seat, lying back and closing his eyes while she took a quick look around.

  ‘There’s no answer,’ she said as she flung open the door, ‘I’m going to… what the hell are you doing?’

  ‘I’m having a cat-nap,’ said Munro, ‘although, I do believe folk nowadays refer to it as a power nap. Whichever way you look at it, though, it’s still forty winks.’

  ‘Are you insane? You’re just going to lie there while she’s halfway to…’

  ‘She’s not halfway to anywhere, Charlie. You’re reverting to form and jumping to conclusions.’

  ‘Am I indeed? The house is locked up, the car’s gone…’

  ‘And the ponies are in the paddock, the chickens are in the run, and the goats are chewing the cud. She’ll not be far. Trust me.’

  West slumped in her seat and sighed.

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ she said, ‘or my future’s up the Swanee.’

  ‘It’s not the future you should be scared of, Charlie. It’s repeating the past.’

  West glanced at Munro and rolled her eyes.

  ‘Thanks, Sigmund,’ she said. ‘That’s really cheered me up.’

  ‘Is Duncan on his way?’

  ‘Yeah, shouldn’t be long. So, what do we do now?’

  ‘What do you think?’ said Munro as he began to doze. ‘We wait.’

  * * *

  Unable to relax as West rummaged through the glove box rustling wrappers like a ravenous rat in search of something to eat, Munro opened his eyes, returned his seat to the upright position, and cocked his head at the sound of a vehicle speeding up the lane.

  ‘Duncan,’ he said as the Audi pulled up behind them.

  ‘Alright, chief? Miss? You said it was urgent, what’s occurring?’

  ‘Macallan,’ said West. ‘We’re bringing her in.’

  ‘Magic. Where is she?’

  ‘She’ll not be long,’ said Munro. ‘Listen, park on the road will you, and when she arrives, I want you to box her in. Just in case.’

  ‘Roger that, chief.’

  Munro turned to West as Duncan reversed down the drive.

  ‘Remember your offer of breakfast, Charlie?’

  ‘Yup. What about it?’

  ‘It’s accruing interest, it’ll be lunch now.’

  ‘Play your cards right and it might be the last supper. Here we go.’

  West stepped from the car as Rona, waving and grinning like a long lost relative at a family reunion, parked alongside.

  ‘You should’ve called,’ she said. ‘I’d have waited in for you.’

  ‘Impulse,’ said Munro, ‘makes life a wee bit more exciting, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Aye, I would that, Mr Munro. Come away inside, it’s getting chilly.’

  * * *

  Macallan grabbed three mugs from the sideboard, took a pot of coffee from the hob, and joined Munro and West at the table.

  ‘Milk, Mr Munro?’

  ‘Aye, thanking you. Although, no. On second thought, I think I’ll take it black.’

  ‘How have you been?’ said West.

  ‘Oh, fine. The usual routine, but I’m sleeping better knowing a nutter’s not going to knock on my door.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘That Jardine fella,’ said Macallan. ‘Did you not say he was dead?’

  ‘Aye, we did,’ said Munro. ‘But apart from that, you’ve nothing new to report? No other trouble?’

  ‘No, no. Life goes on.’

  ‘For some, Miss Macallan. For some. Speaking of which, have you seen young Craig recently?’

  ‘I have, indeed. He’s looking much better but I’m not sure if that’s to do with the rose quartz I took for under his pillow, or the cheese.’

  ‘My money’s on the cheese,’ said West, smiling glibly. ‘Calcium.’

  Munro sipped his coffee, grimaced at the bitter taste, and reached for the sugar pot.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said, tipping three spoonfuls into his mug, ‘what do you do about your animals, Miss Macallan, when you go away? I mean, they cannae fend for themselves, do you have someone to look after them?’

  ‘I do, aye. The fella over the way. He’s good like that.’

  ‘You might want to give him a call.’

  ‘I already have.’

  ‘Come again?’ said West.

  ‘I’ve been expecting you,’ said Macallan. ‘I had a call this morning. From Colin.’

  ‘I see. I must say, you don’t seem very…’

  ‘Upset? Why would I be?’

  ‘For obvious reasons, I’d have thought.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Macallan. ‘See here, Inspector, I know I’ve done wrong, something terrible in fact, but I had my reasons and I’ll take the consequences, whatever they are.’

  ‘If there were more like you,’ said Munro, ‘I’m not sure the legal profession would have a need for lawyers.’

  Macallan smiled as she stood and reached for the cupboard under the sink.

  ‘I’ve something for you,’ she said, placing a small, brown box on the table. ‘The Vetergesic. I thought you might be needing it.’

  ‘Are you having a laugh?’ said West. ‘I mean, most people would’ve tried to bin the evidence.’

  ‘Most people,’ said Macallan, ‘but not me. I believe in honesty, Inspector. I’ll not be haunted by the repercussions of lying.’

  West leaned back, crossed her arms and regarded Macallan with an inquisitive frown.

  ‘Why?’ she said. ‘Why did you kill Alan Byrne and Sean Jardine?’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t kill them,’ said Macallan. ‘I euthanised them.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘They weren’t comfortable in their own skins…’

  Well, they aren’t now.’

  ‘…they had issues. I sent them to a better place.’

  ‘Did you, by George?’ said Munro, huffing with surprise. ‘I’m not sure they’d agree with that.’

  ‘And the beads around their wrists,’ said West, ‘I’m assuming you gave them to Mark as a finishing touch?’

  ‘I did, aye.’

  ‘Well, I’ve seen some things in my time, Miss Macallan,’ said Munro, ‘but a vigilante Buddhist? That’s a first.’

  ‘It’s a pity, really,’ said West, ‘if you’d had known from the off that this was all over fifty quid, it might never have happened.’

  ‘Right enough. But there’s no going back, now, is there?’

  ‘It still doesn’t explain why.’

  Munro watched as Macallan, toying with the ring on her finger, stared into her mug and smiled wistfully to herself.

  ‘Craig,’ she said. ‘He needed protecting, looking after. He’s a vulnerable lad.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Did you know that he’d been set upon before? Twice in fact. Just for being gay. And when Byrne… well, it’s bullying, plain and simple, and I’ll not tolerate bullying.’

  ‘You’re to be commended on th
at score,’ said Munro, ‘but you cannae go taking the law into your own hands.’

  ‘I’m aware of that Mr Munro, but what was the alternative? Sit back and watch Craig take another beating? Or go to the police who’d have probably laughed and told him to man-up?’

  ‘And what about Jardine?’ said West. ‘How did you know about his involvement?’

  ‘Byrne mentioned his name. He said if I ever changed my mind about things and I couldn’t get hold of him, then I was to contact Jardine instead. After what happened to Craig and Byrne already dead, I knew he had to be behind it. You can see I had no choice.’

  ‘We always have a choice, Miss Macallan,’ said Munro. ‘That’s what separates us from the animals in the zoo.’

  ‘Aye. Right enough. So, what happens now?’

  ‘Well, we’re going to arrest you for murder. Then, we’ll take you to the station where you’ll be charged, and tomorrow you’ll be in court.’

  ‘Right-oh. And is that me away for life, then?’

  ‘We’ll let the judge decide, shall we?’ said West. ‘On the plus side, as you’ve admitted the offence, I doubt it’ll be trial by jury, so a few words from us about your co-operation and the judge might show some leniency.’

  ‘So, not life?’

  ‘Miss Macallan,’ said Munro, ‘we clearly cannae comment, you understand?’

  ‘Aye, sorry.’

  ‘But, if you get yourself a good brief, he might be able to argue self-defence or justifiable homicide as far as Jardine’s concerned.’

  ‘And Byrne?’

  ‘Who knows? Bearing in mind the course of events leading up to his death, diminished responsibility might be a feasible plea.’

  ‘And what will happen to my house?’ said Macallan.

  ‘It’ll be here when you get out,’ said Munro, ‘but I’d advise you to get someone to look after it. A lodger, perhaps.’

  ‘The car’ll not be up to much, though, will it?’

  ‘Probably not.’

  ‘Do you not see yourself in a Defender, Mr Munro?’ said Macallan. ‘Or you, Inspector?’

  ‘Well, actually,’ said West, ‘I was thinking of…’

  ‘We’ll have to check protocol on that,’ said Munro, interrupting. ‘I’m not sure it’s the done thing.’

  ‘Right you are,’ said Macallan. ‘Well, it’s there for the taking if you want it. So, is that us away, then?

  ‘Aye,’ said Munro. ‘It is. DC Reid’s outside, he’ll give you a lift, make sure you get checked-in alright, and escort you to your room.’

  Chapter 19

  Confounded by Munro’s apparent lack of enthusiasm for the apprehension of Rona Macallan, and unsettled by the increasingly uncomfortable silence as they trundled their way back to the office, West, assuming she was somehow to blame for his sullen mood, finally snapped.

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘if you’re in a strop just because we haven’t eaten yet, it’s not my fault, alright?’

  Munro cast her a sideways glance and smiled.

  ‘It’s not that, lassie,’ he said, ‘but as you’ve broached the subject then you should know that as we’re fast approaching suppertime I’m in mind of a T-bone with apple pie and custard for pudding.’

  ‘So, what’s up then? Why the long face?’

  ‘Something’s not right.’

  ‘Not right?’ said West. ‘Are you kidding? It’s just been handed to us on a plate.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘Why would she keep the bottles?’

  ‘She told you why. To make reparations for her sins.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Munro. ‘That’s not it. She’s leading us on, Charlie, I’m sure of it. It’s almost as if she wanted to be caught.’

  ‘Well, of course she did!’ said West. ‘She’s riddled with guilt, but I agree, it is slightly odd, and that’s why I’m going to recommend her for a psychiatric assessment when we get back.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Yup, let’s face it, Jimbo, she’s clearly off her trolley. Barking. A crust short of a loaf. Besides, if they do find she’s a bit… unbalanced, they’ll give her an easy ride. She’ll be holed-up in a cushy wing instead of a maximum security number. The worst that could happen is that they’ll pump her full of Olanzapine but at least she’ll be out in a few years.’

  ‘Right enough,’ said Munro, unconvinced. ‘So, what got you there, Charlie? Which stone did you flip?’

  ‘The same one Bowen was hiding under.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Frankly, I was stupid,’ said West, ‘I double-checked his story about getting hold of the ’prenorphine, didn’t I? Alright, I admit it was just to prove a point to you and as is it turned out, I was wrong, but I hadn’t done that with Macallan. I hadn’t spoken to the vet to verify what she’d said was true.’

  ‘And that’s what’s bugging me, Charlie.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Why did she lie about the ’prenorphine she got from the vet when she’s normally so keen on telling the truth?’

  ‘Stop worrying,’ said West as she threw head back and sighed. ‘There’s bound to be a reason. It’ll come to me. Eventually.’

  * * *

  After a rewarding one-to-one with Claude Foubert in the privacy of the interview room, Dougal – confident of a successful prosecution for tax evasion, illegal money lending, and harassment – finalised the paperwork for the procurator fiscal while Duncan, sensing congratulations were in order, gave the pot a stir and laid out a selection of biscuits in anticipation of West’s return.

  ‘Nice going on your first collar as the SIO, miss,’ he said. ‘We’re made up for you.’

  ‘Aye, we are indeed,’ said Dougal. ‘Well done.’

  ‘We’re not there yet,’ said West as she slung her coat over a chair, ‘but thanks, anyway.’

  ‘Shame really,’ said Duncan, ‘she’s alright, that Rona Macallan. Nice lady, wouldn’t stop gassing all the way back.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Oh, aye. Good looking, too. In fact, if I wasn’t with Cathy I might be tempted to…’

  ‘That’s quite enough of that, thank you,’ said West with a smirk. ‘Right, we’ve still got work to do. Where is she?’

  ‘Downstairs, miss. Ready when you are but we thought you might like a celebration brew first, complete with chocolate wafers.’

  ‘That’s what I like about you, Duncan. You get your priorities right, but first I need these bagged and dusted, please.’

  ‘Right away,’ said Dougal as she handed him the cardboard box. ‘Are you okay, boss? You’re not saying much?’

  Munro, hands clasped behind his back, gave him a half-hearted smile and walked to the window as West, tired of his sulking, rolled her eyes and took a biscuit from the plate.

  ‘Miss,’ said Dougal as he inspected the bottles before sealing them in a plastic pouch, ‘did you get these from Macallan?’

  ‘Yup. It’s the stuff she used to polish off Byrne and Jardine.’

  ‘Did you not look in the box when she gave it to you?’

  ‘No need,’ said West, ‘it’s just a bunch of empty bottles.’

  ‘Not quite, miss. In fact, if you’re thinking of submitting these as evidence, then you’ve got a wee problem on your hands.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They’re not empty. They’ve not even been opened. The seals are still intact.’

  West, looking as shell-shocked as a Tommy in the trenches, glanced first at Duncan and then at Dougal before locking eyes with Munro.

  ‘What’s she playing at?’ she said, her brow as furrowed as a freshly ploughed field.

  ‘Oh, she probably gave you the wrong box,’ said Duncan. ‘Perhaps there’s another one with…’

  ‘It’s not the wrong box, you balloon!’ said Munro. ‘She cannae stockpile the stuff like aspirin, laddie!’

  ‘Okay, hang on,’ said West, ‘let’s rewind a bit, all this bickering is ge
tting us nowhere. So, she gave me the box because she wanted to get caught, right? The question is, why?’

  Duncan stared at the ceiling and scraped the stubble on his chin.

  ‘Go it!’ he said in a flash of inspiration. ‘She suffers with Angel of Mercy syndrome! She kills these fellas but all the while she was hoping…’

  ‘No, no, no,’ said Munro. ‘Folk who have that disorder want to get caught, I’ll give you that, but nine times out of ten they want to get caught in the act. They want to be seen trying to save their victim. The fact of the matter is, Rona Macallan didnae want to be caught at all…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘…but when she was, she wanted to be arrested and she wanted to be found guilty. That’s your “why”.’

  ‘But that’s bonkers,’ said West. ‘Who in their right mind…’

  ‘You’ve already said, Charlie. You dinnae think she is in her right mind.’

  ‘Unless,’ said Dougal. ‘No, you’re alright. It’s too far-fetched.’

  ‘No, go on,’ said West. ‘Let’s hear it.’

  ‘Unless… she was covering for somebody else.’

  ‘You’re right, it’s too far-fetched.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s one for the psychiatrist, then,’ said Munro, still fixated by the view from the window. ‘Perhaps you should give him a ring.’

  ‘I don’t have his number.’

  Munro slowly turned, zipped his coat and glared at West, his ice-blue eyes drilling into her head.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘you should give him… a ring.’

  West, feeling as though she could do with a spell on the couch alongside Macallan, stared at Dougal as Munro slipped silently from the room, her eyes widening as the penny dropped.

  ‘Holy crap!’ she said, her voice as soft as a whisper. ‘She’s married! Rona Macallan’s bleeding-well married! She’s wearing a ring, third finger, left hand!’

  ‘I’m on it, miss,’ said Dougal as his fingers flew across the keyboard. ‘Just give me a minute.’

  * * *

  Unlike the majority of detainees who insisted on protesting their innocence by maintaining a smug silence or flying into a defensive rage, Rona Macallan, despite the ice-cold glare of an irate West, remained as cool as the proverbial cucumber.