‘Was it really?’ said Munro sounding surprised. ‘It’s a pity nobody told the bank then. It appears they’re still sending out correspondence addressed to Mr Buchanan…’
‘Is that so?’
‘… aye. Only it’s being redirected. To your hair salon.’
‘Look, that’s nothing to do with me okay?’ said Anita, nervously. ‘I swear, I was just doing him a favour. He asked me if I’d...’
‘You’d best come with us, Mrs Carducci,’ said Munro, ‘there’s no point in staying here. I do believe your ship has sailed.’
* * *
With Dougal out on a shout and no sign of the effervescent DCI Elliot – no doubt doubled over a desk struggling to fill rotas with the minimum of staff – the office, not exactly a hive of activity at the best of times, was as still as the deck of the Mary Celeste.
West threw her coat across the back of a chair and sat with her feet on the table as Munro, bemoaning the lack of anything edible in the cupboards, filled the kettle.
‘I need a breather before we question her, Charlie,’ he said, loosening his tie, ‘let’s have a wee brew.’
‘Good idea,’ said West, ‘give her a chance to calm down.’
‘The words “quivering” and “wreck” spring to mind.’
‘Didn’t seem too happy with the accommodation either.’
‘She’ll have plenty of time to get used it,’ said Munro as he set the mugs on the table, ‘if I’m not mistaken she’s looking at three to five already for aiding and abetting and receiving stolen property, perhaps.’
‘The letters from the bank,’ said West as she sipped her tea, ‘do you think she kept them at the salon?’
‘If she’s any sense, she’d have shredded them,’ said Munro, ‘but we should get a warrant anyway. Ask young Dougal to sort one out. Speaking of whom, have you not heard from him yet?’
‘Not a peep,’ said West.
‘He’s probably angling for a date with some minnow in a Tyvek suit.
‘Leave him alone! Shall I give him a bell?’
‘Aye, why not. It’s nearly lunchtime, he could fetch some food on the way. Oh and ask him to drop by Heather Buchanan’s, see when she’s free for a trip to the morgue.’
* * *
Dougal, peeved by the interruption to his daily schedule and keen to return to his desk, stood on the promenade and watched as the SOCOs fastidiously combed the body for clues other than the blindingly obvious. He glanced at Mick – another junkie who claimed to have befriended the deceased less than twenty-four hours earlier – and smiled half-heartedly as he took the call.
‘Miss,’ he said, hoping she was calling with an urgent assignment, ‘sorry, I’m still waiting for the overalls to finish up.’
‘No worries,’ said West, ‘what’ve you got? Some drunk who’s had seven shades knocked out of him?’
‘I wish it was that easy, miss. He’s a druggie. Overdose by the looks of it, I’m with the fella who was with him when he died.’
‘Well, I don’t envy you,’ said West, ‘there’s nothing more infuriating than trying to identify some no-mark without a single…’
‘Och, that’s the easy part, miss. We know who he is alright, unless he pilfered someone’s wallet.’
‘Oh well, there you go…’
‘Fella by the name of Lyndhurst. Mick says he was…’
‘Hold on!’ said West, ‘Did you say Lyndhurst? Tobias Lyndhurst?’
‘Aye, that’s what it says on his driving licence.’
‘Don’t go anywhere. We’re coming over.’
* * *
Having never lost anyone she considered to be “close” – apart from Archie, the beloved family dog who’d died at the ripe old age of fourteen – bereavement of a personal nature was something of a stranger to West. She sat staring at the privacy screens billowing in the breeze and took a deep breath, trying valiantly to keep her emotions in check as Munro, who’d learned from experience that space and time were not the exclusive domain of quantum physicists but essential ingredients in the grieving process, sat silently beside her.
‘You don’t mind doing this, do you?’ she said quietly. ‘I know it’s taking our eyes off the prize but…’
‘It’s not up to me, lassie,’ said Munro softly, ‘the question is: are you up to it? If you’d rather, we can turn around right now and head back to the office.’
‘No. I’m fine. I need to do it,’ said West. ‘Besides, if I can make a positive ID it’ll speed things up which means we get Dougal back.’
‘Okay Charlie, if you’re sure,’ said Munro as he unfastened his seat belt. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
Dougal, sporting a look of relief as if the cavalry had arrived, waved enthusiastically as West and Munro walked solemnly towards him.
‘Miss. Boss. This is Mick,’ he said. ‘He was with the other fella when he died.’
Mick – his gaunt face protruding from beneath his charity-shop parka the only indication that he was severely underweight – was an ardent fan of any substance that could shut the door on reality and make the hunger pangs go away for a few hours at least. His ravaged face erupted in a sea of crinkles as he revealed a toothless but endearing smile and proffered a bony hand.
‘Alright?’ he said excitedly, ‘this is some show, eh? Fascinating!’
‘Fascinating?’ said Munro, mildly amused.
‘Aye! Those lads down there in the white suits, picking and plucking with their tweezers and their brushes, I’ve not seen anything like it in my life.’
‘You’re kidding,’ said West, ‘don’t you ever watch telly?’
‘Do I look like I have a telly?’
‘Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.’
‘Nae bother.’
‘Listen, do you have to be somewhere or would you mind hanging on for a bit.’
‘No, you’re alright,’ said Mick cheerily, ‘as it happens my diary’s clear all afternoon.’
West, not knowing what to expect, glanced at Munro and stepped cautiously around the screens, drawing a breath at the sight of Toby lying flat on his back, his face somehow distorted, as if it had been pulled out of shape.
‘That’s him,’ she said. ‘That’s Tobias Lyndhurst.’
Munro scrutinised the body: the pained expression; the bloodshot eyes; the left arm rigid by its side and the hand frozen like a claw.
‘I’m sorry, Charlie,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘It’s not a pretty sight. Are you okay?’
‘Yeah,’ said West with sigh, ‘I’m okay. Stupid sod.’
‘You’re not upset?’
‘Oddly, no. Not that much. Is that callous of me?’
‘No.’
‘Look, I know he didn’t deserve to die but just for the record, he was a selfish two-timing bastard and he treated me like shit.’
‘You dinnae have to justify your feelings to me, lassie,’ said Munro, ‘I understand completely. What about his family? Do you want to…?
‘Oh no, no, no!’ said West. ‘No way. He may be my ex but that was years ago. I’m not getting involved. Count me out.’
‘Probably for the best. Tell me, Charlie, do you notice anything familiar about him?’
‘Are you having a laugh? Of course, everything.’
‘No, no. I meant… look at the body.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said West. ‘He’s like Buchanan. He’s had a stroke.’
* * *
Mick, enjoying the spectacle from his ringside seat on the ‘police only’ side of the cordon, smiled at Munro like a kid at the circus as he squatted down beside him.
‘You’re the chief, right?’ he said. ‘Probably an Inspector. I can tell.’
‘No, no,’ said Munro, ‘well, yes I am but I’m not on this case, we’re just…’
‘You have an interest, isn’t that what they say?’
‘Aye,’ said Munro, allowing himself a laugh, ‘that is what they say, Mick, you’re quite right.’
‘So, what do you
reckon? Bad junk or just bad luck?’
‘It’s too early to say but if somebody’s flogging a bad batch of whatever we could have bodies piling up all over the place.’
‘Oh, it’s a good job it’s happened now, then,’ said Mick, ‘that’d make an awful stink in the summer.’
‘It would that,’ said Munro with a grin. ‘So how about you? Are you okay? You’re not in shock or anything?’
‘No, no. Seen one dead junkie, you’ve seen them all. And I’ve seen a few. How about you? Are you okay?’
‘Me?’
‘Aye. Is it not stressful, doing a job like yours?’
‘It has its moments,’ said Munro. ‘Tell me, the chap behind the screens, did you know him well?
‘Hardly knew him at all,’ said Mick. ‘He’s English, did you know that?’
‘Aye, we did. How did you meet?’
‘I bumped into him last night, down by the car park. He looked a wee bit… lost.’
‘Lost? Did he say where he was going?’
‘No, no. Not lost as in I need a map,’ said Mick, ‘lost as in direction unknown, as in he didnae have a clue about anything.’
‘I see. So, what happened?’
‘We came up here. This is where I hang out. Not many folk come this way so I can sit and read, undisturbed.’
‘You enjoy reading?’ said Munro.
‘Oh aye. Keeps the old brain ticking. If you dinnae keep that muscle active it’s the care home for you.’
‘Is that so? And what are reading just now?’
‘Poetry. I’ve never read it before. First time.’
‘And are you enjoying it?’
‘Och, it’s brilliant,’ said Mick. ‘Thing is, it’s got a reputation, right? Like it’s only for toffs but the folk that think that are the folk who dinnae get it. But I get it. I get it all. Ted Hughes. Have you heard of him?’
‘I have indeed,’ said Munro, ‘although I’m more a fan of Seamus Heaney myself.’
‘Heaney? I’ll look out for him next time I’m down the library. Unless one falls off the shelf in Waterstones.’
‘I’ll pretend I didnae hear that,’ said Munro, smiling. ‘So back to our friend, his name was Toby by the way, what happened when you got here?’
‘Not much,’ said Mick. ‘We sat and talked. Or rather he talked. Actually no, he ranted like he had some dirty great chip on his shoulder. Kept on and on about how minted he was but he couldnae get his hands on the cash. Och, he seemed harmless enough so I let him haver until he ran out of breath.’
‘And then?’
‘He wanted some gear but I only had enough for myself. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a generous person me, but sometimes you have to put yourself first. Am I right?’
‘Indeed,’ said Munro.
‘So I sent him to the Quattro.’
‘The Quattro?’
‘Aye, the Audi Quattro,’ said Mick. ‘Clapped out thing. Comes by the car park most nights. He’s the fella with the gear.’
‘So that’s where Toby bought whatever it was he took?’
‘Right enough,’ said Mick.
‘Did you happen to know what he took?’ said Munro.
‘No idea but he was okay first time round.’
‘First time?’
‘Aye,’ said Mick, ‘must’ve been about seven o’clock I reckon. Then he went for a second hit some time early this morning. Next thing I know he’s having one on his back, twitching and screaming. I felt helpless, the lad was writhing in pain but what could I do? I mean, I’m not a medic.’
‘So, what did you do?’
‘Called the police of course.’
‘I’m glad you did,’ said Munro, rubbing his chin as he deliberated his next question. ‘Listen Mick, would you mind if I asked you a wee favour?’
‘If it’s to do with money, sorry pal but I’m skint.’
‘No, no,’ said Munro, ‘see here, if Toby was sold something dodgy then there’s every chance someone else could die.’
‘Aye, right enough,’ said Mick.
‘Could be you.’
‘Could be.’
‘And you’re not bothered?’ said Munro.
‘I’m cacking myself.’
‘Good. So, here’s the thing. I really need to have a wee chat with this chap in the Quattro and but I’ll need your help.’
‘You mean you want me to point him out?’ said Mick.
‘Aye.’
‘No, no. That’s going a bit too far.’
‘I guarantee he won’t see you. You won’t be any danger.’
‘It’s not that,’ said Mick, ‘if you take him off the streets where am I going to score?’
‘Good point,’ said Munro. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘Six o’clock. The car park.’
Chapter 15
Although Dougal enjoyed nothing more than wandering the rambling Scottish countryside – especially if it involved trout or perch and a bucketful of bait – standing on a beach with nothing to do while a bunch of forensics picked over the cadaverous remains of a junkie like a wake of vultures in the Serengeti was not his idea of the great outdoors. Grinning deliriously as they returned to the office, he bounded to his desk and flipped open his laptop as Munro settled on a seat beside West.
‘You know Charlie,’ he said softly, ‘you dinnae have to be here, you know. If you need some time to yourself, we can cope.’
‘I’ve told you, Jimbo, I’m fine. But thanks anyway.’
‘What you need is a cup of hot, sweet tea. You’re in shock.’
‘What I need,’ said West, ‘is some lunch. I’m bloody starving.’
‘Well I must admit, a wee bite wouldnae go amiss,’ said Munro. ‘Dougal, can you tear yourself away from that thing for a moment.’
‘Boss. What’s up?’
‘I’ll give you a clue: low blood sugar, dizzy spells and an inability to concentrate.’
‘Diabetes?’
‘Last chance.’
‘Two bacon toasties coming up,’ said Dougal. ‘Just give me a minute while I… miss. Email. That swab I took from Dubrowski? We’ve a positive match to the blood samples taken from Buchanan’s mouth.’
West looked up and smiled broadly as the colour returned to her cheeks.
‘I think I need to go and charge someone on suspicion of murder, don’t you?’ she said. ‘Brown sauce on mine, please, Dougal. And get me two.’
‘Charlie, as you’re away downstairs will you see Mrs Carducci gets to the interview room please,’ said Munro. ‘I’ll be along shortly.’
‘No probs. Shall I meet you there?’
‘No, no. You come straight back and have your lunch. I’ll see to it.’
* * *
Munro waited until West was out of earshot before continuing.
‘Dougal,’ he said. ‘A wee word before you go.’
‘Boss?’
‘I need an unmarked car and two officers out front at 5.45. Can you do that?’
‘Nae bother, but why?’
‘I’ll tell you later. Now, there’s something else. I want you to keep an eye on Charlie.’
‘DS West? I dinnae follow, boss. Has she done something wrong?’
‘No, no, Dougal. She’s had a bit of a shock, that’s all.’
‘Okay. What do you mean “a bit of a shock”?’
‘The gentleman on the beach,’ said Munro, hesitating as he lowered his voice. ‘That Lyndhurst chappie. He was… he was a close friend of Charlie’s.’
‘Are you joking me?’ said Dougal. ‘I am surprised, I mean how on earth does someone like DS West get to know a low-life like that?’
‘They were in a relationship,’ said Munro. ‘A long time ago.’
‘Oh Christ, I never knew. Hold on, he’s not the fella she was telling me about a few days back? The fella who…’
‘The same,’ said Munro, ‘but Dougal, not a word mind. If she wants to tell you about it, let her do it in her own time. Got that?’
/>
‘Aye, of course. Mum’s the word.’
‘Good lad. So, I want the pair of you to pick up Heather Buchanan and run her up to the morgue so she can take a peek at Angus and when you get back, sort out a warrant for the address on Dalblair Road. Now, on you go.’
* * *
PC Anderson stood to one side and waited patiently outside the cell as West – angry, agitated and confused – stood in the doorway with her arms folded and legs astride glowering at Dubrowski.
‘You are staring, Sergeant,’ he said with a smirk, ‘in my country is okay, but here…’
‘Why did you kill him?’ said West.
‘Kill who? I am not killing anybodies.’
‘Cut the crap,’ said West, raising her voice, ‘you’ve got bite marks on your fingers…’
‘It was puppy dog from long time ago.’
‘…and your DNA matches a blood sample taken from Buchanan’s mouth.’
‘Ah. So this is what we are calling overwhelming evidence?’ said Dubrowski, grinning. ‘Okay, It’s true. I kill him.’
‘Why?’
‘For the monies of course.’
‘I don’t buy it.’
‘It’s true.’
‘You’re telling me you killed an old man for a couple of grand?’
‘A couple of grand to you,’ said Dubrowski, ‘but a million dollars to me.’
‘So how did you know he had the money with him? How did you know it was in the bag?’
‘Because I packed it for him.’
* * *
Anita Carducci, her face still buried in her faux fur collar, sat with her legs crossed and her handbag nestling in her lap like a C-list celebrity who’d blagged her way to the front row of a catwalk show during fashion week in Milan. She stared aloofly at the ceiling as Munro, unimpressed by her insouciance, tossed an envelope on the desk, flung his jacket over the back of the chair and sat down.
‘Would you like something to drink, Mrs Carducci?’ he said, leaning back and folding his arms. ‘A glass of water, perhaps?’
Anita, her focus fixed firmly on the light fitting, declined to answer.
‘Do you understand why you’re here?’
‘Not really, no.’
‘Okay,’ said Munro, ‘this is how it works. I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to answer them. It’s really very easy, you know.’
DUPLICITY: A compelling Scottish murder mystery (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 4) Page 12
