TALION: a Scandinavian noir murder mystery set in Scotland (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 6)

by Pete Brassett

  The cottage had its plus-points: a remote location, no neighbours, enough bedrooms to accommodate the Waltons, and a panoramic view of unfettered fields. On the downside, with its peeling façade, PVC windows, flat-pack furniture and no fireplace, it had all the charm of a Fukushima fall-out shelter.

  As a stop-gap, it was adequate. As somewhere for the short term, it would suffice. But it wasn’t right.

  Undecided about his future, he traced a finger over the only item he’d rescued from the fire – a framed photograph of himself and Jean atop the Grey Mare’s Tail – placed it in his suitcase, and made his way downstairs.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said brusquely as he greeted Duncan and a ravenous West, ‘we’ll not eat here. We’ll have supper up the road.’

  * * *

  Given the early hour, the restaurant at The Islay Hotel – normally teeming with diners enjoying the best of the local fayre – was, save for a party of bemused Japanese tourists playing Russian roulette with the menu, all but deserted.

  Munro bagged a small table in the corner, slung his coat on the back of a chair, and glanced impatiently over his shoulder in search of a waiter.

  ‘A word of warning,’ he said, ‘there appears to be a shortage of plates on the island, so if you order a fish supper or a burger, dinnae be surprised if it arrives on a chopping board.’

  ‘God, you’re such a fuddy-duddy,’ said West with a smirk. ‘That’s the trendy way of serving food these days.’

  ‘I’m not one for trends. All they do is upset the status quo.’

  ‘Well, as you’re in such a good mood, I say we get some wine so we can toast your homecoming.’

  ‘You’re counting your chickens, Charlie.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said West as a smart, young lad in a black waistcoat sauntered over.

  ‘Evening folks,’ he said. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘Bottle of house red, please,’ said West, ‘the old bloke needs cheering up. And as for food, I’ll have a steak, please. The biggest one you’ve got. Duncan?’

  ‘I need some stodge in my belly. Macaroni cheese for me, please.’

  ‘And for you, Mr Happy?’

  Munro glanced at West and smiled.

  ‘I’ll take the steak, too,’ he said. ‘Well-done, no roasted onions and no fancy sauce. And if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like it on a plate. Thanking you.’

  West, disappointed by the lack of complementary breadsticks or even a bowl of olives, flipped the glasses the right way up and stared at Munro.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘I take it you’ve not made your mind up yet? About coming back?’

  ‘There’s not much to consider,’ said Munro. ‘If I stay here, I get to lower my blood pressure and enjoy some peace of mind. If I head back to the mainland, all I’ll do is get under your feet and hasten my arrival at the Pearly Gates. So, for reasons of longevity, I’m staying put.’

  ‘Well, I think you’re being selfish,’ said West. ‘What do you think Duncan?’

  ‘Oh, that’s not fair, miss. Two against one? That’s tantamount to bullying. Sorry, but leave me out of it.’

  ‘Right,’ said West, ‘if you are staying here, then you need to get yourself a phone, as soon as you can.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ said Munro as the waiter returned and poured the wine. ‘That’s why I’m stopping here, to get away from all that. Why on earth would I need a phone anyway?’

  ‘Well, because… I might need to call you. Just to make sure…’

  ‘Och, away you go,’ said Munro as he raised his glass. ‘You’ll not be needing me anymore. Your very good health. The both of you.’

  West, bitterly disappointed by Munro’s stubborn stance, took a healthy glug of wine, reached for the bottle, and topped up the glasses.

  ‘Not for me,’ said Duncan, covering the glass with his hand.

  ‘Really?’ said West. ‘Don’t tell me you’re still feeling queasy?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, but someone’s got to drive.’

  ‘Drive? Drive where?’

  ‘Well, I just assumed, as we’ve nowhere to stay, that we’ll be heading home.’

  ‘Hold on,’ said Munro. ‘Do you mean to tell me, the pair of you came all this way without booking yourselves a room?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t know if we’d be staying,’ said West. ‘But if I’d known this place had the transport infrastructure of 1892, then I might have…’

  ‘Dear God. I’m sitting with the two highest-ranking numpties in the force.’

  ‘Is there really no way out of here?’ said Duncan. ‘Are we trapped?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Munro, breaking into a laugh. ‘You are. The last ferry’s long gone, and even if you did make it to the airport, you’d have to leave the car behind.’

  ‘Oh, that’s just great,’ said West. ‘Well, your hotel’s full up. What about here?’

  ‘Think on, lassie. This place is rammed to the hilt.’

  ‘Looks like the back of the Audi for me,’ said Duncan, ‘unless you’d rather have it, miss? I could always…’

  West, seriously considering ordering a second bottle, raised her hand as she answered her phone.

  ‘It’s Dougal,’ she said, switching to speaker. ‘Hi, Dougal. How’s it going?’

  ‘Miss. All good. Just thought I’d fill you in before I knock-off. How about you?’

  ‘Yeah, we’re fine. And the big news is: guess who we found?’

  ‘It’s not Lord Lucan, is it?’

  ‘Close.’

  ‘Must be DI Lazarus then,’ said Dougal. ‘Glad to have you back in the land of the living, boss. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine, laddie. Thanks for asking.’

  ‘Are you coming back soon?’

  ‘That’s not a topic open for discussion at present,’ said Munro. ‘I’ve a few personal issues to deal with first.’

  ‘Aye, well, that’s understandable. Still, if it’s your head that needs sorting, then you couldn’t be in a better place.’

  ‘At last, someone who gets it.’

  ‘I take it you’re not enjoying your visit then, miss?’

  ‘I might,’ said West, ‘if we could find somewhere to kip.’

  ‘No disrespect, but what are you havering about? Have you not checked in yet?’

  ‘Checked in? Checked in where?’

  ‘Number One, of course. I booked a couple of rooms after I booked the ferry.’

  ‘You could’ve told us.’

  ‘I did. You’d best get your skates on. If they’ve got you down as a no-show, you might lose the room.’

  Duncan pulled his phone from his pocket, leapt from his chair and scooted outside to call the hotel.

  ‘So, what’s the news?’ said West. ‘Any progress?’

  ‘Aye. Some,’ said Dougal. ‘I’ve been through the wee camera Duncan brought back from Hamlyn’s place and all the photos on it have appeared on his Facebook page at some point or other.’

  ‘So, what do you reckon? Was he a member of a camera club or something? An amateur photographer?’

  ‘If he was,’ said Dougal, ‘then amateur’s the right word. Let’s just say he’s no David Bailey.’

  ‘Okay. Anything else?’

  ‘I think it’s a false alarm over the stuff he ordered off the internet. Judging by the state of his bathroom and bedroom, I reckon he’s just a bit obsessive when it comes to cleaning. But two of the knives from the set he ordered are missing.’

  ‘Well, if his place was turned over, they probably got lost in the mess,’ said West. ‘They’ll turn up, I’m sure. Is that it?’

  ‘Just one more thing,’ said Dougal, ‘I got some data off his mobile phone.’

  ‘Anything interesting?’

  ‘Aye, a phone number. It’s the same one that called him on his landline before he took a jump. I’ve traced who it belongs to, and the name sounds familiar but I can’t place it.’

  ‘Well, don’t keep it to yourself. Who is it?’

  ‘It be
longs to a fella called Barbary. Jack Barbary.’

  Munro snapped his head round and glared at West.

  ‘Again,’ he said tersely. ‘Dougal. Let’s have that name again.’

  ‘Jack Barbary.’

  Munro rose silently from his chair, held his hand to his mouth, and left the room.

  ‘Miss?’ said Dougal. ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Oddly enough, I’m the only one here.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Jimbo,’ said West. ‘He’s just walked off.’

  ‘Probably in the gents. Look, I have to go. We’ll catch up later.’

  * * *

  Duncan, relieved not to be spending the night in a bus shelter or worse still, cadging a cell at the police office in Bowmore, returned with a satisfied grin smeared across his face.

  ‘Sorted,’ he said. ‘We’ve got the rooms, and breakfast is included, so I’ll take that glass after all. Where’s the chief?’

  ‘God knows. Something Dougal said scared him off.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘How do I…? Hold up.’

  Munro, his jaw clenched tight, returned to the table and set down three tumblers of whisky.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, taking a sip, ‘the first flight to Glasgow leaves at 9:45am. No lie-ins, Charlie. Make sure you’re ready.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Duncan, you’ll have to travel back with the car. The boat leaves at seven.’

  ‘Are you joking me?’

  ‘If you’re on it, you’ll be back in the office about the same time as us. Now, are we having a pudding?’

  Chapter 9

  As an irreproachable individual, Dougal had never experienced the delights of an alarm call from Police Scotland – a service which usually manifested itself in the form of a dawn raid by the drugs squad – and had no idea just how unsettling the unexpected sound of a battering ram could be until, that is, Munro – preceded by his suitcase – burst through the door with all the grace of a bull in a china shop.

  ‘You’re back, then,’ he said, mopping coffee from his shirt.

  ‘And how are you keeping, Dougal? Are you well?’

  ‘Aye. Apart from my nerves.’

  ‘Good, good. Kettle, please,’ said Munro. ‘And have you anything edible in the cupboard? We’ve not eaten since we left the hotel.’

  ‘Biscuits. I could always fetch a couple of baps if you like. I mean, it’s almost time for lunch, anyway.’

  ‘Now you’re talking,’ said West. ‘Double bacon and brown sauce for me, please.’

  Munro filled the kettle and tossed a couple of teabags into some empty mugs as West hung her coat and slumped in a seat.

  ‘Tell you what,’ she said, glancing round at the sound of the door, ‘all that travelling takes it out of you.’

  ‘What the hell is all the commotion about?’ said DCI Elliot as he entered the office. ‘Has somebody… James! Charlie! This is a surprise!’

  ‘Morning, George,’ said Munro as if he’d never been away. ‘Will you take a tea?’

  ‘Not for me, thanks. I must say, you seem awfully relaxed considering what you’ve been through.’

  ‘Och, it was nothing.’

  ‘To you, maybe,’ said Elliot, grinning as he rocked back and forth on his feet. ‘Tell him, Charlie. Tell him how everyone’s been asking for him.’

  ‘I have,’ said West. ‘Fell on deaf ears.’

  ‘Modesty beyond belief,’ said Elliot. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Aye. Tickety-boo.’

  ‘Excellent. Well, it’s good to have you back. I, for one, can’t wait for you to…’

  ‘Let me stop you there,’ said Munro. ‘I am here to advise, only. To lend the benefit of my experience on the Hamlyn case. I’ve a feeling Jack Barbary’s involved.’

  ‘Barbary? That doesn’t sound good. Doesn’t sound good at all.’

  ‘And as soon as the insurance company cough up, and my pension comes through…’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Elliot, sheepishly. ‘About that, James…’

  ‘You have sorted it, have you not?’

  ‘Well, almost. What with all the excitement of your disappearance, I wasn’t sure if… I think I have the paperwork somewhere.’

  ‘By tomorrow.’

  ‘Of course. In the meantime…’

  ‘There’ll be no meantime, George. Not if it’s not sorted.’

  ‘As you wish. I’ll, er, leave you to it then.’

  * * *

  ‘There’s two double bacon, two sausage, and three flapjacks,’ said Dougal as he bounded back to the office. ‘Help yourselves.’

  ‘Thanks, Dougal,’ said West, launching herself at the carrier bag. ‘Didn’t you get anything for Jimbo?’

  ‘Very funny,’ said Munro as he unwrapped a roll. ‘Okay, no sense in hanging around, let’s get down to business. Dougal, I want an address for Jack Barbary. Last I heard he was in the building trade, laying patios and driveways. And once you’ve found him, I want a warrant to search his house. Got that?’

  ‘On it.’

  ‘Come on then,’ said West, ‘let’s have it.’

  ‘Have what?’

  ‘The SP on this Barbary bloke. You’ve not said a word since yesterday and he’s obviously rattled your cage for some reason.’

  Munro put down his roll, passed out the teas and pulled up a chair.

  ‘In a word, Charlie,’ said Munro, his voice tinged with malice, ‘Jack Barbary is unhinged. He’d not think twice about putting someone in hospital if they so much as looked at him. Including his wife. Years ago, he pretty much had the whole of the west coast covered: prostitution, protection, drugs, laundering. You name it, they were behind it.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The man was like Teflon, the police couldnae get anything to stick, let alone a conviction. He used Hamlyn as his scapegoat and, thanks to a good lawyer and a JP on the payroll, all he got was a couple of months here and there. Barbary could cover his tracks like a cat in a litter tray.’

  ‘And there was I thinking the system was infallible.’

  ‘It gets worse,’ said Munro, sipping his tea. ‘Ten or twelve years back, a young DC by the name of Davey O’Brien, probably not much older than yourself, Dougal, went undercover with Barbary’s mob and spent near enough three months gathering evidence, when he suddenly disappeared.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Turns out there was someone else on the payroll. A DCI by the name of Paul Kinsella. He got wind of O’Brien’s activities and tipped off Barbary. The young lad was found swinging from a meat hook in a slaughterhouse near Lockerbie.’

  ‘Holy crap.’

  ‘After that, Barbary and his mob disappeared off the radar. Then, one by one, they came crawling out of the woodwork, reformed characters with legitimate jobs.’

  ‘As if,’ said West. ‘Are you telling me he went straight? Is that what this building lark’s all about?’

  ‘If you believe that,’ said Munro, ‘then you’re a fool. Barbary doesnae have a straight bone in his body, and I’ve a feeling that if he was still in touch with Hamlyn, then this is no cause for celebration.’

  ‘Just now,’ said West, ‘you said they. Who’s they exactly?’

  ‘Barbary and his pals. Otherwise known as the three monkeys.’

  ‘Are you having a laugh? What do you mean, the three monkeys?’

  ‘Jack Barbary,’ said Munro. ‘As in the Barbary ape. Alex Tamarin, as in, the Tamarin monkey from South America…’

  ‘You’re making this up,’ said West with a laugh. ‘Don’t tell me there’s a monkey called…’

  ‘Hamlyn’s monkey, miss,’ said Dougal. ‘It’s from the Congo and it’s named after the fella who brought them back to London Zoo.’

  ‘This is getting weird,’ said West, tearing through a second bacon roll. ‘Oh, hold on a minute, that makes Hamlyn a monkey with no eyes. See no evil, right?’

  ‘What are you getting at, lassie?’

  ‘Dunn
o,’ said West, ‘just thought: see no evil, hear no evil, maybe there’s a link?’

  ‘Aye, there is,’ said Munro. ‘The missing link.’

  ‘Well, what about this Tamarin bloke, then? Why haven’t we heard of him?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Munro. ‘He could be dead for all we know, but if he’s not slipped this mortal coil, then no doubt young Dougal here will inform us of his whereabouts in due course.’

  ‘Give me a chance, boss,’ said Dougal, concentrating on his screen, ‘I’m still… uh-oh, here we go. Mr Jack Barbary, Wheatfield Road. Just off the esplanade.’

  ‘Well done, laddie. Okay, next tell us about Hamlyn.’

  Dougal, not wanting to upset the applecart, took a deep breath and hesitated before speaking.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘No disrespect to Duncan, but I’m not convinced that robbery was the motive behind the break-in at Hamlyn’s place.’

  ‘Go on,’ said West.

  ‘See here, miss, the damage in the flat was confined to just two rooms, the lounge and the kitchen, but it’s like, well, it’s like his stuff was just thrown about the place. It was… superficial. For example, there’s a sideboard and a desk in the lounge, okay? But none of the drawers were opened, everything was intact.’

  ‘Well, maybe they stopped looking when they found whatever it was they were searching for.’

  ‘No,’ said Dougal, shaking his head. ‘Maybe it’s me, but I just don’t buy it.’

  Munro leaned back, folded his arms, and frowned inquisitively.

  ‘Would you say it looked more like the aftermath of a domestic, Dougal? As if someone had thrown a wee tantrum?’

  ‘Aye, that’s it, boss! That’s it, exactly.’

  ‘Okay. In that case, we need to find out if Hamlyn was in any kind of a relationship. There’s always a chance that whoever trashed his flat did so for personal reasons. So, what else?’

  ‘I brought back a pile of box files containing all his bills and credit card statements, that sort of thing. I thought if we went through them, then we might get an idea of his habits, you know, restaurants or clubs he visited, where he shopped, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said West, ‘that might give us an idea of what he was up to before he died.’

  ‘And there’s this…’