‘Charlie, James, Dougal! And how are we, this fine morning?’
‘What do you want?’ said Munro, growling.
‘Och, I just thought I’d ask how the…’
‘Paperwork, George? How’s the paperwork?’
Elliot, sensing it was not a good time to use the phrase “slipped my mind”, grimaced at West, made his excuses, and left.
* * *
Munro parked his Peugeot by the entrance to the ticket hall and ambled over to a forlorn-looking Duncan who, squatting by the wall in his grubby jeans with a face full of stubble, was doing a first class impression of a beggar trying to raise his train fare home.
Bracing himself for another barrage of abuse, he stood up, glanced furtively at Munro, and drove his hands deep into his pockets.
‘Listen, chief,’ he said, doing his best to avoid any eye contact, ‘it wasn’t my intention to cause all this trouble, I should’ve thought it through.’
Munro held up his hand and shook his head.
‘Subject closed,’ he said. ‘Water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned. It’s Charlie you have to fear, not me. I’d tread carefully, if I were you.’
‘Thanks, chief. Noted.’
‘Good. Now, you take yourself off to the hedges, you’ll look more at home in the undergrowth than me. I’ll wait here.’
* * *
After precisely two hours and thirty-five minutes of sitting slumped in his seat, Munro – painfully aware that his backside had all but gone to sleep – adjusted his rear view mirror as a short, young man sporting a haircut which suggested he’d recently been treated for an infestation of head lice – scurried around the back of the car and headed straight for Duncan where, after a brief exchange of words, he turned on his heels and made hurriedly for the street, carrying a look of extreme disappointment on his face.
Duncan waited until he’d disappeared from view before emerging from the shade of the trees and slipping into the passenger seat beside a perplexed Munro.
‘What’s gone wrong, Duncan?’ he said. ‘Has somebody tipped them off? The junkies?’
‘No, chief, not according to that fella. It’s Hamlyn’s car.’
‘What car?’
‘Exactly. Apparently he drives a wee hatchback. When they couldn’t see it from the street, they walked on.’
‘What? Well, how on earth would they be able to spot a hatchback from the street? They all look the same, and there must be fifty cars here, at least.’
‘It has a yellow plastic ball stuck to the top of the aerial.’
‘Jumping Jehoshaphat! I cannae believe we missed that,’ said Munro. ‘Did nobody think to check if he owned a motor car?’
‘Why would we? I mean, the fella didn’t even have a driving licence on him, so…’
‘Och, fair enough, Duncan,’ said Munro, with a sigh. ‘Fair enough. Listen, we need to find that car, get on to uniform, tell them to keep an eye out for it, concentrate on the area around his flat to start with.’
‘Roger that, chief. So, will we hang around a bit longer?’
‘No, no, it’s pointless sitting around here, we’ve wasted enough time as it is, and I need to stretch my legs. If I’m not mistaken, it’s time for a bacon bap and a decent cup of tea.’
* * *
Whilst he’d enjoyed the experience of travelling in the Figaro on two previous occasions – both sedate excursions through town where the volume of traffic prohibited the use of excessive speed – Dougal’s third outing proved to be marginally more exhilarating. Craning his neck to sneak a peek at the speedometer as they tore along the empty bypass, his grip on the door handle tightened instinctively as he noticed the needle nudging ninety.
Sighing with relief as they rounded the corner into Bank Street, he unclipped his safety belt and ran a finger round his collar as West, ignoring the parking restrictions, stopped on the double yellows.
‘I never realised Kilmarnock was so close,’ she said.
‘No, miss,’ said Dougal. ‘Nor did I.’
He leaned forward and peered up at the darkened windows of the first-floor office above the gift shop.
‘I think we’re too early,’ he said. ‘The place looks empty.’
‘We’ll give it five,’ said West, staring pensively through the windscreen. ‘You’re one for doing things by the book, aren’t you, Dougal?’
‘I like to follow proper procedure, miss. If that’s what you mean.’
‘Do you think I was too hard on Duncan?’
‘That’s not for me to say. I’m not in a position to comment on disciplinary matters.’
‘Oh, come off it,’ said West. ‘I’m asking you as a friend, off the record.’
‘Well,’ said Dougal, ‘a wee bit, for bunking off early, I mean. But as for sleeping with a witness, no. I’m afraid I’m with the boss, on that one.’
‘Really?’
‘Aye. Much as I like Duncan, the fact remains, what he did could potentially jeopardise the whole case. If we ever needed to call on her to testify, that is.’
‘Yeah,’ said West. ‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘What will you do?’
‘As I told Jimbo, I’ll think about it.’
* * *
A young girl wearing a tabard more suited to somebody in the cleaning profession, popped up from behind the counter as the sound of the bell above the door heralded the arrival of a much-needed customer.
‘Hello there,’ she said, smiling broadly. ‘Feel free to browse, take as long as you like.’
‘Thanks,’ said West, holding up her warrant card, ‘but I’m afraid we’re not here to shop. It’s about the bloke in the office upstairs.’
‘Oh, dear. What’s happened?’
‘Nothing to alarm yourself about, miss,’ said Dougal. ‘Just a couple of questions. So, do you know him?’
‘Alex? Aye, lovely fella. Always polite. Snappy dresser too.’
‘And do you know what his second name is?’
‘Tamar. It’s on the door outside.’
‘And what time does he normally start work?’ said West.
‘Well, he’s usually here by now. You’ve an awful lot of questions, is he in some kind of bother?’
‘No, nothing like that, it’s about a mate of his. I don’t suppose you know where he lives, by any chance?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said the girl, ‘but I’m guessing it’s not far, he often pops home for his lunch. Will I say you’re asking for him?’
‘No, no,’ said Dougal. ‘In fact, we’d rather you said nothing at all.’
* * *
If Barbary’s monumental mansion had been bought, as was suspected, with the ill-gotten gains of their nefarious activities, then Tamarin – his house, a shabby semi at the end of Greenside Terrace – was obviously short-changed when it came to receiving his fair share of the spoils.
‘Blimey,’ said West, ‘this is a turn up for the books.’
‘How so?’ said Dougal.
‘Dunno, really. I just thought he’d be in the same league as Barbary, you know: big house, fancy car.’
‘Books and covers, miss.’
‘That’s what I like about you, Dougal. Your naïve optimism.’
Assuming all financial advisors to be well-attired professionals with a qualification or two under their belts, it was clear to West that the gentleman answering the door – wearing a tatty dressing gown with a slice of toast clasped firmly between his teeth – was not the snappy dresser as described by the girl in the gift shop. Her heart sank as she asked the question, already knowing the answer.
‘Mr Tamar?’ she said despondently. ‘We’re looking for Alex Tamar.’
‘Sorry, hen. Not here.’
‘Thanks, anyway.’
‘Try two, no, three doors down. It’s a rental. The fella’s not long moved in.’
‘Ta. If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you lived here?’
‘Since forever. And if you don’t mind me a
sking, who are you?’
West pulled out her warrant card and waved it lethargically under his nose.
‘I see. An escaped con you’re after, is it?’
‘No,’ said West as she set off down the path. ‘Nothing that exciting. Oh, by the way, got a name, have you?’
‘Bobby. Bobby Mullen. Now, if it’s all the same with you, I have to get on.’
‘Yeah, sure. Sorry for troubling you.’
* * *
‘Well,’ said West, moaning as she turned the car around, ‘another dead end, just like this street.’
‘Are we off?’ said Dougal. ‘Will we not try the other house?’
‘What’s the point? It’s the wrong address. We’ll go back to his office and wait there, see if he…’
West’s words came to an abrupt halt as she slammed on the brakes and threw the car into reverse.
‘Miss?’
West smiled at Dougal and nodded in the direction of the 4x4 parked opposite the house.
‘That Volvo,’ she said. ‘It belongs to Annette Barbary.’
* * *
Whilst some folk might take umbrage at having their routine disturbed by unexpected callers, the gentleman at the door was seemingly unperturbed by a second interruption to his schedule.
‘Did you not find him?’ he said, smiling politely.
West glanced at Dougal, amazed at the speed with which he’d managed to change out of his dressing gown and into a two-piece, navy blue suit.
‘In a hurry?’ she said.
‘Work. I’m late.’
‘Wasting police time,’ said Dougal, sounding uncharacteristically assertive, ‘is a criminal offence. Mr Tamarin.’
‘Sorry, son, but like I said…’
West stepped forward and bellowed over his shoulder.
‘Annette Barbary,’ she said. ‘It’s DS West. You’ve got ten seconds to come to the door.’
‘Now, just a minute, what makes you think…’
‘Annette?’
‘Time’s up,’ said Dougal as he reached for his radio. ‘Alex Tamarin, I’m arresting you on suspicion of fraud and theft. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’
Tamarin slipped his hands casually into his pockets and proffered a supercilious smile.
‘You’ve got to be joking, right?’
‘No, no,’ said Dougal. ‘Deadly serious. Inside, please.’
* * *
The lounge – decorated in a style which matched the exterior of the house – was made all the more foreboding thanks to the pall of smoke clinging to the ceiling and the haggard-looking figure poised precariously on the edge of the armchair.
‘Ah, Mrs Barbary,’ said West. ‘Well, I must say, this is all very cosy, isn’t it? We’ll get to you in a moment. Sit down, please, Mr Tamarin. Now, do you know why you’ve been arrested?’
‘Fraud and theft, according to yourself, Inspector. An allegation, which, I might add, is completely false.’
‘See here, Mr Tamarin,’ said Dougal. ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing false about it. We’ve been through Barbary’s accounts and we know exactly how you, and Mrs Barbary here, have been fleecing the business. So, have you anything to say?’
Tamarin sat back and crossed his legs as Annette, about to succumb to a bout of the jitters, watched him like a hawk.
‘No comment,’ he said.
‘Good,’ said West, ‘that’ll speed things up. Now, your turn Mrs B. Just out of interest, does your husband know you’re here?’
‘What? No,’ said Annette, swallowing hard as her eyes darted about the room. ‘How could he? He’s with you lot.’
‘No, he isn’t. We released him last night. Didn’t you see him when he got home?’
‘No. I mean, aye. I did.’
‘Which is it?’ said West.
‘Sorry, hen, I’m that confused just now, I can’t think straight.’
‘Okay, in that case, perhaps you’d like to tell us exactly why you’re here?’
Annette fumbled for her lighter and lit another cigarette.
‘I came to… I came to drop off the accounts,’ she said, stuttering.
‘When?’
‘This morning. I’ve not been here long.’
‘Really?’ said West. ‘So, you came to drop off the accounts... in your slippers?’
Annette glanced at Tamarin and blanched.
‘Car keys, please, Mrs Barbary. Unless you’d rather we got a warrant. And while you’re looking for those, Dougal has something he’d like to say to you.’
‘Annette Barbary, I’m arresting you on suspicion of theft. You do not have to…’
‘What? But I’ve not stolen anything!’ said Annette, ‘It’s my…’
‘Do you understand why you’re being arrested?’ said West.
‘Aye, but…’
‘Is there anything you’d like to say?’
Annette glanced at Tamarin who subtly shook his head.
‘No,’ she said meekly. ‘Nothing.’
‘Excellent,’ said West, peering through the grimy window as a patrol car pulled up outside. ‘Then we’ll be back in time for lunch. Get your coat, Mrs Barbary. And I’d put some shoes on, if I were you.’
* * *
West pulled her phone from her hip pocket as Dougal popped open the boot of the Volvo, unzipped a large soft-shell suitcase brimming with clothes and reached for the travel wallet tucked in the side pocket.
‘Someone’s off on their holidays,’ he said as he put the passport to one side and flicked through a wad of fifty-pound notes.
‘Duncan, where are you?’ said West.
‘Station, miss. Nothing doing here. We’re just grabbing a coffee before heading back.’
‘Is Jimbo with you?’
‘Aye, hold on,’ said Duncan as he switched to speaker.
‘Charlie,’ said Munro, ‘I hope you’ve had better luck than us.’
‘Yeah, we’ve got Tamarin.’
‘Well done, lassie.’
‘Not only that, he had a house guest.’
‘Oh, aye?’
‘Annette Barbary.’
‘Is that so?’
‘They’re on the way to the station as we speak,’ said West. ‘It looks like they were planning to do one together. She’s got a suitcase packed and everything.’
‘Not surprising,’ said Munro, ‘she’ll not want to be on the receiving end once Barbary finds out what she’s been up to.’
‘Yeah, that’s why I’m calling. She was very cagey when I asked her if she saw him last night after he’d been released, but she couldn’t make her mind up.’
‘Guilt does have a habit of muddling the mind.’
‘You’re telling me,’ said West, ‘but I can’t help but think there’s something fishy going on here. Can you drop by Barbary’s place and see what’s happening and I’ll see you back at base.’
Chapter 16
After another brief blast along the bypass – most of which was spent with Dougal poised to grab the steering wheel while West admired the scenery through the side window – the idea of lunch was about as appetising as a plateful of raw oysters after a white-knuckle ride on a rollercoaster.
In an effort to calm his nerves, he sat cradling a mug of hot sweet tea as West rapidly devoured a deep pan pizza laden with jalapeno peppers, pepperoni, and extra garlic.
Munro, his nose twitching at the less than fragrant aroma, cast a disparaging eye in West’s direction, made straight for the window, and flung it wide open.
‘Jimbo, you’re back!’ she said. ‘Want some lunch?’
‘I’m not that keen on roadkill, Charlie, but thanks all the same. Besides, I had something at the station.’
‘Okay, your loss.’
‘That’s open to debate.’
‘Where’s Duncan?’
‘He’s aw
ay to check on Barbary’s place.’
‘Is he okay?’
‘Och, he’s a grown man, lassie,’ said Munro. ‘If he cannae cope with a slap on the wrist, then he’s in the wrong job.’
‘Might be more than a slapped wrist,’ said West, dusting down her fingers and reaching for the kettle. ‘Jury’s still out on that one. Anyway, how’d you get on?’
‘In short,’ said Munro, ‘a complete and utter waste of time. A squandering of scant resources. A wild goose chase.’
‘No luck then?’
‘I don’t understand, boss,’ said Dougal. ‘Was it the location?’
‘No, no. Nothing you’ve done, laddie. It appears our friend Hamlyn was recognised by his motor car which had a distinctive wee ball stuck to the top of the aerial.’
‘He drove a car?’
‘Indeed, and when the punters couldnae see it, they simply walked on. You’re looking a wee bit peaky, Dougal. Are you alright?’
‘Aye, all good, boss. I’m just getting over my trip in the Bluebird.’
‘I’m sure that means something to somebody,’ said Munro, ‘in the meantime, what’s all this about Tamarin?’
‘They’re both downstairs,’ said West. ‘Him and Annette. We’ll go through the motions, then charge them.’
‘And you’re sure you’ve enough?’
‘Oh aye, boss,’ said Dougal, waving the wodge of spreadsheets, ‘it’s all here, and we can prove irrefutably that the money went into Tamarin’s account.’
‘But there’s nothing apart from that email to link them to Hamlyn?’
‘No.’
‘Right,’ said West, turning to Munro, ‘clock’s ticking, we’d better get a wiggle on. Heads or tails?’
‘Tails.’
‘Tamarin it is, then.’
* * *
Tamarin – of a mind that all police officers, particularly female ones, were at the bottom of the evolutionary scale – sat with his solicitor by his side and, confident that his detention would last no more than a matter of minutes, smiled smugly as West entered the interview room, only for it to disappear as he locked eyes with Munro’s ice-cold gaze.
‘DS West,’ she said, stabbing the voice recorder as she sat down. ‘Time is twelve minutes past one. Also present is DI Munro. Can you make yourselves known, please?’
‘Alex Tamarin.’
TALION: a Scandinavian noir murder mystery set in Scotland (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 6) Page 10
