‘Meaning?’
‘Sorry,’ said West. ‘I’m being facetious.’
‘Apology accepted,’ said Dougal. ‘Besides, all cars look the same. Even if I did want one, I couldn’t afford it. You can’t get a classy set of wheels unless you’re minted.’
‘Rubbish! Of course you can!’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, I don’t know. Like a… like a Figaro maybe.’
‘Oh I see where this is going now.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘What I mean,’ said Dougal, ‘is now that you’ve got yourself this Defender you want to offload your Figaro.’
‘I do not!’ said West, laughing nervously. ‘But now that you mention it, it’s not such a bad idea. Let’s face it, it’d suit you down to the ground.’
‘I beg to differ.’
‘What’s not to like? It’s nippy, cheap to run, and you have to admit it’s pretty stylish too.’
‘Oh aye, and I’d end up looking like Columbo on his way to a wedding. Besides, I’d probably get set upon if anyone saw me driving a thing like that.’
‘Well, have a think,’ said West. ‘It’s going for a song.’
‘Is it indeed? Money for Nothing, no doubt.’
West, one eye on the sat nav, smiled and slowed to a sedate thirty as they approached the outskirts of Auchinleck.
‘So, what’s the SP on this Rupert Lea bloke?’ she said. ‘Have we found him yet?’
‘No. Not a dickie bird,’ said Dougal. ‘Uniform are still checking his house every day but he’s still not turned up. It would help a lot if we actually knew what he looked like these days.’
‘You don’t reckon he’s done a flit?’
‘To be fair, I doubt he even knows we’re looking for him. No, I reckon the fella’s taken himself off for a few days.’
‘It’s still a bit of a coincidence though, isn’t it?’ said West. ‘Nancy Wilson’s found bobbing about in the pool and our suspect disappears off the face of the earth.’
‘Maybe,’ said Dougal, ‘but either way he’s not exactly public enemy number one, so, apart from circulating a description that’s years old, there’s not much else we can do just now. I mean, it’s not as if The Bear is going to approve a county-wide search for the fella now, is it?’
‘He might have to,’ said West, ‘because if he hasn’t shown his face by tomorrow night, that’s exactly what I’m going to ask for.’
* * *
Lined with faceless, pebble-dashed terraces sporting unkempt gardens the size of a handkerchief, Cameron Drive – a quiet residential street on the edge of the village – was a fine example of post-war planning by in-house architects designed to depress its inhabitants and maintain an air of austerity for as long as possible.
West cruised past Nancy Wilson’s house and parked a few yards further up the street.
‘Right,’ she said, ‘first question: where’s uniform? Why isn’t this place cordoned off?’
‘Well, it’s not a crime scene, miss. Besides, uniform did come by a few hours after the body was found. They said the house was secure, job done.’
‘Fair enough. And where are we in relation to the leisure centre?’
‘Behind us,’ said Dougal. ‘It’s not even a ten-minute walk, back the way we came.’
‘Okay, so chances are she wouldn’t drive to work?’
‘Not unless she needed a mobility scooter.’
West leaned back and adjusted the rear-view mirror until she got a clear view of Wilson’s home.
‘Do we know what she drives?’
‘Aye, a green Micra,’ said Dougal. ‘If I’m not mistaken, that’s hers parked out front.’
West pulled her phone from her hip, spun in her seat, and flicked on the camera.
‘Remind me,’ she said as she zoomed in on the house, ‘the leisure centre opens at five-thirty, right?’
‘Correct.’
‘So, what time would Nancy start work?’
‘Between midday and one o’clock,’ said Dougal. ‘What exactly are you doing?’
‘I’m channelling my inner Jimbo.’
‘Let’s have it. Explain yourself.’
‘Okay,’ said West. ‘If she left for work around lunchtime, then why would she pull the curtains when it’s still broad daylight outside?’
‘Well, it’s not normal behaviour, I’ll give you that. Maybe it’s because she knew that by the time she got home it would be dark.’
‘As it would for most people. Nah, I don’t buy it. Let’s take a look.’
‘Okay,’ said Dougal. ‘I’ll just give this Jake Nevin fella a call, I’ll be with you in a minute.’
Ignoring the curious curtain-twitcher in the neighbouring property, West paused by the gate, pulled on a pair of latex gloves and, cupping her hands against the window, took a peek inside the Micra before wandering up the path where, in her own inimitable style, she proceeded to ring the bell and hammer the door with the side of her fist in an effort to elicit a response.
Satisfied that either the house was empty or that the occupants had slipped into an irreversible coma, she ambled along the side alley to the rear of the house with an excitable Dougal snapping at her heels.
‘Nevin’s on a job, miss,’ he said. ‘The rugby club. He says he’ll be there all day but he’s willing to drop by the office tomorrow.’
‘That’s nice of him,’ said West as she inspected the back door, ‘but that’s no good to us, we can’t afford to hang around. Tell you what, as soon as we’re done here, we’ll pay him a visit and see what he’s got to say for himself.’
‘Right you are, miss,’ said Dougal. ‘Here, Wilson’s house keys.’
‘No need,’ said West. ‘Look, the door’s been jimmied.’
As a lover of wildlife and a keen conservationist, Dougal was well aware of the physiological responses exhibited by members of the animal kingdom when faced with a confrontational situation, commonly known as “fight or flight”. As a subscriber to the latter, he zipped his jacket and instinctively took a step backwards.
‘Jeez-oh!’ he said. ‘That must’ve happened after uniform left. Should we not call for back-up? I mean, they could still be in there!’
‘Nah, we’ll be fine.’
‘Are you sure? I could ring Duncan instead, he’s always handy to have in a brawl.’
‘Don’t you worry,’ said West as she eased the door open with her foot. ‘I’ll look after you.’
Unlike her own kitchen which Munro had once likened to a Tracey Emin installation at the Tate gallery, Nancy Wilson’s, with its cracked, brown quarry tiles, magnolia cupboards, and free-standing cooker was, though dated, impeccably clean.
‘Not my cup of tea,’ she said, ‘but I’ve got to hand it to her, she’s handy with a mop and bucket.’
‘Everything seems to be in order,’ said Dougal. ‘Will we go now?’
Worried that the housebreaker was not the calculating psychopath responsible for Wilson’s demise but rather a drug-fuelled nutter ready to pop out of the woodwork at any given moment, Dougal, fists clenched by his side, took a deep breath and followed West warily down the hall to the lounge.
‘Blimey,’ she said gazing at the upturned sofa, the broken table lamps, the ravaged bookcase, and the empty sideboard. ‘She’s obviously not had time to give this room the once over.’
‘No,’ said Dougal, ‘but somebody else has, and my money’s on the same fella who trashed her office.’
‘Well, it certainly explains why the curtains are closed,’ said West as she tip-toed her way through the array of DVDs, magazines, framed photos, and personal ephemera littering the floor.
‘What are you thinking?’ said Dougal.
‘I’m thinking,’ said West pensively, ‘that this wasn’t the work of your average burglar who’d try to cover his tracks. And it’s not the work of an opportunist because he’d have started with the kitchen. Whoever did this wasn’t bothered about leaving a t
rail of destruction, they were in a hurry, and I’d say they were looking for something specific.’
‘Well,’ said Dougal, ‘that matches our assessment of the leisure centre.’
Standing with her hands on her hips, West, nonplussed, turned full circle surveying the damage before returning to the hall to examine the front door.
‘This is locked,’ she said twisting the night latch, ‘which means he left by the tradesmen’s. Let’s see if he’s rearranged the bedrooms too.’
‘I could wait here if you like,’ said Dougal. ‘You know, just in case someone comes in.’
‘Good idea,’ said West as she made her way upstairs. ‘If you see anyone armed with a crowbar, just give me a shout.’
‘Wait for me,’ said Dougal. ‘I’m right behind you.’
Following West’s animated hand signals, Dougal reluctantly glanced around the sparsely furnished spare room before cautiously nudging open the bathroom door to find, much to his relief, nothing but a bale of freshly laundered towels and the overwhelming stench of Mr Muscle.
‘All clear,’ he said as he joined West in the main bedroom. ‘Good grief, what happened here?’
‘Well, it’s not the aftermath of a lovers’ tiff, is it?’
‘No, no. This is divorce, right enough.’
‘What I can’t figure out is what the bleeding hell he’s looking for.’
‘Would it not be the locket?’
West perched on the edge of the bed, thought for a moment and shook her head.
‘No,’ she said bluntly. ‘Don’t get me wrong, any other day of the week and I’d agree with you, but no. It’s not the locket. It’s something bigger.’
‘How so?’
‘Okay look, if a woman has a piece of valuable jewellery, sentimental or otherwise, and she’s not wearing it, then she’s going to keep it somewhere safe along with her other treasured possessions.’
‘Aye, I get that,’ said Dougal. ‘So she’d hide it in the bedroom or the lounge, in her sock drawer or a cupboard with mementos or birthday cards maybe, which is exactly where the perp’s been looking.’
‘Yes,’ said West, ‘but he’s not going to slice open a sofa looking for a locket. He’s not going to destroy a divan looking for a locket. And he’s certainly not going to rip up the base of a built-in wardrobe looking for a locket. Trust me, he’s looking for something bigger.’
‘What then?’
‘If I knew that, I wouldn’t be standing here,’ said West as she made her way downstairs, ‘I’d be tucking into a bacon double cheeseburger with my feet up. Get on the blower, we need uniform and SOCOs here as soon as possible. Once you’ve done that, we’ll knock up the neighbours and see if anyone saw anything.’
* * *
Resisting the urge to rustle up a slice of toast while Dougal made the call, West leaned against the kitchen units, arms folded, and stared blankly at the floor.
‘On the way, miss,’ he said. ‘Ten minutes, SOCOs to follow.’
‘Dougal,’ said West quietly. ‘Look at the floor.’
‘Aye. It’s knackered.’
‘Yeah I know, but that tile there, by the door, notice anything unusual about it?’
‘No. Apart from the fact it’s cracked, but then again so are most of them.’
‘There’s no grout. It’s not been sealed properly.’
‘Och, it probably went up the hoover, miss.’
‘Got a penknife on you?’
‘If you’re thinking of lifting it, we’ll need something a wee bit bigger. I’ll see if she has a breadknife about the place.’
Surprised to find the blade disappearing beneath the floor rather than hitting what he expected to be a concrete substrate, Dougal removed the tile in two pieces to reveal a rank, musty-smelling yellow hand towel.
‘Oh that’s bogging, miss! It needs incinerating!’ he said, as he lifted it clear with the tip of the knife. ‘Uh-oh, you’d best have a look at this.’
Wearing a self-satisfied grin, West dropped to her knees and eyed a grey, solid steel safe the size of a shoebox lying with the door face-up.
‘Like I said, he’s looking for something bigger.’
‘Well, she’s obviously on more than the minimum wage if she’s got one of these.’
‘Can you lift it out?’
‘No chance,’ said Dougal. ‘It’s wedged tight. Will we try the lock?’
‘How?’ said West. ‘We haven’t got a key.’
‘We don’t need one. It’s a digital lock and guess what?’
‘What?’
‘These operate with an alpha-numeric code, anything from six to eight digits.’
‘The locket?’
‘Aye.’
‘Be my guest.’
Crouching over the safe, Dougal blew on his fingers and carefully keyed in the numerals 8, 8, 1, 8, followed by two Xs and smiled as the LCD display flashed “open”.
‘We’re in,’ he said, grinning like an extra on The Italian Job.
‘Well, what are you waiting for? Open her up. Let’s just hope it’s not booby-trapped.’
‘Jeez-oh!’ said Dougal as the colour drained from his cheeks. ‘You don’t think…’
‘I’m kidding! Get on with it!’
Dougal lifted the door and whistled at the pile of banknotes stashed inside.
‘Flipping heck!’ said West as she flicked through a bundle of cash bound with a paper sleeve. ‘It’s full of pinkies.’
‘Pinkies?’
‘Fifty-pound notes. Let’s see, there’s about ten grand per bundle so there must be about… a hundred grand here. At least.’
‘A hundred thousand! I don’t get it,’ said Dougal, ‘if she’s got that much money then why is she not buying herself a nice house, or a decent motor, or…’
‘Because, Dougal my lad, she’d have to account for every penny of this to prove it wasn’t the proceeds of a robbery or the ill-gotten gains of some money-laundering scam.’
‘Which it obviously is,’ said Dougal as a blue light bounced off the windows. ‘Look sharp. The cavalry’s here.’
‘Right, you sort them out. I’m going to have a chat with the nosey parker next door.’
* * *
In a remarkable show of self-restraint, West politely jabbed the bell once, stood back, and waited patiently for a reply.
‘Detective Inspector West,’ she said, flashing her warrant card. Can I have a word?’
An elderly lady wearing a blue, flannelette housecoat and beige tartan slippers regarded her with a xenophobic squint.
‘You’re not from these parts, are you?’ she said.
‘No. I’m from London.’
‘Is this some kind of international inquiry then?’
‘No, madam, I work here. I have done for some time now.’
‘Could you not get a job down there?’
‘Actually, I prefer it here. Everyone’s so… welcoming.’
‘Are they indeed?’
‘On the whole,’ said West, ‘yes. Look, I won’t keep you long, just a couple of questions about next door.’
‘Young Nancy?
‘That’s right.’
‘Has something happened?’
‘Nothing to be alarmed about. I just need to know if you’ve seen anyone hanging around her house recently, say the last twenty-four hours?’
‘Not me,’ said the lady. ‘I’m not one for snooping.’
‘Really?’
‘Aye. I keep myself to myself.’
‘So you didn’t see anything?’
‘No. Just some fella. He knocked the door.’
‘When?’
‘Yesterday.’
‘Can you remember what time?’
‘I’m not a clock-watcher, hen. It was two-thirty.’
‘And?’
‘She wasn’t home.’
‘So what did he do?’
‘He went around the back.’
‘Was he gone long?’
The old lady purs
ed her lips and shook her head.
‘Are you deaf?’ she said. ‘I’ve already told you, I’m not a clock-watcher. Twenty-five minutes. Twenty-six maybe.’
‘And I don’t suppose you remember what he looked like?’
‘I do not. Taller than yourself. Slim build. Dark hair, cut short. Very short. And he was wearing a black anorak.’
‘I see,’ said West. ‘Not much to go on, is it? Anything else?’
‘No. Just his van. He had a white van. A Mercedes with a trailer hooked to the back.’
* * *
Alone in a car park surrounded by woodland in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere, West – beginning to rue her decision to follow Dougal’s directions rather than those of the annoyingly persistent narrator on the sat nav – had no idea where she was or how long it would be before he returned.
Bored by the novelty of watching an irate middle-aged couple struggling to restrain an inquisitive Cairn terrier intent on foraging in the undergrowth, she greeted the buzz of her phone as a welcome distraction.
‘Duncan,’ she said, stifling a yawn. ‘What’s up?’
‘Result, miss. The CCTV. I think I’m on to something.’
‘What have you got?’
‘The cleaners. The two Bulgarians. They weren’t alone.’
‘Go on.’
‘It’s 7:53 am,’ said Duncan. ‘They show up as usual and as one of them’s opening the door, this fella appears out of nowhere. They have a wee chat, the Bulgarians shrug their shoulders, and he follows them inside.’
‘Have you clocked him coming out again?’ said West.
‘Not yet, miss, but I’ve only got another half an hour of footage to run through so it’s not looking likely.’
‘Can you get a make on him?’
‘No. I could tell you what he’s wearing but it’s almost like he’s avoiding the camera. I’ve got a partial on his face in a couple of frames but we need Dougal to look at it, he’ll know how to enhance it.’
‘Okay, no sweat. He can take a gander as soon as we’re back. Anything else?’
‘Aye, I’m not sure if it’s relevant but there’s the front end of a motorcycle just in frame; maybe Dougal can get a match on that too, the model at least, maybe it belongs to the perp’.’
‘I’ll let him know. So, what are you up to now?’
Penitent Page 4
