Penitent

by Pete Brassett

  ‘What’s brought her out of the woodwork?’

  ‘It seems she wasnae a part of Galbraith’s original plan. She muscled her way in.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘She refused planning permission for the school’s extension unless she was recompensed.’

  ‘You mean she was after a backhander?’

  ‘Oh aye,’ said Munro. ‘And a hefty one at that.’

  ‘Jeez-oh, talk about corruption.’

  ‘I’d rather not, I’m about to have my supper. Did you get anywhere with the MacDonalds’ accounts?’

  ‘Not really, chief,’ said Duncan. ‘I have a copy of Flora’s transactions for the twelve months before she died, and she’s clean. And I checked Jack MacDonald’s history for the twelve months following Caisteal’s collapse, and there’s nothing there either.’

  ‘As I thought,’ said Munro. ‘It’s cash they would have been dealing with and from what I’ve heard Jack MacDonald was too clever by half to leave a paper trail.’

  ‘Will I go after Galbraith then?’

  ‘No, you’ll not find anything there, but there is something else you can do for me.’

  ‘Just name it.’

  ‘Caisteal. Find out where they held their bank account and when they closed it. It would have been shortly before they rolled the company and the funds would have been taken in cash, not a transfer or a draft.’

  ‘Easy enough,’ said Duncan, ‘considering the sums involved.’

  ‘And they’d have needed at least two signatories present to make the withdrawal, I want to know who they were.’

  ‘Roger that, chief. Anything else?’

  ‘Aye. The next pint’s on me.’

  Chapter 11

  Torn between tackling the piles of pots, pans, and plates languishing in the sink, checking on Munro, or preparing the report for the procurator fiscal, West, making by far the easiest decision of the day, slumped on the sofa and ordered a takeaway instead, her first sip of red interrupted by the chime of her phone.

  ‘Duncan,’ she said, ‘nice going today, well done, mate.’

  ‘Thanks very much, miss.’

  ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

  ‘Well, I was heading for my pit,’ said Duncan, ‘but something came up. Are you busy?’

  ‘I’ve got twenty minutes before my grub arrives…’

  ‘Oh aye? Something healthy no doubt?’

  ‘As always,’ said West. ‘Prawn toast, spring rolls, spare ribs, Szechuan beef and a special fried rice.’

  ‘You surprise me. No pudding?’

  ‘Chips and curry sauce.’

  ‘You’re getting too Scottish for your own good.’

  ‘It’s comfort eating.’

  ‘How so?’ said Duncan. ‘Are you depressed?’

  ‘No, it’s Lea,’ said West. ‘Everything we have is pretty much circumstantial. We still need something concrete, something which incriminates him beyond any doubt.’

  ‘Well, relax, miss. It’s your lucky day.’

  ‘Go on then.’

  ‘Okay, but I’m not saying if you’re going to get all emotional again.’

  ‘Spit it out.’

  ‘I’ve just got the results back from FS on the motorcycle gear I sent for testing…’

  ‘And?’

  ‘There were strands of red hair inside the helmet, they’re a match for Lea.’

  ‘Well, whoop-de-do,’ said West, ‘it’s his helmet, what do you expect?’

  ‘Wait for it. Gloves.’

  ‘Don’t tell me. Sweat stains on the inside. Also a match.’

  ‘Back of the class for being so hasty,’ said Duncan. ‘They’ve got Kevlar knuckle protectors stitched beneath the leather.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Kevlar, miss! It’s light, but it’s as hard as steel. See here, the inserts are shaped to the fit around the knuckles, which means they’re moulded into four small bumps which are blunt and rounded. I’ve a feeling they’ll match the wee dents on Wilson’s face.’

  ‘Is that it?’ said West. ‘You’ve called me up to tell me you’ve got a hunch that a scrawny little specimen like Lea punched the hell out of Nancy Wilson?’

  ‘It’s not a hunch, miss,’ said Duncan. ‘It’s a fact. DNA taken from blood and tissue samples found on the gloves belongs to Miss Wilson.’

  Duncan, imagining the sound of West’s jaw hitting the floor, smiled at the ensuing silence.

  ‘Bugger,’ said West eventually. ‘This means I’ll have to cancel my dinner.’

  ‘You will not! There’s no point in starving yourself, I mean, it’s not as if Lea’s going anywhere.’

  ‘You’re right, I’ll take it with me.’

  ‘With you? Where are you going?’

  ‘Back to the office,’ said West as she reached for her coat. ‘I’m going to charge Lea.’

  ‘Okey dokey.’

  ‘And look,’ said West as she gulped her wine, ‘I know you’re knackered but can you do me a favour?’

  ‘Aye, why not?’ said Duncan. ‘I’ve done plenty of those recently.’

  ‘Call Dougal and tell him to start getting the paperwork in order for the fiscal, I want Lea in court as soon as possible...’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘…and when you’ve done that…’

  ‘Are you joking me?’

  ‘…can you nip over to Lea’s gaff?’

  ‘Aye okay, if I can get my head down for an hour first.’

  ‘No sweat,’ said West. ‘Go have a kip, then see if you can raise a SOCO to help you out. Grab anything you can that might be relevant. Anything at all.’

  ‘Roger that, but is what we have not enough?’

  ‘Not quite. We’re still missing one important thing.’

  ‘And what would that be?’

  ‘A motive.’

  ‘A motive? Are you joking me? It’s the money, is it not?’

  West, pondering her own words, returned to the sofa, hung her head, and stared blankly at the floor.

  ‘No,’ she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, ‘I’m not sure it is.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Lea and Wilson weren’t an item. They weren’t loved-up. So how did he know about it? I mean, she’s not exactly going to tell her stalker she’s got a stash of cash under the kitchen floor, now, is she?’

  ‘Christ, if you put it like that. Well, what then?’

  ‘Dunno,’ said West. ‘Maybe he couldn’t stand being knocked back. Maybe he couldn’t handle a blow to his ego.’

  ‘But you saw her place,’ said Duncan. ‘You said the perp’ was definitely looking for something.’

  ‘I know. And that’s what’s doing my head in.’

  * * *

  Oblivious to West hovering in the doorway, Dougal, who preferred to work to the hoot of an owl rather than the roar of the traffic, stood in the gloom of the office with his hands clasped above his head wiggling his hips like a second-rate lap dancer in a working men’s club.

  ‘Nice moves,’ said West, laughing as she placed a carrier bag on the desk.

  ‘Jeez-oh!’ said Dougal as his face flushed. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘You don’t know? The crash helmet? The gloves?’

  ‘Oh that.’

  ‘Oh that!’ said West. ‘Blimey, don’t get too excited. Come on then, what’s all the twerking about?’

  ‘I’m celebrating, miss.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, you’ve got a place on Britain’s Got Talent.’

  ‘Imagine, if you will, the results from forensic services as a cake.’

  ‘A cake?’

  ‘Aye. And I’m just about to ice it.’

  ‘This,’ said West, unwrapping the spring rolls, ‘I have got to hear.’

  ‘Remember the motorbike outside the leisure centre? The one parked near the front doors?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I’ve identified the model. It’s an old Yamaha. An XT500.’

  ‘I’ll get t
he champagne.’

  ‘Now, it’s only just in frame,’ said Dougal, ‘the CCTV didn’t pan around wide enough to get a view of the whole bike so the problem we have is, even if Duncan gets the DVLA to confirm that the bike in Lea’s back yard belongs to him, it doesn’t prove that it’s the one outside the centre...’

  ‘And that’s a reason to celebrate?’

  ‘…unless it has two distinctive scratches on the left-hand side of the petrol tank and a cracked wing mirror.’

  ‘Well, you know what to do.’

  ‘I do indeed. I was about to scoot over there now and take a few pictures.’

  ‘What with?’ said West. ‘Infrared? Get a grip Dougal, get it brought over and have SOCOs go over it, right now I need you to get that report ready for the fiscal. I want it on her desk first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Aye okay, but can I go fetch some food first?’

  ‘No need. I’ve got a Chinese banquet for two if you fancy it.’

  ‘Smashing. I’ll stick the kettle on. Where is Duncan anyway?’

  ‘Where all sane people should be. In bed. He’s having a nap before heading over to Lea’s place to bag up everything he can.’

  ‘Oh we’re almost there!’ said Dougal. ‘I can feel it in my bones.’

  ‘Don’t count your chickens,’ said West, ‘we’ve still got a couple of hurdles to jump. Right, let’s eat before I dive downstairs to charge Lea and oh, before you get stuck into that report, do me a favour and tell Nevin he’s free to go, will you? There’s no point in holding the poor sod any longer, put him out of his misery.’

  * * *

  Although the shiny, blue, waterproof mattress on which he dozed was infinitely more comfortable than the grubby, worn version lying on his bedroom floor, Nevin, due to the dipping temperature and unbearable silence, was unable to relax.

  Startled by the sound of the door, he sat up, shielded his eyes from the harsh overhead light, and squinted at the figure in the doorway.

  ‘It’s not morning already, is it?’ he said.

  ‘No, no,’ said Dougal. ‘It’s just the back of midnight.’

  ‘Oh that’s smashing, that is. So why have you woken me? Did you bring my clothes? It’s Baltic in here.’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Dougal. ‘You can wait for them if you like, or we can send them on.’

  ‘Send them on? Where to?’

  ‘Your house of course.’

  ‘I’m not with you,’ said Nevin. ‘Why send them there?’

  ‘Because you’re free to go.’

  ‘Just like that?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘No explanation? No apology?’

  ‘Well, you’re not guilty,’ said Dougal, ‘so there’s your explanation. And sorry for detaining you. There’s your apology. Cheery-bye.’

  Chapter 12

  Confident that the only person likely to approach him at two o’clock in the morning would be a ne’er-do-well offering his services as a fence for stolen property, Dougal bounded to the rear of the house, picked the lock with the dexterity of a safe-breaker and, as a safeguard against contaminating himself rather than the evidence, donned a Tyvek suit before heading to the bedroom.

  Aware that the focused beam of a flashlight bouncing off the walls was a sure-fire way of drawing attention to himself, he flicked on the main light, gazed despondently around the room and, unable to distinguish between items which were soiled and those that were clean, picked his way through the piles of laundry scattered about the place until, conspicuous by its delicate fragrance, he fished a ladies’ cashmere scarf from beneath a sweat-stained pillow.

  Flinching at the thought of Lea’s sordid fixation, he bagged it up and turned his attention to the first of five battered cardboard boxes – which was filled, unsurprisingly, with empty wine bottles – before grinning excitedly as he pulled from the second, nestling beneath a tarnished roasting dish, several cassette tapes, an old calendar featuring the scantily clad cast members of “Baywatch”, a thermal balaclava, a pair of waterproof leggings, and a black anorak.

  Dismissing the rest of Lea’s possessions as worthless bric-a-brac not even worthy of a charity shop donation, he made his way downstairs and stopped as an inexplicable urge, brought about by a strip of silver gaffer tape at the foot of the mattress, forced him to return to the bedroom.

  Assuming it to be nothing more than a typically Lea-esque method of repair, he squatted down, tossed the crumb-laden sheet to one side and, half expecting to unleash a nest of beasties from their hiding place, tentatively peeled it back before dashing downstairs to fetch another bag.

  * * *

  ‘Duncan,’ said West, hollering down the phone. ‘How are you getting on?’

  ‘Result, miss. In fact, it’s like winning a jackpot on the puggie,’ he replied as he flung the final sack into the boot of his car.

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The puggie. It’s a fruit machine.’

  ‘Yeah, of course it is. Well, don’t keep it to yourself, come on.’

  ‘Hold on,’ said Duncan as he buckled up and locked the doors. ‘Okay, first of all I found some more biker gear; some waterproofs and, get this, a black anorak.’

  ‘Blinding! Is it the same one the bloke on the CCTV’s wearing?’

  ‘It’s an anorak, miss. And it’s black. That’s all I know.’

  ‘Sorry, so go on. What else?’

  ‘A ladies’ scarf and it reeks of perfume.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ said West. ‘I mean you’re sure it’s a ladies’ scarf and it’s perfume, not aftershave?’

  ‘I think I’ve been around long enough to tell the difference.’

  ‘Alright, keep your hair on! God, you’re tetchy when you’re tired! Is that it?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Duncan. ‘You know how it works, always save the best for last.’

  ‘Knock me out.’

  ‘Nine thousand, two hundred, and eighty quid.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘All in used twenties.’

  ‘Holy cow, so that’s the money he’s been living off.’

  ‘Obviously,’ said Duncan, ‘and needless to say it’s not the fruits of honest labour either, although I have to say I thought he’d have been a bit more imaginative when it came to hiding it. I mean, in the mattress, for God’s sake.’

  ‘You are kidding? He’s a bleeding comedy character, he really is. Okay, give that lot to the SOCO, he can take it for analysis while you…’

  ‘No can do, miss. I’m on my lonesome. No SOCOs available until the morning and no disrespect but I’m not driving all the way to Glasgow to hand this to FS, not just now anyway.’

  ‘No,’ said West, ‘that would be too much to ask.’

  ‘Indeed it would. And yourself? What’s happening there?’

  ‘I’ve charged Lea but he’s still protesting his innocence.’

  ‘What did you expect him to do?’

  ‘I was hoping he’d crumble but, heigh-ho, with any luck he’ll be in court by lunchtime. Right, have you finished there now?’

  ‘Aye, all done, why? Don’t tell me you’re needing another favour?’

  ‘Not me,’ said West. ‘Dougal. Can you get to that motorbike in Lea’s garden?’

  ‘Not without a machete but I can try. Why?’

  ‘Dougal reckons it might be the same one that’s on the CCTV.’

  ‘How will we know?’

  ‘Two big scratches on the petrol tank and a broken mirror.’

  ‘And if it is, does that mean we have him hook, line, and sinker?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said West. ‘Maybe.’

  * * *

  To a rank outsider, the characters in the office – West staring blankly into space as she wrangled with thoughts of the real motive behind Lea’s actions, Duncan flopped over the desk with his head on his arms trying to catch up on his sleep, and Dougal lethargically assigning his Focus Magic software the relatively simple task of matching two disparate images – looked not un
like a bunch of defeated poker players after an all-night session of five card stud.

  Unaware of the effect that his unbridled enthusiasm might have on his unsuspecting colleagues, Dougal, the only one whose brain was still functioning on something approaching full capacity, leapt to his feet with a triumphant yell.

  ‘You beauty!’ he said as Duncan all but fell from his seat.

  ‘What is it with you! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?’

  ‘He’s got a point,’ said West looking like a startled bunny. ‘Couldn’t you keep it down a bit?’

  ‘Well, pardon me for sealing his fate,’ said Dougal indignantly. ‘I’m only doing my job.’

  ‘Go on then, let’s have it.’

  ‘The motorbike at the leisure centre. It’s Lea’s.’

  ‘And you tried to put me in my coffin for that? Christ, what time’s the café open?’ said Duncan. ‘I’m famished.’

  ‘Anytime now.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ said West. ‘I could do with the walk.’

  ‘No need.’

  Unsure whether to follow her instinct and react with joy or erupt in a fit of impulsive fury, West unfortunately chose the latter.

  ‘What the bleeding hell are you doing here?’

  ‘Nice to see you too, Charlie,’ said Munro with a smile. ‘I bring you breakfast and joy. There’s enough for everyone.’

  ‘You’re meant to be resting! Why aren’t you on Islay?’

  ‘Boredom, Charlie. And you know what they say about the devil and idle hands.’

  ‘I could swing for you! Have you any idea how worried we’ve been? You’re meant to be getting better and here you are jeopardising your health! No, hold on, more to the point, have you any idea how much I paid for that flipping cottage just because I wanted you to…?’

  ‘Now, now, now!’ boomed DCI Elliot as he blundered through the door, ‘what’s all the racket about?’

  ‘Uh-oh,’ said Duncan, ‘that’s my cue to leave, I’m not getting in the way of The Bear.’

  Elliot turned to Munro and raised his arms.

  ‘James! By God, it’s good to see you!’ he said. ‘How have you been?’

  ‘Aye, okay,’ said Munro. ‘I’m still breathing, so that’s a bonus.’

  ‘Let’s have a chat before you go,” Elliot said. “Charlie, a wee word if I may.’

  * * *

  West, likening the walk along the corridor to a sprint along the green mile, followed Elliot sheepishly to his office and closed the door.