Enmity

by Pete Brassett

  ‘2-0. Go on, Don.’

  Cameron glanced furtively at West and took a deep breath before continuing.

  ‘Traces of ketamine were present in the stomach and bloods,’ he said, ‘proof conclusive that…’

  ‘That she was killed by an overdose?’ said Munro.

  ‘I’m afraid not, Chief,’ said Cameron, hesitating, ‘the ketamine wasnae enough to knock her out, it made her delirious, yes, but…’

  ‘So what you’re saying is…’

  ‘Aye. I’m afraid she was… she was conscious the whole time.’

  ‘Dear God.’

  ‘Actual C.O.D. was heart failure. She was literally scared to death.’

  Munro stood abruptly.

  ‘Excuse me, just a moment,’ he said, leaving the room, ‘I’ll not be long.’

  Cameron and West locked eyes and sat silently gazing at each other, neither daring to speak until Munro returned a few minutes later, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief.

  ‘Apologies,’ he said, ‘I had something in my eye, had to flush it out. So, Don, is there anything else we should be aware of?’

  ‘No, Chief,’ said Cameron, ‘if you’ve any questions the fella to contact is a Dr. Kelly.’

  ‘At the Queen Elizabeth? In Glasgow?’

  ‘No, he’s head of pathology here in Ayr. Agnes’s body is back now awaiting funeral arrangements.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Munro, ‘I think we’ll have a wee chat and there’s no time like the present. Charlie, you with me. Don, I want you to call Dougal, find out where he is. If he’s not finished at the college, get yourself over to the bookies and have a word with anyone there who knew Agnes. I want to know everything, no matter how minor it may seem. I want to know if they socialised, where they went, what they talked about, including the gossip. Got it?’

  Chapter 9

  Even as a single mother living in the parental home with a job that paid little more than the minimum wage, Lizzie refused to see her glass as half empty. Instead, she embraced motherhood, was thankful to be in gainful employment and eternally grateful that she had found in her own mother not just a child minder but arguably her best friend.

  Despite the recurring pangs of loneliness, experienced more often than not at night, she was indomitably cheerful and generous to a fault, though her most endearing trait was the fact that she completely underestimated, without being self-deprecating, just how attractive she really was. Even Max who, purely because of his lack of experience with women, had avoided developing an intimate relationship with anyone, couldn’t help but warm to her.

  ‘Looks like someone got the cream,’ he said as he arrived for work.

  ‘No,’ said Lizzie, beaming, ‘just glad it’s Tuesday.’

  ‘Really? Tuesday? Why’s that then?’

  ‘Because it means there’s only two more days till Friday.’

  ‘And Friday’s important, why?’

  ‘Are you joking me?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Max, ‘and you fell for it. So, what’s it to be? Pub? Restaurant? Library?’

  ‘Library?’

  ‘Why not? Listen, hen, if you want to see how much you have in common with someone else, you can do worse than browse a bookshelf or two together.’

  The smile dropped from Lizzie’s face as she lowered her head.

  ‘I’m not really one for reading,’ she said, almost embarrassed.

  ‘Nae bother,’ said Max, ‘we can look at the picture books instead.’

  ‘You’ve a cheek. So, come on then, tell me, how’d it go?’

  ‘How did what go?’

  ‘Only the most exciting thing that’s happened to you in the past month. The police.’

  ‘Oh, that,’ said Max, ‘aye, it was alright, no big deal. Spent the day hanging around waiting for them to show up, they asked a few questions, I gave them some answers and that was that.’

  ‘Really? And there was I thinking they’d have you tied to a chair, shining spotlights in your face and threatening to send you down for life.’

  ‘Wishful thinking.’

  ‘I did call, you know, just in case.’

  ‘Aye, I see that, thanks, but it was late and I had to get my supper. Coffee?’

  ‘You havenae time.’

  ‘Lizzie,’ said Max, laughing, ‘if there’s one thing I have in spades, it’s time.’

  ‘Not today, you haven’t. That bungalow on Ashgrove Street, you’ve a viewing in twenty minutes.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They seem quite keen. Och, come on, smile. At least it gives you something to do.’

  * * *

  Max, having trudged begrudgingly across town, spied the eager couple hovering outside the property grinning like a pair of newly-weds and approached them sporting the most insincere grin he could muster.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, ‘you’ve come to view the house?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the lady, clinging to her husband’s arm, ‘it looks perfect and we’ve a mortgage sorted already.’

  Max rubbed his chin and grimaced like a plumber about to give an estimate.

  ‘Well, sorry to burst your bubble, madam,’ he said, ‘but it’s gone.’

  ‘Gone?’ said the man despondently, ‘but how? There’s another two weeks until the bids close.’

  ‘Bids? No, no. It was changed to fixed price,’ said Max, lying through his teeth, ‘did they not tell you?’

  ‘What? No. When? How much do they want?’

  ‘Doesnae matter,’ said Max, ‘as I say, it’s gone. You folks have a nice day now.’

  The couple watched despairingly as he turned on his heels and set-off at a brisk pace in the direction of Waterstone’s.

  * * *

  The manageress, leaning on the counter with her head resting on her hand, glanced up from her inventory as Max breezed through the door, plucked a copy of Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations from the shelf and, unaware of her gaze, settled into his usual chair. She watched as he eagerly opened the book and smiled softly to herself, fascinated that someone so young could find philosophy so absorbing. Forty-five minutes later she glided over and settled silently beside him.

  ‘How’s it going?’ she said, her voice a husky whisper, ‘the search, I mean.’

  Max dog-eared the right-hand page, closed the book and turned to face her, perturbed by the glint in her eye.

  ‘Not that good, actually,’ he said.

  ‘Same here,’ said the manageress, ‘there was somebody once, took a couple of years to realise it but in the end, well, I suppose we just didnae click.’

  ‘Aye, you and a few million others. No doubt you were predictably upset?’

  ‘Predictably? Are you inferring that women are emotionally more vulnerable than men?’

  ‘No. What I’m saying is you have to look at it from another perspective. Loss is nothing but change, and change is Nature’s delight.’

  The manageress, sporting a wry grin, said nothing.

  ‘What?’ said Max, intimidated by her seductive stare. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘No problem,’ she said, ‘I’m just trying to figure out if you’re cynical, angry or just plain cold towards the opposite sex.’

  ‘Neither. I’m cautious. See, everything in the universe happens for a reason, every tiny action has a direct consequence on a pattern of events. There’s no room for impulsiveness.’

  ‘In that case,’ said the manageress, ‘I fear the quest for your other half may never reach a satisfactory conclusion.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Well, I’m no expert but based on the world’s population I imagine it’s fair to assume we’d probably have to “experience” hundreds of potential matches before we find the missing piece of the jigsaw.’

  ‘Aye, right enough. Maybe.’

  ‘Then surely by exercising caution you’re diminishing your chances of success by narrowing the field.’

  ‘Oh aye?’ said Max, turning away and opening the book. ‘And you’
d rather play the field, I suppose?’

  ‘Naughty,’ said the manageress, her forefinger nestling between her lips, ‘I just have a feeling you and I might…’

  ‘No, no. I dinnae think so,’ said Max, dismissively, ‘not being rude but I cannae see it happening somehow.’

  ‘What’s your number?’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘Your number. In case you change your mind. I’ll ring and hang up then you’ll have me as a missed call. Hopefully not a missed opportunity.’

  Max puffed out his cheeks with a sigh.

  ‘Okay,’ he said reluctantly, ‘go on. What name will I put?’

  ‘Jeannie.’

  * * *

  Although its appearance had more in common with a budget hotel perched beside a motorway than a pioneering hospital, the pervasive aroma of Iodoform was irritatingly familiar. Munro’s nose twitched disapprovingly as they approached the visitor desk where a polite, middle-aged lady in a navy-blue blazer offered them a sympathetic smile in a manner befitting that of an undertaker.

  ‘Hello,’ she said with a tilt of the head, ‘how can I help?’

  ‘Dr. Kelly, please,’ said West, waving her warrant card.

  ‘Is he expecting you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not to worry,’ said the receptionist, nodding towards the bank of vacant chairs, ‘you have yourselves a seat and I’ll see if I can find him for you.’

  West watched from the corner of her eye as an impatient Munro stared blankly out across the car park and tapped his foot to a frenetic jazz beat that only he could hear.

  ‘You still hate hospitals, don’t you?’ she said, trying not laugh. ‘Same as last time, you can’t wait to get out.’

  ‘Nothing’s changed, lassie,’ said Munro, ‘so far as I’m concerned, a hospital’s nothing more than the boarding gate on your trip to the other side. And, incidentally, all the tickets are one-way. Now, if I’m not mistaken, here comes one of the cabin crew.’

  A tall, wiry man with a mop of spindly, red hair and a complexion as wan as a cadaver padded towards them, an over-sized tweed jacket flapping loosely from his shoulders.

  ‘Doctor Kelly,’ he said, proffering a bony hand, ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Munro and this is Detective Sergeant West. It’s about Agnes Craig, are you familiar…’

  ‘Och, quite familiar Inspector, but if I may be so bold, if it’s about the Craig lassie, should I not be talking to that Cameron fellow? I thought he was…’

  ‘I’m leading the investigation, Doctor Kelly. D.S. Cameron is a part of my team.’

  ‘I see,’ said Kelly, ‘well, not that it matters. Are you here to view the body or is it the funeral you’ve come about?’

  ‘Neither,’ said Munro as they all sat, ‘I’m curious about some aspects of her death, are you okay to talk?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Kelly, ‘I’m in no rush.’

  ‘Good. First of all, the cause of death – we’ve established that as heart failure, correct?’

  ‘Loosely speaking. Myocardial infarction to be precise.’

  ‘Heart attack?’ said West.

  ‘Indeed. In this instance, caused by the narrowing of the arteries as a result of the copious amounts of ketamine in her system. That coupled with the ordeal she went through, well, her heart simply couldn’t cope.’

  ‘This ketamine,’ said Munro, ‘it wasn’t your usual recreational drug, like ecstasy, was it? I mean, she didnae take a tablet, did she? It was a liquid.’

  ‘Ketamine hydrochloride,’ said Kelly, ‘incredibly strong, incredibly toxic and, if taken with alcohol, well, the consequences would indeed be fatal. Not a nice way to go.’

  ‘Can you be more specific?’ said Munro.

  ‘Repetitive bouts of vomiting, loss of vision, dizziness, palpitations, high blood pressure, hallucinations…’

  ‘Okay, I think we’ve got the picture,’ said West. ‘What’s it used for, Doctor Kelly? As a liquid? I mean, is it that common?’

  ‘Oh aye, very common in the right environment.’

  ‘Like hospitals?’

  ‘Aye, like hospitals. It’s used mainly as an anaesthesia and for pain management too, for example as a substitute for morphine. Oh, and there was some marginal success in its use to treat depression as well but the results weren’t conclusive enough to prove it beneficial although, having said that, there are those who self-medicate.’

  ‘And this ketamine hydrochloride,’ said Munro, ‘is it readily available? Could you get it with a prescription, for example?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Kelly, ‘well, certainly not on the NHS. If you’re trying to trace a source, my advice would be to check with all the veterinary surgeons in the area, see if they’ve had a break-in, perhaps.’

  ‘The vets?’

  ‘Aye, it’s used on animals for the same reasons but probably more so.’

  ‘I see. Okay, we’ll do that. Thanks,’ said Munro, as he stood and zipped his coat. ‘Well, we’ve taken up enough of your time, I’m sure you’ve plenty to do, I appreciate your help.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Inspector,’ said Kelly as he shuffled away, ‘anytime, and give my best to that Cameron fellow, tell him I hope he’s getting plenty of rest.’

  Munro froze and glanced at West, a worrying frown creasing his brow.

  ‘Doctor Kelly!’ he yelled across the hall. ‘Hold on a moment.’

  Kelly stopped in his tracks, turned and ambled back towards them.

  ‘Is there something you forgot to ask, Inspector?’ he said.

  ‘No, no,’ said Munro, rubbing his chin in an effort soothe his addled mind, ‘it’s something you said, just now. You said to make sure Cameron was getting plenty of rest. Why is that?’

  ‘Well, isn’t it obvious?’ said Kelly. ‘After the affray he was involved in? The body needs time to heal, Inspector, you cannae just…’

  ‘Hold on, hold on,’ said Munro, ‘you know about the attack?’

  ‘Aye, of course, I was here when he came in. Well, over in A&E. I was covering for the usual lack of staff.’

  ‘So you patched him up?’ said West.

  ‘I wouldnae go as far as that, Miss,’ said Kelly, ‘my job is to open bodies, not close them up. I cleaned the wounds and left the needlecraft to somebody else.’

  Munro held a hand aloft, buying time as he collected his thoughts.

  ‘By all accounts,’ he said, ‘D.S. Cameron was lucky to get away so lightly. From what I’ve heard, his assailant was quite a hefty chap.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Kelly, sniggering, ‘Well, I’ve no idea who he’s trying to impress but I’d find that… questionable.’

  ‘Can you explain?’ said West. ‘It’d be a great help.’

  ‘Of course. Look, if you’re a big fella with a knife and you’re going to stab someone, chances are you’d hold it by your side with your fingers curled upwards around the handle and stab with a forward-thrusting motion, right? Now, if you do that and you’re a wee fella, you’ll only end up stabbing your victim in the lower stomach, if you’re lucky, so you’d hold the knife up high, like this, and bring it down, not forward, that way you can be sure of wounding the poor fella in the chest.’

  ‘And the wounds inflicted on Cameron…’

  ‘The angle of the wounds indicate irrefutably that he was stabbed with a downward thrusting motion thereby suggesting his assailant was considerably shorter than himself.’

  ‘I see,’ said Munro, ‘but I imagine the force of the blows must have caused quite some damage then?’

  ‘Not really, whoever attacked him wasnae very strong. A kid maybe, young teenager. It’s not as though we had to put him in ICU.’

  ‘But he was here a while?’

  ‘Och, no more than normal for anyone in A&E,’ said Kelly, ‘a couple of hours, I’d say. No more than that. Once he’d had his tetanus, he was on his way.’

  ‘Do you,’ said West as she glanced knowingly at Munro, ‘do you happen
to remember what D.S. Cameron was wearing when he came in?’

  ‘I get the feeling someone on your team is heading for detention Inspector. I’m right, am I not?’ said Kelly, failing to illicit a response. ‘Och, nae bother. Jeans, boots and a white tee-shirt. Red and white to be precise, the red being a consequence of the…’

  ‘Jacket?’

  ‘Leather. An old leather jacket.’

  ‘One last question, Doctor Kelly,’ said Munro as he turned for the door, beckoning West to follow, ‘do you think it was the leather jacket that saved him? Did the jacket stop the knife from penetrating deeper?’

  ‘The jacket?’ said Kelly, grinning, ‘Dearie me, no, no. There wasnae a mark on it. I can say quite categorically, Cameron wasnae wearing that jacket when he was attacked.’

  Chapter 10

  Dougal’s dexterity on a keyboard and his ability to focus on more than one foe at a time was a skill honed in his bedroom where, as an adolescent, he whiled away the evening hours saving the planet from assured Armageddon by warring with all manner of alien invaders on his PlayStation. He sat, engrossed, in front of two laptops, watching both screens simultaneously as he scrutinised the footage from the camera at the end of Cathcart Street and the one on Sandgate in search of a common denominator.

  ‘Dougal, I’m not one for hide and seek, laddie,’ said Munro as he and West returned to base, ‘if you want some lunch, you best show your face.’

  ‘Lunch?’ said Dougal, creeping out from a darkened corner of the office. ‘Already?’

  ‘Already?’ said Munro. ‘Dear, dear, some of us were up before you went to bed, laddie. Are you not familiar with the dawn chorus?’

  ‘No, Sir, sorry. Is that Elgar?’

  ‘Never mind. If you’re not hungry I’ll not force you to eat but Charlie here thought you’d enjoy this – it’s peri something or other which, if you dinnae mind me saying so, smells as though it’s seen better days. Is D.S. Cameron back yet?’

  ‘No, he’s probably still chatting with the folk down the bookies.’

  ‘Och, well,’ said Munro, passing the remaining sandwich to West, ‘looks like you’ve hit the jackpot in the calorie contest today, Charlie. So, Dougal, fill us in while you familiarise yourself with yon teapot.’