Enmity

by Pete Brassett

  ‘Nine weeks,’ said West as she went back to her desk, buried her head in her hands and stared glumly at the sheet of meaningless numbers.

  * * *

  Munro stood by the window and gazed pensively out across the supermarket car park, the sun glinting off the discarded trolleys and shards of broken glass.

  ‘I wonder if a vet has cause to use a filleting knife?’ he said, rhetorically. ‘After all, he’d be a dab hand with a blade and he’d have access to a wide selection too. Not to mention the ketamine. Let’s see if Mary Campbell knew a vet, perhaps there’s a connection there. Charlie, I said…’

  West slammed her pen on the desk and threw her head back, groaning in frustration.

  ‘It’s no good,’ she said, rubbing her eyes, ‘I can’t take it, this is winding me up.’

  ‘What is?’ said Munro, as he scribbled “vet” on a notepad and stuck it to Dougal’s computer, ‘is it Mary Campbell?’

  ‘No. I don’t know. It’s these bloody registration numbers, they’re doing my head in. I just can’t concentrate.’

  ‘An inability to concentrate is often brought about by a sub-conscious desire to focus on something else.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’

  ‘Aye. It is,’ said Munro. ‘Get it off your chest and you’ll see I’m right.’

  ‘What if there isn’t anything on my chest?’ said West.

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Okay. Okay. Max. Despite the fact he’s our only suspect, we had to let him go cos we don’t have anything on him, right? He just happens to have been in the right place at the wrong time.’

  ‘Correct,’ said Munro. ‘Not that we’re ruling him out, but the man’s an alibi for last night too.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ said West, tapping the pen on the desk, ‘things is, it’s not Max that’s bugging me. It’s somebody else.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘If you think I’m going mad, just tell me to shut up and get a grip but there’s someone else who just happened to be around soon after, very soon after, both Agnes and Mary were found. Don.’

  Munro, interrupted by the muffled strains of the theme to The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, held his hand aloft, pulled his phone from his pocket and stared blankly at West as he took the call.

  ‘Dougal,’ he said, ‘before you overwhelm me with your news, I’ve a question for you. Agnes Craig.’

  ‘Aye, Sir. What about her?’

  ‘I understand you were first on the scene, after uniform found her. Is that correct?’

  ‘Aye. Well, no. Well, yes, technically speaking, I suppose so.’

  ‘Once again please, Dougal,’ said Munro, raising his eyebrows, ‘and try plain English this time.’

  ‘Sorry. Basically I was there just long enough to introduce myself to the constable on the door when D.S. Cameron arrived. I didnae even get to see the body.’

  ‘Is that so? And how was he? D.S. Cameron?’

  ‘Flustered,’ said Dougal, ‘like he couldnae wait to get inside. Pushed past me, nearly sent me flying down the stairs. Told me to wait outside.’

  ‘Okay, thanks, Dougal,’ said Munro, ‘that’s all. Now, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Nothing serious, just to say I’ll be a wee while yet but thought you’d like to know Max didnae show for work this morning. Miss Paton’s tried calling his mobile a few times but there’s no answer.’

  ‘What about his landline?’

  ‘Doesnae have one.’

  ‘Good grief,’ said Munro, ‘the man’s a Luddite after all. Okay Dougal, not to worry, I’ll wander over. Be as quick as you can, please.’

  ‘Charlie, I need to check on Max,’ said Munro as he terminated the call and reached for his coat, ‘he’s not arrived for work. I just hope he’s not up to anything stupid.’

  ‘Okay,’ said West, ‘but before you go, you haven’t said… I mean, about Don. Will you think about it at least?’

  ‘Oh, I have been, Charlie. I’ve been thinking about it for a couple days now. And it’s troubling me. It’s troubling me a great deal.’

  Chapter 13

  Main Street, not much more than a ten-minute stroll from the police office, was unusually quiet, due in part to a cortege of funeral cars arriving for a service at the Newton Wallacetown Church, three doors down from Max’s flat. Munro bowed his head and crossed himself as they filed past, thought of Agnes and, with no surviving relatives to look after her, made a mental note to take care of the funeral arrangements himself.

  The entrance to the flat, a single door from the street sandwiched between a mini-mart and the offices of a local charity, seemed deliberately anonymous – no door number, no bell, no letterbox and no knocker. Munro, cringing at the sight of the scuffed, peeling paintwork, hesitated before thumping it with the side of his fist. He stepped back to the kerb just as a window on the upper floor was opening. Max, his head shrouded in what was once a white net curtain, leaned out and smiled.

  ‘Mr. Munro,’ he said, ‘here, catch.’

  Munro caught the keys in one hand, opened the door and, wishing he’d packed a Tyvek suit, paused at the squalid state of the steep, narrow stairwell. The wallpaper, in two minds about staying where it was, leaned away from the cobwebs and drooped lazily towards the floor. The carpet, embellished with a barely discernible pattern and a mixture of stains, most of which appeared to be the colour of curry sauce, was threadbare and worn, whilst the light switch, lacking the screws to hold it in place, dangled precariously from a hole in the wall. He made his way upstairs hoping, without a light to guide him, he wouldn’t step on anything soft, sticky or wet.

  ‘Max,’ he said, relieved to have reached the summit unscathed, ‘I hope I’m not intruding, it’s just that folk were worried when you didnae show for work this morning.’

  ‘You mean Lizzie?’

  ‘Aye, in a word.’

  ‘It’s okay, Mr. Munro,’ said Max, ‘my battery was charging. I spoke to her not two minutes ago. She’s coming round this evening.’

  ‘Is that so? You must be looking forward to that.’

  ‘Right enough. We’d arranged to go for a bevvy on Friday but after what happened, we just kind of, brought it forward.’

  ‘You sound excited.’

  ‘Aye, I suppose I am. It’s sort of like a first date, really. I like Lizzie. I find it easy to talk to her. I feel “comfortable”.’

  ‘That’s the most important thing, Max,’ said Munro with a smile. ‘If you can sit in a room with somebody else and not feel compelled to haver, then you’re on to a winner.’

  ‘Thanks. As you can see, I’ve some clearing up to do before she gets here.’

  ‘You’re not wrong there. Is that why you didnae go to work?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Max, ‘I figured with a face like this if I had to show anyone round a house or two, I’d more chance of scaring them off than getting them to make an offer. Can I get you something? Cup of tea, maybe?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Munro, glancing around the kitchen – the overflowing dustbin, the crockery piled high in a sink full of murky dish water and empty food wrappers strewn across the counter. ‘On second thoughts, you’re alright. I’ve just had some. Are you okay for things? Bin bags? Bleach? Disinfectant? That kind of thing?’

  ‘Aye, thanks, but I’m not an invalid. I can pop out if I need to.’

  ‘Right you are,’ said Munro, looking for somewhere to sit, then thinking the better of it, ‘so, what will you do with yourself all day? Once you’ve fumigated this place, that is.’

  ‘Oh, library I expect. Or the bookshop. Why? Am I under house arrest?’

  Munro winced as he sneaked a look past the bedroom door.

  ‘No, of course not,’ he said, ‘but bearing in mind your current circumstances, it’s best we know where you are.’

  ‘Very reassuring, Mr. Munro,’ said Max as he swept the debris from the counter to the floor, ‘I appreciate it.’

  ‘Good. One last thing before I go. Have you thoug
ht any more about pressing charges? I’ll back you all the way if you decide to go ahead, of course. You have my word on it.’

  Max stared in bewilderment at the sink and then the draining board piled high with the remnants of a Chinese takeaway, confused about which to clear first.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he said, frustrated with his indecisiveness, ‘I’m just not sure.’

  * * *

  West, rarely prone to awarding herself a pat on the back, smiled smugly as she cleaned the wipe-board and listened intently to an animated Dougal recount details of the interviews he’d conducted at the estate agent’s office.

  ‘I just find it odd, Miss,’ he said, ‘that someone you know and obviously like, I mean, she’s carrying a torch for him, it’s that obvious, gets belted round the head at your place of work and yet she’s reticent to talk about it.’

  ‘Maybe she’s embarrassed, Dougal. About showing her feelings. Doesn’t want word getting round the office that she and Max might be…’

  ‘No, no, there’s something else here, trust me. If she felt like that, then there’s no way she’d have kicked off in the first place.’

  ‘Kicked off?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Dougal. ‘See here, her boss, okay, he says she was completely out of character, as soon as D.S. Cameron walked in the door she went mental, almost as though she recognised him.’

  ‘Doubt it, Dougal. Why does he think that?’

  ‘Just stuff she said, swearing mainly and screaming stuff like “stay away from me”.’

  ‘She was probably scared, Dougal,’ said West, ‘probably thought she was going to get clouted next. I think you’re reading too much into it.’

  * * *

  Upon returning to the office Munro had half expected to see West banging her head against the wall and screaming with frustration as she grappled with the list of Astras. At the very least, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find Dougal casually watching two full-length feature films simultaneously on his laptops. What he most certainly did not expect, was to be confronted by the pair of them grinning at him like a couple of Cheshire cats.

  ‘Either you’ve arranged a surprise party for me,’ he said, removing his coat and walking warily to his desk, ‘or you’ve both done something terribly, terribly wrong.’

  ‘You first,’ said West.

  Dougal pulled the sticky note from his computer and waved it at Munro.

  ‘Bit too cryptic for me, Sir,’ he said.

  ‘Check all the vets in the area for break-ins,’ said Munro as he eyed West suspiciously, ‘and see if any of them knew Mary Campbell. There’s an outside chance she may have been stepping out with one of them. A vet, I mean.’

  ‘Nae bother. Now, do you want the good news or the bad news?’

  ‘What’s the difference?’

  ‘None,’ said Dougal, ‘just depends how you look at it.’

  Munro allowed himself a wry smirk and sat down.

  ‘Go on,’ he said.

  ‘I’ve downloaded the footage from the car park and bingo! Same Astra. Arrives at 8:42pm. Leaves at 11:04pm.’

  ‘Well surely there must be some coverage of the driver, is there not? Getting out of the vehicle? Walking back?’

  ‘’Fraid not,’ said Dougal. ‘I reckon they knew about the camera. They drove way down the back of the car park, completely out of sight, then must’ve walked the long way round. All we’ve got is the car arriving and leaving.’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure if that’s at all useful,’ said Munro, turning his attention to a grinning West. ‘Charlie, what are you looking so happy about?’

  West picked up the marker and began drawing on the wipe board.

  ‘This,’ she said, ‘is the registration number of the Astra: EU55 EAS.’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ said Munro, ‘nothing wrong with your memory, then.’

  ‘Right. Now look. What if the ‘E’ isn’t an ‘E’?’ said West as she erased the top and middle horizontals. ‘What if it’s an ‘L’? And what if the ‘U’ is a ‘J’? And what if the second ‘E’ is really an ‘F’?’

  ‘We get LJ55 FAS,’ said Dougal, flicking through the sheets, ‘and it’s on the list! Genius, Miss. Pure bloody genius.’

  ‘And easily done,’ said West, ‘just some black tape stuck on the plates and no-one’s the wiser.’

  ‘Well done, Charlie,’ said Munro, smiling proudly, ‘I think you may have a future in the force after all. Dougal, do we…’

  ‘Aye, Sir. It’s a Mr. Cameron, Drumcoyle Drive, Coylton. It’s about four miles away.’

  ‘Good. Charlie, you come with me…’

  ‘Sir!’ said Dougal. ‘Hold on. Drumcoyle Drive. That’s where… I mean, that’s D.S. Cameron’s address.’

  Munro slumped in his seat as if he’d taken a bullet to the chest.

  ‘Oh dear,’ he said, wiping his brow, ‘oh dear, dear, dear.’

  ‘What’ll we do?’ said Dougal. ‘I mean, everything’s pointing to him being…’

  ‘Let me think!’ said Munro, irritated by the persistent ring of his phone. ‘Okay, look, the first thing we have to do is put Charlie’s theory to the test. We need to get a look at that car and it’s not going to be easy with Don sitting at home seven days a week.’

  Munro clasped his hands beneath his chin and stared at the ceiling.

  ‘Okay,’ he said eventually, ‘I’m putting my neck on the line here, let’s hope it pays off. In the meantime, not a word to anybody about this. Got that?’

  ‘Aye, Sir,’ said Dougal, ‘but what is it you’re going to do exactly?’

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough, Dougal. You’ll find out soon…’

  West, annoyed at Munro’s reluctance to answer his phone, scowled at him like a schoolmistress about to chastise a pupil.

  ‘Are you going to get that or what?’ she said, as it continued to ring. ‘It might be important.’

  Munro frowned at the screen.

  ‘Well, it’s not a number I recognise,’ he said angrily, ‘so it’s either the Bad or the Ugly.’

  The stunned expression on Munro’s face and the fact that he said nothing at all, made the ensuing silence heavy to bear. His eyes darted between Dougal and West as he hung up.

  ‘I’ve got a horrible feeling that wasn’t the Ugly,’ said West.

  ‘Dougal, time for a quiz,’ said Munro. ‘What do you suppose is the murder capital of the world?’

  ‘Easy. Caracas, Venezuela.’

  ‘Not any more. We’ve another body.’

  ‘Are you joking me?’ said Dougal. ‘This is unheard of. Three bodies in three days?’

  ‘Where?’ said West.

  ‘A bookshop on the High Street.’

  ‘Waterstone’s?’ said Dougal. ‘That’s where D.S. Cameron was headed, to collect that book.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Munro as he frantically dialled a number on his phone, ‘and so was… Max? D.I. Munro here. Are you still at home? Good. And you’ve not been out? Okay, listen, I need you to stay exactly where you are. Do not leave the house. D.C. McCrae is on his way over to you now. No, nothing to worry about but it’s best if he sits with you a wee while, is that okay? Good. He’ll even give you a hand.’

  ‘A hand with what?’ said Dougal as he pulled on his coat.

  ‘He’ll tell you when you get there,’ said Munro, with a crafty grin, ‘but I’d take some gloves if I were you. Half a dozen pairs at least. Charlie, you and me, let’s go.’

  * * *

  The crowd outside the bookshop was the largest ever to grace Waterstone’s, even for a book-signing by an author of some repute. A paramedic’s motorbike and an ambulance blocked the pavement as two uniformed constables, the strain showing on their faces, grew tired of telling the voyeuristic mob to keep back. Munro parked opposite and sat surveying the scene.

  ‘What do we know so far?’ said West.

  ‘Not much, Charlie. Female, late thirties. Manageress apparently. Name of Jean Armour. Unless she’s a breath in her body, she�
��ll still be in the ladies’ toilet by the café.’

  ‘Do we know what happened? I mean, I take it she didn’t just have a heart problem?’

  ‘Well, if she didn’t, she has now. Come on, let’s…’

  ‘Wait, wait, wait,’ said West, almost whispering as she tugged at Munro’s sleeve, ‘over there, look, back of the crowd by the bike.’

  ‘Now, that,’ said Munro with a smile, ‘is what you call serendipity. Aye, that’s the word. Serendipity.’

  * * *

  ‘Don. You’ve a habit of turning up like a bad penny,’ said Munro as he took him by the elbow and gently eased him away from the crowd.

  ‘Chief, I didnae expect to see you here.’

  ‘No. I don’t suppose you didn’t. So, you just happened to be passing, is that it?’

  ‘No, no, I came to collect a book but I cannae get through the door, what’s going on?’

  ‘You mean you don’t know? You surprise me, Don. The warranty on your sixth sense must have expired. It’s just another fatality, just another…’

  ‘Of course, had to be. I should’ve guessed, I mean, with this many folk…’

  Cameron paused as he noticed West, flanked by two uniformed police officers, approach from across the street.

  ‘Don,’ said Munro, ‘can you complete this well-known saying: You do not have to say anything. But…?’

  ‘…it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court.’

  ‘Good, that’s that out the way. Now, as a wee treat, Charlie here has arranged a lift for you. These two gentlemen have a car waiting.’

  ‘A lift? What do you mean, a…?’

  ‘Donald Cameron. I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murders of Agnes Craig and Mary Campbell. Oh, and whoever’s in there, but you probably know who she is already.’

  * * *

  Apart from a spattering of what appeared to be ketchup tainting one wall, the toilet cubicle, with its polished white tiles, shiny chrome tissue dispenser and spotless sanitary bin was, much to Munro’s delight, as clean as the bookstore’s café. The lifeless body of Jean Armour lay slumped to one side, her head uncomfortably wedged against the wall. Were it not for the obvious stab wound to the neck and another beneath her blood-stained blouse she looked, with her eyes closed and mouth shut, not unlike somebody who’d simply passed out from an excess of alcohol.