‘Belmont Academy. She’s a natural. Gifted. I really wanted her to go to art school but she didnae fancy it. I was gutted.’
‘Do you keep in touch?’
‘Oh aye, more than ever now she’s started this psychology thing, she wants to be an art therapist. Good on her.’
‘So you saw her recently?’
‘Took her a few bits and bobs to help her out, some brushes and paints. Why? What’s Mary got to do with…?’
‘Mrs. Cameron,’ said West, ‘I’m afraid…’
‘What Detective Sergeant West is trying to say is we’ve taken up enough of your time already,’ said Munro, ‘but I do have just one more question, if that’s okay?’
‘Aye, go on,’ said May, ‘in for a penny.’
‘You mentioned your husband fathered a child by somebody else. Was that recently?’
‘A pregnancy takes nine months, Inspector, you figure it out.’
‘No, no, I mean…’
‘I know what you mean,’ said May, ‘I’m joking with you. The bairn cannae be more than four months old.’
‘And how did they meet?’
‘Burglary. At her mother’s house. He was the investigating officer, only the burglary wasnae the only thing he investigated.’
‘I see,’ said Munro, ‘listen, I know this cannae be easy for you but would you happen to know who this girl is?’
‘How could I forget, Inspector. Her name’s Paton. Elizabeth Paton.’
West stood up, zipped her jacket and smiled softly.
‘Would you be willing to put all this in a statement?’ she said. ‘Everything you’ve just told us?’
‘Too right. If it means that bastard gets what he deserves, you just tell me where and when.’
‘Thanks, Mrs. Cameron, you’ve been most helpful,’ said Munro, ‘but see here, the thing is, we’ve not come to resolve a domestic dispute. There’s no doubt your statement will strengthen the case for divorce but your husband’s not actually filed a complaint against you.’
May stared at Munro, confused.
‘I don’t get it,’ she said, ‘if he’s not taking any action against me, then why are you here?’
‘Do you know if Don was on any medication?’ said West.
‘Medication?’
‘That’s right. Was he taking drugs of any kind? Prescription drugs, maybe?’
May laughed as she downed her drink and poured herself a second.
‘Oh, so that’s it. I’m not surprised, what’s he got himself into now? Dealing is it?’
‘No, no,’ said Munro, ‘we’re just concerned that he may be…’
‘If it’s drugs you’re after then I suggest you pay him a visit. He’s these tiny, wee bottles he keeps trying to hide, thinks I’m stupid.’
‘Any idea what it is?’
‘No, and I dinnae want to know either. He’s been on it for a couple of months now. Says it helps with his depression.’
‘Is he depressed?’ said Munro.
‘Depressed, my arse. Listen, I’m no doctor but I’ve not heard of anyone getting over depression by sticking a needle in their groin.’
‘I see.’
‘And just for the record, the only medication that man ever needed was Viagra. With me, anyway.’
‘Right,’ said West, smirking as Munro’s face began to flush, ‘we’ll be off then.’
‘By the by, Mrs. Cameron,’ said Munro as he turned for the door, ‘are you stopping here tonight or have you plans to go out?’
‘Go out? At this time of night? Those days are over, Inspector. No. It’s pizza and bed for me, just as soon as my sister gets in.’
‘She’s working late?’
‘No idea, probably. Just said to expect her about ten.’
‘Good. We’ll be in touch about your statement.’
* * *
West, head down, followed Munro at a brisk pace back to the car and waited until the doors were firmly closed before speaking.
‘Well, that was a turn-up for the books,’ she said, raising her eyebrows.
‘Aye, wasn’t it just? She’s a fiery wee thing.’
‘She’s a gorgeous wee thing! Why the hell would Don fool around when he’s got a wife like that?’
‘Who knows,’ said Munro, ‘all I can say is, it doesnae matter how beautiful the packaging is, if you’re not in love with the contents…’
‘God, you’re soppy,’ said West, fastening her seat belt.
‘Moreover, why would Don come up with such a convoluted cock and bull story about a robbery to cover for her?’
‘Maybe he liked the contents after all? How come you didn’t tell her about Agnes or Mary?’
‘If I had, what do you think would’ve happened, Charlie?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, she’d have run off, probably. Got as far away from him as possible.’
‘Exactly. No, no, the less she knows for now, the better…’ said Munro as The Good, The Bad and The Ugly bellowed from his pocket. ‘Dougal, is everything okay?’
‘Aye, all good, Sir. Mini-cab’s just arrived for Max and Lizzie. I’m going to follow, check everything’s okay.’
‘Very good. Call us when you’re done.’
‘I don’t want to worry you,’ said West looking at her watch, ‘but we’ve got precisely fourteen minutes till they stop serving at the hotel.’
‘In that case, lassie,’ said Munro as the tyres screeched against the tarmac, ‘you’d best hold on.’
* * *
Fearing they were about to become unwittingly embroiled in an armed robbery, the young couple standing outside the hotel sharing a cigarette after what had clearly been an enjoyable evening, ran for cover as Munro slew the car to an excruciating halt beside them.
‘On you go, Charlie!’ he yelled. ‘Grab a table quick! I’ll not be long.’
‘What do you want?’ said West, leaping from the car.
‘Anything that’s not called a salad or stinks of garlic,’ said Munro as he hurtled away. ‘And no chilli. Or raw fish. Or anything spicy. And a large Scotch.’
West sprinted past the bar, threw her coat over a chair and called to the young girl clearing glasses from another table.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, almost out of breath, ‘can I order, please?’
The waitress turned and regarded her with an obsequious tilt of the head.
‘I’m sorry, madam,’ she said, a sycophantic smile sprawled across her face, ‘I’m afraid the kitchen’s just…’
‘No, it isn’t. You serve until 9:45, right?’
‘Aye, that’s right.’
‘Well, it’s 9:42, so…’
‘You must be slow; I think you’ll find it’s…’
‘Listen,’ said West, scowling as she pulled her warrant card from her back pocket, ‘my watch says 9:42. The clock on the wall says 9:42. And this says the kitchen’s still open, right?’
‘Perhaps it is,’ said the waitress, ‘what would you like?’
‘Two steaks, two side orders of fries, two large vodka and oranges and two large single malts.’
Munro, looking as though he’d spent the day sampling the delights of Speyside, sauntered into the restaurant, his jacket slung casually over his shoulder and joined West.
‘I must’ve had a drink already,’ he said, raising a glass, ‘I appear to be seeing double. Did you manage to order?’
‘Gazpacho and piri-piri sashimi. They ran out of salad.’
‘Excellent. And we’ll be having Imodium for dessert, I hope. Excuse me,’ said Munro as he answered his phone, ‘it’s young Dougal.’
‘Sir, just to let you know Lizzie’s home safe, Max is back in his flat and I’m away to my pit.’
‘Very good, Dougal. Well done.’
‘Is Mrs. Cameron okay?’
‘Aye, she’s fine. I want you to scoot over there tomorrow and get a statement from her, she’s a catalogue of capers that prove Don had affairs with both Agnes Craig and Lizzie Paton.’
&nbs
p; ‘Are you joking me? Lizzie?’
‘I kid you not,’ said Munro as a sizzling rib-eye was set before him, ‘Dougal, I have to go, my friend Angus from Aberdeen has just arrived.’
‘Cheers,’ said West, raising her glass, ‘here’s to a quiet night.’
‘Your good health, Charlie. Slàinte.’
‘So, I guess that’s it then? For Don, I mean?’
‘Certainly looks that way, unless of course the body count goes up overnight.’
‘Relax,’ said West, ‘Don’s as guilty as a fox in a hen house.’
‘I hope so, Charlie. I certainly hope so.’
Chapter 17
Dougal, unable to concentrate on the report from forensics, sat staring into space musing over brown trout and the prospect of landing a couple of sixteen pounders by sundown on Sunday, when Munro’s untimely arrival shook him from his reverie.
‘Here you go, laddie,’ he said, bearing coffee and yet more bacon toasties, ‘a wee something to top-up your blood pressure and clog your arteries.’
‘Thanks very much,’ said Dougal, grimacing as he eyed the sandwich, ‘I’ll just pop it down here while I consider changing my religion.’
‘Fair enough, but I wouldnae leave it unattended if I were you or yon gannet will have it away before you can say cholesterol.’
‘Oi,’ said West, ‘bloody cheek, after all I’ve done for you.’
‘She’s right, Sir. Nice shirt by the way.’
‘Save the praise for my wardrobe assistant, I’m nothing but the clothes horse.’
‘Did you not get breakfast at the hotel?’
‘Breakfast at the hotel? Are you joking me? I’ve seen folk better behaved at Celtic Park during a Rangers match than that lot of a morning. No, no, this is much more civilised. So, what have you there? Another weather report?’
‘Forensics,’ said Dougal. ‘Those bits of wool you lifted from the seat of the Astra? They match the fibres taken from Mary Campbell’s fingernails and… they all came off that pea coat.’
‘Excellent,’ said West, slurping her coffee, ‘anything else?’
‘Oh aye, you’re going to like this. They found some human hairs on the collar of the coat and guess what? D.S. Cameron.’
‘Och, well,’ said Munro, savouring his sandwich, ‘they may as well screw the lid down now. I cannae see him wriggling his way out of this one. Speaking of wriggling and worms, Doctor Kelly, purveyor of pills and illicit drugs…’
‘Done deal, Sir. He’s admitted theft and supply. Sheriff’s court just as soon as.’
‘Good. So, to business. Dougal, Charlie, a couple of courtesy calls, please – May Cameron and Lizzie Paton, make sure they’re still breathing, would you? Then Dougal, away and get that statement off Mrs. Cameron. I’ll be with Don if you need me.’
* * *
Cameron, looking as though he’d spent the night in a shop doorway with nothing for company but a bottle of cheap cider, scratched his stubble-ridden face and regarded Munro with a look of hopeless apathy.
‘Well, if it isn’t Mr. Pierrepoint,’ he said, yawning.
Munro smirked, handed him a coffee and a sandwich, and sat down.
‘How’re you feeling?’ he said. ‘Sleep okay?’
‘No. Not a wink. I dinnae have my tabs.’
‘You’ll survive.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I will, Chief,’ said Cameron, tucking into his toastie. ‘I’m sure I will. So, what’s up? Clock’s ticking, you’ll have to let me go soon, unless of course…’
‘Don,’ said Munro, sighing heavily. ‘There’s something you should know. We have a meeting with the fiscal in less than three hours.’
‘The fiscal? I see.’
‘So, you know what that means?’
Cameron glanced at Munro, sat back and sipped his coffee.
‘Aye.’
‘And you’ve nothing to say in your defence?’
Cameron shook his head.
‘Perhaps you dinnae realise just how serious this is, Don. Let me give you a wee reminder – we know you had an affair with Mary Campbell, okay? And we’ve DNA off the unborn child which proves it. And now she’s dead.’
‘So?’
‘So, we also know about Agnes Craig. She was under the impression you were going to live together. And now she’s dead.’
Cameron shifted nervously in his seat.
‘Coincidence,’ he said.
‘And they were both in your Spanish class. As taught by Jean Armour. Let’s not forget about Jean Armour.’
‘Och, no. Let’s not.’
‘And guess what? She’s dead too. You’ve a hat-trick.’
‘Listen, Chief,’ said Cameron indignantly, ‘I’m not stupid, I can see where this is going but I’m telling you, unless you have something concrete to throw at me, you dinnae have a cat’s chance…’
‘Trust me, Don,’ snapped Munro, ‘we’ve enough concrete to build a tower block. By the by, we know about the bairn too. Your bairn. The bairn you had with Lizzie Paton.’
Cameron hung his head and sighed.
‘Okay,’ he said, clearing his throat, ‘even so, that’s got nothing to do with…’
Munro leaned back in his chair and calmly folded his arms.
‘How’s the poetry, Don?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘The poetry,’ said Munro, ‘you’re a fan, are you not?’
‘What on earth are you havering about?’ said Cameron.
Munro tossed the paperback on the desk.
‘Burns,’ he said. ‘Why the obsession?’
‘Have you had a bump to the head? I cannae stand poetry.’
‘It was on your bookshelf. Are you saying it’s not yours?’
‘No, it’s not,’ said Cameron. ‘I mean, yes it is, but I didnae buy it. It was a gift.’
‘A gift?’ said Munro. ‘Now why would somebody buy you The Complete Works of Robert Burns if you’re not a fan of the bard?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Cameron, ‘but I wouldnae know a poem if it came up and bit me on the…’
Cameron, interrupted by a frantic knock on the door, turned to find West beckoning Munro outside.
‘Two minutes, Charlie, I’m nearly…’
‘Now!’
‘Two minutes!’ said Munro. ‘Don, there’s no easy way of saying this but bearing in mind the present state of your… what I mean is… I’m going to recommend you for a psychiatric assessment. Okay?’
‘Bring it on,’ said Cameron, laughing, ‘you never know, it may even help with my…’
‘Oi!’ said West, ‘Now!’
* * *
‘For goodness sake, Charlie,’ said Munro as he followed her down the corridor, ‘where’s your manners? Are you not aware that patience is a virtue?’
‘I don’t give a damn who she is,’ said West, bolting up the stairs, ‘Lizzie Paton’s been attacked, she’s on her way to the hospital now.’
Chapter 18
Weather permitting, there was nothing Munro enjoyed more than whiling away the weekends with a knapsack on his back, scaling the likes of Criffel or taking a walk up the Grey Mare’s Tail to Loch Skeen. A spot of leisurely hill walking, however, was one thing, scurrying up four flights of stairs was something else completely.
‘Right,’ he said, trying to catch a breath, ‘let’s have it.’
‘She’s unconscious but she’s alive,’ said West, ‘but we’ve no idea how serious her injuries are. Her mother found her on the doorstep about forty minutes ago. Looks like she was knifed as she left the house for work.’
Dougal cowered behind his laptop and squirmed in the suffocating silence as Munro, chest heaving, walked to the window and stared down at the car park.
‘Damn and blast it all to hell!’ he yelled, slamming his fist on the desk. ‘Everything we have, every shred of evidence is pointing irrefutably at Don, and now…’
‘You should be pleased,’ said West, ‘I mean, you’ve always had your doubts about…’
‘Pleased, Charlie? Another girl’s been stabbed! Tell me what exactly I should be so pleased about?’
‘I didn’t mean it like that, I meant…’
Munro stood grinding his teeth as he glowered at West, the veins on the side of his head threatening to erupt like Mount Etna.
‘Hold on,’ he said, raising his hand and pointing directly at her, his voice barely more than a whisper, ‘you said her mother found her this morning?’
‘Apparently. Well, that’s what we’ve been told.’
‘Witnesses?’
‘None.’
‘So what if she wasnae attacked this morning? What if she was attacked last night?’
‘Last night?’ said West. ‘Impossible, Max took her home in a mini-cab, there’s no way she could’ve…’
‘Dougal,’ said Munro, spinning on his heels, ‘you followed them, did you not see her go indoors?’
Dougal, desperate to recall the previous night’s events as accurately as possible, and fearing the consequences of a wrong answer, paused as he pondered his response.
‘Okay,’ he said, frowning with concentration, ‘I parked my scooter about six, maybe eight doors down from her house on the opposite side of the street. I saw them walk up the path together then I looked away, just for a moment, cos it looked as though they were going to have a… you know, then when I looked back, Max was walking back to the cab.’
‘And the door was closed?’ said Munro.
‘Aye, I don’t get it, Sir, what are you…?’
‘You couldnae see the path from where you were…?’
‘No, I was too far away, and there’s a wall…’
‘…so there’s every chance she didnae go inside. There’s every chance she could’ve been laying slumped on the ground.’
‘Oh Christ!’ said Dougal, hanging his head in his hands, ‘I feel so stupid, I should have…’
‘It’s not your fault,’ said West tersely, ‘you haven’t done anything wrong, okay?’
‘Dougal,’ said Munro, ‘call Max. Now. Find out where the hell he is.’
‘Are you having a laugh?’ said West. ‘Max? You don’t seriously believe he could have done it? He was at home when Jean Armour…’
‘And what about Agnes?’ said Munro. ‘And Mary Campbell? He’s freely admitted he was with them the night they were both…’
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