‘I know, but that’s just coincidence, surely?’
‘I am sick to death of coincidences, Charlie!’ boomed Munro as Dougal ducked for cover, ‘I am drowning in coincidences! By jiminy, when I find out who killed these girls I will not be held responsible for my actions! I will personally string them up by the…’
‘Sir,’ said Dougal, ‘no answer. It’s going straight to voicemail.’
Munro took a deep breath.
‘Okay,’ he sighed, ‘okay. Apologies for the outburst. Drama over. Dougal, get yourself to the hospital, please. Find out Lizzie’s condition and dinnae leave her side, understood?’
‘Sir.’
‘Come on, Charlie, let’s see if young Max is at home or on his way to Malaga.’
* * *
A small audience gathered outside the café on the opposite side of the street, intrigued by the sight of an old Peugeot crashing into the kerb and what appeared to be an elderly man fleeing the scene. A builder wearing a hi-vis vest and a hard hat, his arms emblazoned with more tattoos than a merchant seaman, made his way over as Munro furiously banged the door to Max’s flat and shouted up at the window on the first floor.
‘Is there a problem, pal?’ he said, aggressively.
Munro turned to face the man who was obviously partial to more than just the occasional sausage supper and pint or six in the local pub.
‘There will be,’ said Munro sternly, as he flashed his warrant card, ‘if I dinnae…’
‘Police? Should’ve said. I’ve a size-twelve that’ll get you in there if you like.’
‘Much obliged,’ said Munro as he stood to one side.
The builder pressed his hands against the door, testing the resistance, laughed cynically and gave it a hefty kick with his right foot. Munro smiled as it flew effortlessly off its hinges.
‘As I said, much obliged.’
‘Nae bother,’ said the builder, ‘I’ll be over there if you need me.’
West stood behind Munro as they peered up the dank, unlit stairway.
‘He’s still not answering,’ she said.
‘Okay. Stay behind me,’ said Munro, ‘and watch your feet, there’s more wildlife in yon carpet than the whole of Borneo.’
* * *
‘To be honest, I’m quite relieved,’ said West as they stood surveying the empty flat, ‘not sure what I’d have done if he was here. Looks like he left in a hurry.’
‘No, no,’ said Munro, laughing as he spied a chicken carcass wallowing in a dish of congealed fat, six empty beer cans, a bowl of wilted vegetables and two plates covered in dried gravy, ‘this is actually better than his normal standard of housekeeping.’
‘Yugh, no wonder Dougal wanted a bath,’ said West, ‘hate to think what’s under the bed.’
‘Whatever it is, you can be sure it has a pulse.’
‘Don’t. Just the thought is enough to turn… what are you staring at?’
‘The table, Charlie. See here, there’s a spoon in the bowl of broccoli. Two knives and two forks on the plates. And a carving fork in what used to be a chicken.’
‘Never realised you were an expert on cutlery,’ said West. ‘So what’s your point?’
‘What did he use to carve the chicken with?’
West, perturbed by his observation, pulled on a pair of gloves, went to the kitchen and against her better judgement poked around the empty food wrappers and cluttered draining board.
‘Oi, Jimbo,’ she said, holding up a knife, ‘it’s been cleaned and I’d say it’s about the size of the blade used on Mary Campbell.’
‘Now why,’ said Munro, still staring at the table, ‘would the knife be in the kitchen? A clean knife, when everything else is still here?’
‘Perhaps he used it for something else,’ said West, ‘perhaps…’
The colour drained from her face as she caught sight of the figure at the top of the stairs.
‘Hello, Mr. Munro,’ said Max, ‘this is a pleasant surprise, what are you doing here?’
‘Max! Where the hell have you been?’ said West.
‘Shop,’ said Max, holding up a pint of milk, ‘have you seen what someone’s done to my door? Is that why you’re here?’
‘No, it bloody isn’t! Where’s your phone? Why aren’t you answering?’
‘It’s charging, in the bedroom. Will I fetch it?’
‘That won’t be necessary, Max,’ said Munro, ‘listen, last night, you dropped Lizzie home, is that correct?’
‘Aye, of course, that’s what you asked me to do, so I did. Took a taxi, only charged a fiver there and back.’
‘Okay, look, I’ve an important question for you. When you dropped her off, did you leave her at the door or did you see her go inside?’
‘She went inside, tried to drag me with her,’ said Max, slightly embarrassed, ‘I think she likes me.’
‘So she definitely went inside and locked the door behind her?’
‘Aye, ask the taxi driver if you like, we had a wee joke about it when I got back to the car. He called her a man-eater.’
‘Just out of interest, Max,’ said West, waving the knife, ‘why is this in the kitchen and why has it been cleaned when you’ve not even cleared away the rest of the…’
‘Dropped it on the floor. Look, I’m not proud of the fact that I’m crap at cleaning, okay, but if there’s one thing I willnae do, it’s touch anything once it’s hit the deck. It’s teeming with beasties down there.’
Munro shook his head and smiled.
‘I trust you had a good evening then?’
‘Most enjoyable, Mr. Munro. In fact, we’re doing it again tonight, only this time I’m going to her house, to meet her mammy and the bairn.’
‘Sorry Max, but I think you’ll have to postpone your night out,’ said Munro, remorsefully, ‘I’m afraid Lizzie’s been… she’s in the hospital.’
‘What? Are you joking me? What’s happened? Is she…?’
‘She’s… stable. I cannae say more than that but I think she’d like you there. Will I arrange a lift?’
‘No, no, you’re alright,’ said Max, ‘I’ll just grab my phone and get going. Listen, Mr. Munro, what will I do about my door? How will I…?’
‘We’ll take care of it. On you go.’
* * *
West stood outside the flat, glanced at the crowd across the street and turned her face to the sun, flexing the stress from her shoulders as Munro retrieved the screws from the floor of the hallway.
‘Well, that’s put the kybosh on that,’ she said despondently, ‘what the hell are we going to do now?’
‘If I knew that,’ said Munro as he propped the door against the wall, ‘I wouldnae be standing here…’
‘Alright pal?’ said the tattooed man as he sauntered towards them. ‘If you’re after that young fella who just left, he’s away over the bridge.’
‘No, no,’ said Munro, ‘he’s on his way to the hospital. His girlfriend’s been taken ill.’
‘I see, so that’s why you’re here. Sorry to hear that.’
‘Listen, are you a builder by any chance?’
‘No, I’m in a Village People tribute band, what do you think?’
Munro laughed.
‘Would you be able to fix this door?’ he said, pulling a £20 note from his wallet. ‘I’m afraid this is all I have on me, will it be enough to cover…’
‘Och, I dinnae want your money, pal. I took it down, I’ll put it back. Nae bother.’
* * *
Munro, one arm on the car door, the other on the steering wheel, sat motionless, gazing pensively up the deserted street as West watched the gossiping horde of onlookers return to the warmth of the café.
‘Well that’s a bummer,’ she said, breaking the silence. ‘If it’s not Max, then… unless it’s a copycat but that’s not really plausible, is it? And Don’s locked up so…’
Munro said nothing.
‘…so we’ve run out of suspects. What happens if another victim pops up
? The press’ll make mincemeat of us.’
West sighed, frustrated by the lack of response.
‘Thought I might shave my head and go back to the Holy Isle, what do you reckon?’ she said.
Munro turned to her and smiled.
‘If the mountain won’t come to Muhammed,’ he said, flicking the ignition.
‘They’re Buddhists not Muslims.’
‘You’re scratching your head looking for suspects, Charlie. We should be looking for the next victim.’
‘As usual,’ said West, ‘you’ve lost me.’
‘Listen, if I’m not mistaken, there’s only one possible victim left.’
‘You mean May Cameron?’
‘Jumping Jehoshaphat, give the girl a prize!’
‘So what’s the plan?’
‘We keep an eye on her and let the suspect come to us. It’s our only chance.’
‘Okay, makes sense.’
‘Glad you think so,’ said Munro, ‘I still need convincing myself. Ring the school, find out what time she finishes. I dinnae want to waste a whole day sitting in a car park.’
* * *
Munro sprayed the windscreen and played with the wipers, his head swaying lethargically to their squeaky, monotonous rhythm as West, her face a picture of disappointment, terminated the call.
‘Called in sick,’ she said, ‘didn’t sound herself apparently, bit hoarse and run down.’
‘Well at least we know where she is.’
‘Probably got that bug that’s going around.’
‘There’s always a bug going around, Charlie. Let’s hope it’s not the one with a knife.’
Chapter 19
With the school run over and parents at work, Glendale Crescent, not exactly a hive of activity at the best of times, was about as lively as a Labrador on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Munro sped down the street and parked twenty yards from the house, affording himself a clear view of the front door.
‘Give her a call please, Charlie,’ he said, loosening his tie, ‘make sure she’s in.’
‘Oh, right, and what am I supposed to say? “Just checking you’re not dead?”’
‘Make something up. Ask her if she’s heard from Don’s solicitor.’
West put her phone on speaker and dialled the number begrudgingly, sighing as they listened to it ring, and ring, and ring.
‘Probably in the grip of some debilitating virus,’ she said, hanging up. ‘Out cold with a flannel stuck to her forehead. So, what do we do now?’
‘We wait, Charlie. We wait.’
‘Oh God,’ said West, grumbling as she slid down her seat. ‘Last time you said that I lost twelve pounds in weight and nearly peed myself.’
‘We’ll only be an hour or two…’
‘Only.’
‘…then we’ll get some relief.’
‘I’m gonna need it.’
‘Have you not got any games on that smart phone of yours?’
‘I imagine so.’
‘Good. Then keep yourself amused while I check on Lizzie.’
* * *
Dougal, who’d not had cause to visit a hospital since he was discharged at birth, stepped from the tranquillity of Lizzie’s room, overwhelmed by the intensity of the experience.
‘Yes, Sir?’ he said timidly.
‘Update please, Dougal.’
‘Och, it’s not pleasant, Sir, not when you see it first-hand. There’s tubes and wires and cables and a couple of machines that keep beeping.’
‘Well, that’s a good thing, laddie. It’s when they stop beeping that you have to worry. So, what do we know?’
‘Single stab wound to the back, Sir…’
‘The back? So, chances are she didnae see her assailant?’
‘…probably not. She’s a punctured lung and she’s lost a lot of juice. They’ve got her heavily sedated so we’ll not be able to talk to her for a wee while yet.’
‘And what’s the prognosis?’ said Munro. ‘Do they think…?’
‘Aye, they reckon she’ll make it,’ said Dougal, ‘she’s still on the critical list but she’s stable so, fingers crossed.’
‘Good. And Max?’
‘Distraught, Sir, to say the least. Her mother’s taken him off for a coffee with the bairn. Not the ideal way to meet your future in-laws, is it?’
‘No,’ said Munro. ‘It certainly isn’t. Okay, Dougal, listen to me: we’re outside May Cameron’s place. I want you to arrange some cover for yourself and come over as soon as you can.’
* * *
West, having no desire to do battle with zombies, rampage through a mythical world toting a firearm or race a sports car at two hundred miles per hour, opted instead to browse for a new pair of walking boots but soon became increasingly bored with the seemingly interminable choice available.
‘How long’s that been?’ she said, sighing as she put the phone away. ‘An hour? Hour and a half?’
‘Eleven minutes,’ said Munro, ‘or thereabouts.’
‘God, this is torture. They should rename this street Glentedious Crescent, there’s absolutely nothing happening here, not even a… oh, hold up. Action. Post Office van approaching, he’s slowing down and… he’s speeded up again.’
‘There goes your highlight of the day,’ said Munro, smiling. ‘Hope you enjoyed it.’
‘Any second now, I’m going to climb in the back and have a kip unless… uh, just a minute, he’s coming back. And he’s getting out. And it looks like he’s going to the house.’
‘Can you see what’s he carrying?’ said Munro.
‘It’s heavy, whatever it is. Amazon, I think.’
‘Probably books, then.’
‘And… there’s no answer. Doesn’t look happy. Give him a minute, card in the letterbox and… off he goes. Back to the van.’
Munro leaned forward and gazed intently at the house.
‘What’s up?’ said West. ‘I know that look. What are you thinking?’
‘When folk order something off the internet, Charlie, more often than not it’s because they want it quickly. Am I right?’
‘Pretty much, I’d say.’
‘So generally speaking, they’d make sure someone was in to receive the parcel?’
‘Yup. Oh, I see what you’re getting at. Well that’s probably why she threw a sickie.’
‘Then why has she not answered the door?’
‘Like I said, she’s in bed. Too ill to get up.’
‘Too ill to throw on a dressing gown and see who’s knocking the door? No, no,’ said Munro as he unclipped his safety belt and placed a hand on the door. ‘Something’s up, Charlie. Something’s up and I dinnae like it. I dinnae like it all.’
* * *
West rang the doorbell and waited as Munro cupped his hands against the front window and peered into the lifeless lounge before scurrying up the drive and lifting the latch on the side gate. He called softly to West before disappearing through the gate and creeping around the small, paved garden littered with discarded camping chairs, an old bicycle and a rusting barbecue. He held a finger to his lips as she joined him, pointed out the back door hanging ajar, and ushered her back outside.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘get in the car and wait for Dougal, he’ll not be long…’
‘No, no, no,’ said West, ‘I’m not letting you go in there alone, it could be…’
‘…do as you’re told, lassie, call for an ARV too but no-one moves until I give the word, got that?’
‘Got it, but you’re to go no further than the kitchen till I get back. Deal?’
‘Just get going before I lose my temper. Chop, chop.’
* * *
Munro eased open the back door, listened for a moment and stepped inside. The kitchen, with its clutter-free worktops, glistening hob and spotless floor was, unlike one he’d visited recently, a pleasure to behold. The faint aroma of freshly-brewed coffee lingered in the air. He placed the back of his hand against the kettle, still warm to the touch, and noted the sing
le, yellow mug, half empty, sitting atop a coaster in the middle of the table. He walked towards the door, drawn by a deep red smudge on the paintwork, and peeked down the hallway, raising a hand as he heard Charlie enter behind him. He beckoned her forward and pointed to the waist-high crimson trail blighting the magnolia walls the length of the passageway to the foot of the stairs. West drew a breath and froze at the sound of a thud in a room above.
They padded silently down the hall and, holding their breath, stealthily made their way upstairs, taking one delicate step at a time, as though cautiously picking their way through a minefield, fearful that a worn, creaky tread lurking beneath the carpet may blow them both to pieces. Pausing on the landing, Munro placed one hand flat against the door to his right and, gripping the handle with the other, gently edged it open, sighing with relief as he discovered the front bedroom, as presentable as the bridal suite in a five-star hotel, was clear. He turned to West and nodded. Heart pounding, she stood alongside the second door with her back to the wall, wincing at the sound of a second thud. Munro slowly turned the handle, leaned back and shoved it open with a hefty shoulder barge. He stood, open-mouthed, aghast at the sight of the body lying face-down before him.
‘What on earth…?’ he said, recognising at once the bun on the back of the head wrapped as tightly as a haggis waiting for the pot. He knelt beside her, placed his middle finger on the side of her neck and shook his head before gently turning her over. West gawped at the wide-eyed cadaver and flinched at her blood-stained chest, the wound imperceptible beneath her blouse.
‘Jennifer Clow?’ she said, quietly perplexed. ‘From the bookshop? What’s she doing here?’
Munro turned to face West.
‘More to the point, Charlie,’ he said, his forehead furrowed with the deepest of frowns, ‘where’s May?’
‘May? You don’t think…’
‘Let’s face it, she had access to the Astra, knew where to find the ketamine and she’s proved herself to be quite proficient in the ancient art of knife throwing.’
‘Yes, but why?’
‘Revenge? Getting her own back by polishing off every girl he had an affair with?’
West pondered the suggestion as she squatted beside Munro.
‘Okay,’ she said, almost whispering, ‘I’ll buy that, apart from one thing.’
Enmity Page 15
