AVARICE: Gripping Scottish detective crime fiction (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 2)

by Pete Brassett

  A few specks of dried mud fell from a rip along the left shoulder seam as she flipped the jacket over.

  ‘So, narks aside,’ said Campbell, ‘you’re not averse to a trip down the pub now and then?’

  ‘Only weekdays and weekends,’ said West as she reached for a torch, ‘I’m trying to cut down. Lights please.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Lights. Out.’

  Campbell, confused by the request, flicked the switch.

  ‘Very intimate,’ he said, ‘will I put some music on?’

  West smiled to herself as she directed the FLS over the jacket.

  ‘Why turn the lights off then use a torch?’

  ‘This,’ said West, ‘is a forensic light source, picks up fingerprints, traces of body fluid...’

  ‘I see. You mean, like blood, or…’

  ‘Anything fluid that comes out of the body.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘See, here,’ said West, pointing to the collar, ‘these spots, that look like they’re glowing? My guess is, it’s blood; probably spatter from the head wound. Get this off to forensics too, please Iain. Quick as you can.’

  ‘Nae bother. By the way, have you, er, have you noticed a place called The Wherry?’ said Campbell, as he bagged and sealed the jacket. ‘The Old Wherry Tavern? Just up the street?’

  ‘Fraid not,’ said West, ‘but then again, I’m not here on a sightseeing trip, am I?’

  ‘No, no, of course not. It’s a wee pub, that’s all, quiet, no football or music, what you might call cosy, old-fashioned, even.’

  ‘Sounds like my kind of pub,’ said West, switching the lights on.

  ‘Really?’ said Campbell. ‘Well, you know what, I could show you where it is, if you like; it’s not far.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, then what?’ said West, grinning. ‘Ply me with drink when we get there?’

  ‘Och, no, I wasn’t… I mean, don’t get the wrong idea, I just… well, not unless you wanted to.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ said West, ‘now get that lot off, we’ve only got a few days on this and the clock’s ticking.’

  * * *

  Munro breezed in, beaming despite his sodden appearance.

  ‘It’s dreich out there,’ he said, hanging his coat on the radiator to dry.

  ‘You look pleased with yourself,’ said West, ‘tea?’

  ‘Aye, thanks Charlie, tea would be most welcome, and yes, I am pleased, we finally have a positive ID.’

  ‘Mrs. Fraser?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘How’d she take it?’

  ‘Okay, I think,’ said Munro, ‘we older folk, we somehow expect it, in a way. Death. So, what’s happening here? Have you any news for me?’

  ‘Yup,’ said West, ‘I’m feeling quite chuffed too. The FLS picked up some staining on the collar of Freida’s jacket, could be from the head wound, but then again…’

  ‘Excellent, Charlie.’

  ‘And something else, too. Red hair, caught in the button on the sleeve.’

  Munro sat down, sipped his tea and let out a satisfied gasp.

  ‘Red hair, you say?’ he said. ‘We’ve not interviewed anyone with red hair.’

  ‘Not yet, so, before you say it, we’re looking for a red headed smoker with a penchant for foreign fags.’

  ‘In one, Charlie. In one,’ said Munro as he yelled towards the front desk. ‘Duncan, a word if I may?’

  ‘Chief.’

  ‘Update, please. Tourists?’

  ‘Nothing, chief,’ said Reid, ‘no-one from Germany staying anywhere round here. There’s a party of six from Jersey staying at The Foresters but I don’t suppose that’s of any use to us, is it?’

  ‘It is not,’ said Munro. ‘How about Freida’s sister, have you made any progress there?’

  ‘Negative chief, there’s an awful lot of people called Brandt in Schleswig.’

  ‘I imagine there are, Duncan, I imagine there are, but keep on it and let Inspector McGreevy know when you find her, she needs to be told what’s happened.’

  ‘Roger, that.’

  ‘Oh, listen, something else,’ said Munro, ‘sit for a moment, would you. You say Mrs. Fraser’s a friend of the family?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right,’ said Reid.

  ‘Have you known her long?’

  ‘Since a bairn, Da used to work with her, up at the house.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Munro. ‘Do you mind me asking, what did he do, exactly?’

  ‘Gardener,’ said Reid, ‘handyman, you know, fixed things up, here and there.’

  ‘I see. Tell me, would he have known Freida Kappelhoff?’

  ‘You’d have to ask him, chief, but he’s not mentioned her. Maybe he left before she arrived.’

  ‘Really?’ said Munro. ‘So, he left a while back then?’

  ‘Years ago,’ said Reid, ‘some altercation with the owners, they said they couldnae afford to keep him on, but he reckons there was some kinda conspiracy to kick him out.’

  ‘Sounds rather unfortunate, but he kept in touch with Mrs. Fraser?’

  ‘Oh, aye, he’d still go up to the house to visit, she helped him with his reading and writing, she was good like that.’

  ‘What do you mean, reading?’ said Munro.

  ‘He’s what they call dyslexic, chief,’ said Reid, ‘and she was the only one who offered to help when other folk were calling him stupid, but he’s not stupid, he just cannae read or write too well. But the practical stuff, like growing plants or building a shed, well, he’s your man.’

  ‘Thank you, Duncan, most interesting, really. Listen, do you think your father would mind giving me some advice for the garden back home? It’s west facing, very exposed. I’m not having much luck with it.’

  ‘Are you joking me? He’d love it, but I’m warning you, chief, you’ll be there for hours, get him on the subject of plants and he’ll not shut up. Drop by, whenever you like.’

  ‘Most kind, Duncan, I will that.’

  * * *

  Sergeant West drained her cup, coughed politely and, having caught Munro’s attention, gestured towards the front desk with a casual flick of the head. Munro was taken aback by the sight of the Fiscal, casually dressed in tight fitting jeans and a leather bomber jacket, sashaying towards him.

  ‘Isobel,’ he said, standing to greet her, ‘this is a … surprise.’

  ‘Surprise?’ said Crawford.

  ‘Aye, that’s the word, surprise.’

  ‘And you don’t like surprises?’

  ‘I do not. How can we help?’

  Crawford planted herself on the corner of his desk.

  ‘Oh, nothing official, I’ve the afternoon off and, as I was passing,’ she said, with a sly grin, ‘I thought I’d drop by. See how the investigation was coming along.’

  ‘It’s coming along,’ said Munro, ‘considering we’ve only been on it a day or two, we’re making progress. Solid progress.’

  ‘Good,’ said Crawford, glancing at her watch, ‘listen, I was just about to grab a bite to eat, are you…’

  ‘Thanks, Isobel,’ said Munro, ‘but we’re in the middle of something here.’

  ‘Okay, maybe later. If you finish at a reasonable hour, we could always…’

  ‘We could,’ said Munro. ‘I’ll let you know.’

  ‘You do that, James. I look forward to it.’

  Munro shook his head and glowered at an amused West as Crawford left the building.

  ‘Think you’ve got a stalker,’ she said, trying her best not to laugh.

  ‘The word that springs to mind is persistent.’

  ‘Go on,’ said West, ‘she’s virtually invited you to dinner, you never know, you might enjoy yourself.’

  ‘I don’t do enjoyment, Charlie,’ said Munro. ‘I’m only happy when I’m miserable. Besides, she’s a wee bit … urban, for me.’

  ‘What do you mean, urban?’

  ‘Cannae cook and likes shopping.’

  ‘How can you tell?’ said West.
/>   ‘Experience, intuition, a sixth sense.’

  ‘Bit of a chauvinistic statement, you don’t even bloody know her!’

  ‘Trust me, Charlie, I’ll wager her kitchen is home to 50 different types of pan and not one of them has seen the underside of an egg.’

  * * *

  Constable Reid, down to his shirt sleeves as the roll call of people named Brandt on the census began to take its toll on his eyesight, shouted from his post on the front desk as the computer pinged an alert.

  ‘Chief! Email, incoming!’

  ‘What is it?’ said Munro. ‘And does it really warrant such an audible announcement?’

  ‘Possibly, chief. It’s the Raiffeisen Bank. We’ve got that mailing address for Freida’s account, you know, statements, cards.’

  ‘Excellent Duncan, excellent. Where is it again?’

  ‘Skelmorlie.’

  ‘Where on earth is Skelmorlie?’

  ‘Not far, 20 minutes, tops. Straight down the coast road, oh, that’s odd, it’s the caravan park,’ said Reid, passing him a print-out of the email.

  ‘Why is that odd, Duncan? Some folk actually enjoy living in a...’

  ‘I’m not disputing that, chief,’ said Reid, ‘but the park’s closed over winter, it’s not exactly a permanent place of residence.’

  ‘You’re proving yourself to be quite invaluable, Duncan, you know that? Charlie, we’re away lassie, get your coat.’

  Chapter 8

  The rain, a relentless, fine drizzle, did little to distract from the view as Munro, hands clasped habitually behind his back, gazed contentedly out across the Firth to Arran while West weaved her way betwixt the rows of vacant caravans, looking for any signs of life.

  ‘It’s like a ghost town,’ she said, her shoulders twitching against the cold. ‘Any chance of lunch before I die of boredom?’

  Munro smiled.

  ‘Okay,’ he said as they turned for the car, ‘we’ll come back when…’

  ‘Can I help you?’

  A lanky figure, dressed head to foot in yellow waterproofs, strode towards them, pulled back his hood and winced as the rain hit his balding head.

  ‘We’re not open for a few weeks yet,’ he said, ‘did you want to book something? I can do that for you, if you like.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Munro, ‘we were just looking for someone.’

  ‘Like I said, you won’t find anyone here for a while yet. Who were you after?’

  ‘Freida,’ said West. ‘Freida Kappelhoff.’

  The man glanced furtively at Munro and covered his head.

  ‘I have to get on,’ he said, tersely. ‘You know the way out.’

  ‘Just a moment,’ said Munro, producing his warrant card, ‘D.I. Munro, and this is D.S. West, we need a word.’

  ‘I’ve nothing to say.’

  West, frowning, stared at him inquisitively.

  ‘What are you so scared of?’ she said.

  ‘Scared? I’m not scared.’

  ‘Oh, but you should be,’ said Munro, fixing him with a steely glare. ‘Name?’

  ‘McKenzie,’ said the man, unsettled by Munro’s demeanour, ‘Callum McKenzie.’

  ‘And what is it you do here exactly, Mr. McKenzie?’

  ‘Caretaker. Receptionist. Cleaner. Dogsbody is the phrase most people use.’

  ‘Right. Will we go inside now?’ said Munro. ‘I tend to get a wee bit unpredictable when I’m wet.’

  The caravan, occupying possibly the worst pitch on the site, surrounded by trees with no discernible view, was surprisingly large, with two bedrooms, a kitchen, bathroom and a lounge-cum-dining room cluttered with gardening tools, boots, overalls, piles of paperwork and a chainsaw dangling precariously from a hook in the ceiling. McKenzie made no offer of refreshments but simply removed his jacket, tossed it on the floor by the door and wiped the raindrops from his glasses.

  ‘Nice here,’ said West as she pulled on a pair of gloves, and hung his jacket rather than walk over it.

  ‘It’ll do,’ said McKenzie, ‘now, if you don’t mind, I have to…’

  ‘Now, what I cannae fathom, Mr. McKenzie,’ said Munro, as he surveyed the room, ‘is why you’re so reluctant to talk to us when we’ve not even asked you a question yet?’

  ‘No reason, just one of those days. Wrong side of bed, okay?’

  ‘Okay. So. Freida Kappelhoff. How do you know her?’

  ‘Who says I do?’

  ‘Come, come, Mr. McKenzie,’ said Munro, ‘let’s not waste time here. I want to know why her bank statements are being sent to this address.’

  McKenzie scratched his chin and grimaced.

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ he said, sheepishly.

  Munro sighed and zipped up his jacket.

  ‘You know something, Mr. McKenzie,’ he said, ‘we all have faults. Personality traits, if you will. Mine is an overwhelming lack of patience, especially when it comes to police work, and having to queue in the supermarket. I get angry. Frustrated. So, Detective Sergeant West is going wait here with you, while I fetch a warrant to search this place, and when I return, I guarantee I will personally turn it upside down.’

  McKenzie slumped, defeated, onto the sofa and held his hands aloft.

  ‘No need,’ he said, ‘okay, no need. You win.’

  ‘Good,’ said Munro. ‘So, how do you know Freida Kappelhoff?’

  McKenzie took a deep breath and sighed.

  ‘We were partners, not married, but we lived together.’

  ‘Here?’ said West.

  ‘Eventually, I used to have a place in town.’

  ‘How long were you in a relationship with her?’

  ‘Years,’ said McKenzie. ‘Ten, twelve. Typical man, I cannae remember exactly.’

  ‘And when did you split?’

  ‘Ages ago. Let’s see, Lorna must’ve been about eleven, so, around eight years ago, I reckon.’

  ‘Lorna?’ said Munro.

  ‘Aye, my daughter.’

  ‘She walked out on you and her daughter?’ said West.

  ‘Her loss,’ said McKenzie. ‘Doesnae matter. I’ve done okay, Lorna’s a lovely lassie, doing well for herself.’

  ‘So, Freida worked here too? With you?’

  ‘No, no, Freida hated the cold, she liked her creature comforts too much. She worked up on the estate, in the kitchens. That’s where she went when she moved out.’

  ‘Why did she end the relationship?’ said Munro.

  ‘Who knows,’ said McKenzie, ‘probably found some other poor bastard to give the runaround.’

  Munro cocked his head.

  ‘Would you care to expand on that, Mr. McKenzie?’ he said.

  ‘There was talk, gossip, that she was seeing someone else behind my back. I don’t like being made a fool of, Inspector.’

  ‘So the split wasn’t amicable?’

  ‘Far from it.’

  ‘See, if I were in her shoes,’ said Munro, ‘then, in those circumstances, I’d be inclined to telephone my bank right away, inform them of my new address. Why has she never done that? Even after all this time?’

  ‘Ask Lorna, she looks after that stuff. Personally, I think she was waiting till she found somewhere a little more permanent to stay, the lodgings at the house were only meant to be a stop gap.’

  ‘I see,’ said Munro, ‘and Lorna, where does she stay?’

  ‘Paisley,’ said McKenzie, ‘she’s a good job, works in the Co-Op department store, assistant manager already, would you believe, but she always comes to visit on a Sunday; we have lunch. I like to make sure she gets at least one decent meal a week, not just takeaways and tequila.’

  ‘Very admirable,’ said West, ‘we need her address please, work too.’

  ‘Aye, okay.’

  Munro turned to the window. He smiled as a chink of sunlight broke through the cloud and the rain began to ease.

  ‘Mr. McKenzie,’ he said, ‘what did you do before you moved here? I mean, why give up a place in town to live o
n a caravan park. Forgive me for saying so, but you don’t strike me as a natural for the outdoor life.’

  ‘I was a teacher. Largs. Secondary school.’

  ‘That’s a commendable occupation. What did you teach?’

  ‘English literature.’

  ‘Ah, so you’ll be fond of the classics, and a wee bit of poetry, too?’

  ‘Used to be,’ said McKenzie, ‘let’s just say my passion for it has waned over the years.’

  ‘So, why did you leave?’

  ‘Kids. I couldnae take it anymore. See, when I started teaching, there was something called respect, Inspector. Respect for the teachers, they were figures of authority, to be listened to. Then it changed. Society changed. Kids these days get away with murder, and you cannae say anything, you know why? Because it’ll infringe their human rights. It’s all bollocks. That’s why I got out.’

  ‘And you took this job, instead?’

  ‘Only one I could find. Twice the hours and half the pay.’

  ‘Is that why Freida left?’

  ‘Who knows, she didn’t exactly leave a detailed explanation.’

  ‘Okay, I think that’s it for now,’ said West, ‘we’ll need those bank statements though, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘I told you, see Lorna, she has them.’

  ‘Of course she has. Right, we’ll be in touch, if we need to.’

  ‘Hold on,’ said McKenzie, ‘just thinking here, all these questions about Freida, what’s going on? Has she done something?’

  ‘No, no, we’re looking into what you might call a misappropriation of funds, that’s all.’

  * * *

  Munro lowered the visor against the glare of the sun as the wipers glided lethargically across the windscreen. West buckled up and turned to him.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell him?’ she said, curiously. ‘His daughter’s next of kin, if he finds out, you could be in serious shit.’

  ‘If I’d told him, Charlie,’ said Munro, staring blankly into space, ‘the first thing he’d have done is run to Lorna, then we’d have lost both of them before we even found out what was happening to the money, let alone who killed Freida.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said West, ‘still a bit risky though.’

  ‘Not as risky as a bowlful of sushi. Trust me.’

  ‘So, what do you think?’ said West. ‘Think he’s in the frame?’

  Munro sighed.