‘Alright, hen?’ he said. ‘What can I get you?’
‘Vodka and tonic, please,’ said West, ‘no ice. Quiet in here, isn’t it?’
‘Aye, best make the most of it, it’ll be heaving in an hour. Will I make that a large one?’
‘No, thanks, haven’t got long,’ said West, ‘someone said Nick might be here?’
‘Nick?’ said the barman, frowning inquisitively as he set down her drink.
‘Yeah, we’re mates from way back, I’m only up for a few days, thought I’d give him a shout.’
‘Oh, okay. He was in last night, got blootered, but that’s between you and me, okay?’
‘Sounds like Nick,’ said West, ‘don’t suppose you know where he is now?’
‘No, but Maureen might…’
‘Maureen?’
‘Aye, he and she, they’ve a wee thing going, I’ll give her a shout, hold on.’
West sipped her drink as she surveyed the pub, copper pots and pans, and the odd, dusty sprig of dried heather, hung from the ceiling; the walls were crammed with reproduction prints of snowy, highland scenes, and a framed certificate behind the bar read “Maureen Connolly. Licensed to sell Beers, Wine and Spirits for consumption on or off the premises”.
A dour looking woman squeezed past the barman and approached West as though she were squaring up for a fight. Average height, average build, too much lipstick, bottle-blonde hair and a face carved from stone.
‘What do you want?’ she said, her eyes narrowing.
‘You must be Maureen,’ said West, smiling.
‘Doesnae matter who I am. I said, what do you want?’
‘The barman said you might know where I can find Nick.’
‘Nick who?’
West paused and, with a subtle shake of the head, smirked and finished her drink.
‘If you don’t know,’ she said, ‘then I’m obviously wasting my time.’
‘Who are you?’ said Connolly.
‘Just a friend. An old friend. Up from London.’
Connolly stepped forward and leaned in to West.
‘See here, hen, Nick doesnae have any friends. He doesnae need any friends, ken what I’m saying?’
‘You know what?’ said West, zipping her coat. ‘It doesn’t matter, I’ll ask someone else, thanks for your…’
‘You listen to me,’ said Connolly, ‘you leave him be, or you’ll be on your way to the infirmary before you know it, understand?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ said West, ‘look at me, I’m shaking. See you round.’
* * *
West cut a lonely figure as Munro, lights off, reversed slowly up the street to meet her.
‘Okay?’ he said as she jumped on board.
‘Yeah, I think so,’ said West, pensively.
‘What is it, Charlie? Did something happen?’
‘No, nothing, it’s all just a bit, odd. I’ve just been threatened with a trip to the hospital.’
‘What?’ said Munro, appalled. ‘Who was he? Would you recognise him if…?’
‘Not he, she. The landlady.’
‘The landlady? What did she say?’
‘Well, basically, stop looking for Nick.’
‘Is that so? What did she look like?’
‘Average,’ said West, ‘jeans a size too small, dyed, blonde hair and a face like Medusa.’
‘That’s her!’ said Munro excitedly, ‘Charlie, that’s the lady I saw with Nick.’
‘Well, there’s something odd going on, I mean, the barman was fine, he knew Nick and he was more than happy to talk to me about him, but she, she was, I don’t know, not over-protective exactly, or … or jealous, like some girlfriends might be. She was more like a … like a raving nutter.’
‘Okay, look, I know it might seem like we’re taking our eyes off the prize here, but something’s not right. We need to find out what her name is. What are you grinning at?’
* * *
Munro stopped the car, flicked on the hazards and called the station.
‘Duncan, you’ve not left yet?’ he said.
‘On my way now, chief,’ said Constable Reid, ‘did you want something?’
‘Aye, listen,’ said Munro, ‘I’ve a wee mission for you.’
‘A mission? Brilliant! What is it?’
‘I need a background check, but listen Duncan, this is very sensitive, you cannae breathe a word of this to anyone, do you understand?’
‘Roger that.’
‘And you cannae use the computer in the office.’
‘Nae bother, so long as you don’t need me to access official files, I can use my computer at home.’
‘Good. Maureen Connolly. She owns The Oak Bar…’
‘I know that place,’ said Constable Reid, ‘never been in, looks a right dump.’
‘Find out whatever you can, okay? And let me know as soon as you have anything, anything at all.’
‘Roger that, chief. I’m on it.’
* * *
Munro heaved a troubled sigh as he parked up outside the station and killed the engine.
‘What’s up?’ said West. ‘You look done in.’
‘Och, I’m okay Charlie. I can’t help but think this is all going to get a wee bit messy, that’s all. And that fellow with a head like a potato dawdling over my car doesnae help.’
‘That’s why God gave us taxis,’ said West.
‘He did that,’ said Munro, ‘shame he didn’t equip them with drivers who didn’t need a sat-nav to get from A to B. Incidentally, how’s young Lorna doing? Is she okay?’
‘Yeah, I think so. She said she’d like to meet Kappelhoff.’
‘Good,’ said Munro, ‘so, you think she’s okay then, mentally I mean, not too … fragile?’
‘No, not at all, why?’
‘We need to question her again. I need to know what she was doing at Dunmore. She knows more than she’s letting on.’
‘But we’ve charged her,’ said West, ‘you know you can’t question her anymore, it’s not…’
‘Och, Charlie, I know that, that’s why I’m not going to question her about the theft,’ said Munro, ‘I’m going to question her on suspicion of murder.’
‘What? You really think…’
‘No, I don’t think she’s capable, but the fact is she hardly flinched when we told her that her mother had died, and we have her on CCTV at Dunmore around the time of Freida’s death. Trust me Charlie, she’s the one who stashed that envelope beneath the mattress, and she knows who killed Freida.’
‘Well, on that happy note, I’d say it’s about time we had some dinner.’
‘We?’ said Munro, mildly surprised. ‘Is Dirty Harry not taking you out tonight?’
‘Very funny. No, he is not.’
‘Not fallen out, I hope,’ said Munro.
‘No,’ said West, ‘he’s alright, just a bit too, I don’t know, tough on the outside but…’
‘Aye, I know the type, like a blancmange in battledress.’
‘Yes,’ said West, giggling, ‘that sounds about right, anyway, I’m not going to lead him on, wouldn’t be fair.’
‘That’s very noble of you, Charlie, very noble indeed, but a shame, nonetheless. It means I’ll have to return the morning suit. Still, I’m sure you’ll have no shortage of suitors now.’
‘Really?’ said West. ‘How’d you figure that out?’
‘Why, you’re radiating positivity, Charlie, you have love and light in abundance.’
* * *
Munro, an ardent fan of literary classics, had, in the past, joyfully devoured such masterpieces as The Pilgrim’s Progress, Don Quixote and The Grapes of Wrath, but, tucked comfortably beneath the sheets, his pyjamas buttoned to the neck, he yawned uncontrollably as he struggled to pass page 97 of Finnegan’s Wake.
‘Utter rubbish,’ he said, tossing it to one side as he answered his phone.
‘Chief,’ said Constable Reid, ‘are you okay to talk?’
‘Fire away, Duncan.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Get this,’ said Reid, ‘Maureen Connolly used to live and work at Dunmore House.’
‘Dunmore House? Are you sure?’ said Munro.
‘Positive, so I asked my Daddy if he remembered her, subtle like, I didnae go into detail.’
‘And?’
‘Strangest thing, he said “vaguely”, and took himself off to the garage.’
‘At this time of night?’ said Munro.
‘Aye, I think he’s losing it,’ said Reid, ‘so anyway, I gave Mrs. Fraser a wee tinkle, I mean, if anyone would’ve known her, she would.’
‘And did she?’
‘Too right. According to Mrs. Fraser, Connolly got the heave-ho not long after my Daddy was sacked, she said there was some kind of altercation between her, Freida Kappelhoff and the lady of the house, and it got so out of hand, they had to call the police.’
‘Dear, dear,’ said Munro, ‘and they seem so respectable, too.’
‘That’s not all,’ said Reid, ‘she said the officer who handled the case was some kind of dreamboat, they were all falling for him. A Sergeant McGreevy.’
Munro threw his head back and sighed.
‘Thanks Duncan,’ he said, ‘excellent job, but not a word, mind, not a word to anyone. Understand?’
‘Roger that, chief. My lips are sealed.’
Chapter 17
A force 7 westerly, powering in from the Atlantic, brought with it torrential rain, a roaring trade in sales of worthless umbrellas and the likelihood of the regatta being postponed until the inclement weather abated.
McGreevy, cursing at the prospect of having to cancel and then re-instigate temporary road closures, pored over the duty roster for the coming week as the wind threatened to rip the slates off the roof. He cocked an ear at the rumpus in reception.
‘Duncan,’ said Munro as he helped West out of her sopping coat, ‘I cannae go on like this, I need you to call King Edward and tell that blethering idiot that if I don’t get my car today, I will arrest him on suspicion of malingering, have you got that?’
‘Aye, Roger that, chief,’ said Reid, ‘and before I forget, Miss McKenzie’s appearance in court – it’s set for Monday, 9 am.’
‘Okay, best tell her we’re obliged to extend our hospitality for the duration of the weekend; see if she needs anything, a change of clothes perhaps.’
Munro glanced up as McGreevy, hands in pockets, strolled casually from his office.
‘Nick, my but you’re early,’ he said, mildly surprised, ‘have you some worms to catch?’
‘Actually, no, James, I’m working on a Plan B just in case this God-awful weather doesnae blow over soon.’
‘Och, it’s a few drops of rain, if you’re not used to it by now, you should consider moving south.’
‘Maybe I will, James. Tea? Looks like you could both use a brew.’
‘Very kind, I’m sure,’ said Munro. ‘No Iain this morning?’
‘No, he’s gone to inspect some wind damage at the golf club.’
‘So, there’s no spare car?’
‘Doubt it, why? Do you have calls to make?’
‘Aye, and that mechanic has left me stranded.’
McGreevy winked, pulled his hand from his pocket and tossed Munro a key.
‘Here,’ he said, ‘take mine. I’ll not need it till this afternoon, so long as I can have it back by 2pm, it’s all yours.’
‘Much obliged,’ said Munro, taken aback by his act of spontaneous generosity.
‘So, where’re we at, James?’ said McGreevy. ‘Are we any closer to wrapping this mess up?’
‘Aye, we’re getting there, we’re waiting on a few more results from forensics, they’re running some more detailed tests on a couple of…’
‘Okay. I see the McKenzie girl’s still here, have you not charged her yet?’
‘We have.’
‘But not with Freida’s death?’
‘No, of course not; we’ve no proof, there’s no evidence to suggest…’
McGreevy turned for his office, beckoned Munro to follow and gently closed the door.
‘Lean on her, James,’ he said angrily, under his breath, ‘push her a wee bit, it won’t take much to make her crack, then we can put this to bed.’
Munro, stupefied by the proposition, watched as McGreevy returned to his chair and aimlessly shuffled the papers on his desk.
‘That may be a technique you’re used to employing, Nick,’ he said, ‘but just for the record, I’ll not lean on anyone, anyone at all, unless I think they’re guilty. Got that?’
‘Och, James, for Christ’s sake, I’m only trying to speed things along. Look, from where I’m sitting, that wee lassie’s guilty as hell, she’s traumatised, I mean, finding out her father was playing the field with schoolgirls, it’s bound to have affected her. She’s unhinged. Maybe you should get a shrink in, have them do a psychiatric assessment, at least then we’ll know why she took it out on her mother.’
‘No,’ said Munro, bluntly, ‘I’ll do nothing of the kind, and to be perfectly honest, Nick, I’m surprised and somewhat disappointed that you could even make such a suggestion.’
McGreevy, silently fuming, ran a finger around the collar of his shirt and faced Munro.
‘James,’ he said, lowering his voice, ‘see here. In a day or two, this place will be rammed to the gills, over-run with folk paying top dollar to watch a few boats bobbing about on the water, spending their hard-earned cash in the hotels, and the bars, and the restaurants. Now, I asked you up here because I thought you could sort this out for me, if…’
‘If you’re not happy, Nick,’ said Munro, reaching for the door, ‘I’ll have a wee word with Isobel, I’m sure she’ll be only too happy for the lads in C.I.D. to take over.’
McGreevy stood, turned his back on Munro and stared from the window at the deluge cascading down the street outside.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said, scratching the back of his bristling, close-cropped head, ‘just do what you can. Incidentally, I don’t suppose you’ve noticed a place called The Oak Bar on your travels, have you?’
‘I have, and I’ve seen crematoriums with more appeal than that excuse for a tavern.’
‘So, you’ve not been in for a wee bevy then? You and Charlie, perhaps?’
‘I’m not in the habit of frequenting bars, Nick. Not my cup of tea. Not my cup of tea, at all.’
* * *
‘What’s up?’ said West as she followed Munro down to the cells. ‘You look like you’ve swallowed a wasp.’
Munro paused on the steps, glanced over his shoulder and spoke quietly.
‘You know when you’re on a walk up a hill and a tiny, insignificant, wee stone gets in your boot and makes your life a misery?’ he said.
‘Yeah, been there.’
‘Well, this one’s called McGreevy. And it’s causing me a great deal of discomfort. Listen, not a word about last night, the bar, okay? Or anything else for that matter, if he asks, you tell him nothing, understood?’
‘Got ya,’ said West, ‘and by the way, how come we’re not using the interview room?’
‘Oh, I think she’ll be more at ease in the comfort of her own room, don’t you? A little less … defensive.’
* * *
McKenzie was sitting on the bunk, her knees pulled to her chest. A thin, blue blanket hung loosely around her shoulders, her nose buried deep in a paperback.
‘Hello Lorna,’ said West, ‘mind if we join you?’
McKenzie seemed unusually content, her face a picture of serenity.
‘Aye, the more the merrier,’ she said, softly. ‘Do you know something? I’d forgotten just how much I enjoy reading, I cannae remember the last time I picked up a book.’
‘Och, you’re a girl after my own heart, lassi
e,’ said Munro. ‘You know, you can lose yourself in a book, but you can find yourself, too.’
McKenzie frowned as she digested his words.
‘That’s very profound,’ she said, ‘you’re quite clever, aren’t you?’
‘No, no,’ said Munro, ‘I just think a little … differently … to other folk, that’s all. By the by, Lorna, I don’t recall you having a book when…’
‘No, I didn’t, it was that nice, wee Constable upstairs, he lent it me.’
‘Constable Reid?’ said West. ‘That was kind of him.’
‘Aye, he’s lovely,’ said McKenzie.
‘And how’s he been treating you?’ said Munro. ‘Any complaints about room service?’
‘Not with him at my beck and call. Anyway, what’s up? You here for a wee chat or something?’
‘Yes, we are,’ said West, ‘unofficially.’
Munro leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs, his hands clasped together. He smiled, a half smile, as though deliberating over a menu, and locked eyes with McKenzie. To her surprise, the hard, ice-blue gaze which had previously filled her with dread, was now as warm and inviting as the Mediterranean.
‘See Lorna,’ he said softly, his voice as soothing as a lullaby to an infant’s ears, ‘we’re in a wee bit of a pickle here. You’ll not be with us much longer, and, in a day or two, Charlie here and myself will be off to pastures new. Now, the last thing I want to do, is to leave you in the hands of someone who doesnae give a damn if you live or die. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘Aye,’ said McKenzie, ‘I think so.’
‘Good. Okay, we need to make some headway, so, once more, off the record, what were you doing at your mother’s apartment on the night she died?’
McKenzie’s eyes flitted to West and glazed over.
‘I can’t,’ she said.
‘Lorna, listen to me,’ said Munro, ‘once we’re gone, you won’t have a chance. The very least they will charge you with, is aiding and abetting the murder of your mother. You need to…’
AVARICE: Gripping Scottish detective crime fiction (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 2) Page 12
