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

by Pete Brassett

‘What’s up? The whole bar’s had their fingers in that bowl.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘And where do you suppose those fingers were, before they went in there?’

  ‘Oh, gross,’ she said, tipping them back. ‘Good point.’

  Munro sipped his scotch.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘how was Dr. Feelgood? Hope he didnae affect your blood pressure.’

  ‘No chance of that,’ said West, ‘he was quite peeved actually, didn’t take kindly to me interrupting his chat-up lines with a tiny, blonde bit on reception. He’ll call. How about you?’

  ‘Better than I thought. Seems our Nick did go to see Freida, after all.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’ said West, impressed. ‘Bloody hell Sherlock, how do you do it?’

  ‘He was there for an hour, took some wine, German incidentally, and Freida pretty much had it all to herself.’

  ‘So, did you grab the bottle? Don’t tell me they threw…’

  ‘I did not,’ said Munro, ‘but forensics did. That’s what we’re waiting on.’

  ‘Still? Why the delay?’

  ‘Who knows, lassie? Perhaps they’re French. Now, I cannae abide this racket any longer and I assume you’re hungry?’

  ‘What do you think? I’m bloody famished.’

  ‘Good, I’ve got a table in the restaurant and a couple of sirloins on the go.’

  ‘James Munro, if you were twenty years younger…’

  Chapter 22

  West, feeling fresh after a solid night’s sleep, woke early, stretched and smiled to herself as she gazed out across the Clyde from the bedroom window. The sun was breaking over the horizon, illuminating the soft, fluffy underbelly of the scattered, white clouds, causing her to contemplate, in the absence of any plans for the future, postponing her return to London. She checked her phone. One missed call. Andy Clark. One text message, succinct and to the point: “Jacket. Match positive. Freida Kappelhoff”.

  * * *

  Munro was alone in the restaurant, cradling a cup of tea while he waited for his breakfast to be served, when an excitable West rushed in and plonked herself down opposite him.

  ‘Guess what?’ she said, grinning.

  Munro, nonplussed, answered matter of factly.

  ‘McKenzie’s coat,’ he said. ‘Spatter matches Freida’s DNA.’

  ‘How the hell did you know?’ she said, deflated.

  ‘I got a wee text from Andy too.’

  ‘So, when do we tell her? Charge her? Lorna?’

  ‘Just as soon as we’ve had our breakfast.’

  * * *

  Constable Reid, armed with a roll of kitchen towel and a bottle of anti-bacterial spray was, in an effort to stave off an impending bout of boredom, busying himself by polishing the front desk and anything else he could lay his hands on. He stopped, grateful for the company, as Munro, whistling the theme to The Great Escape, skipped through the door with West in tow.

  ‘Och, it’s a beautiful morning out there Duncan,’ he said, ‘simply beautiful.’

  ‘Take your word it for it, chief,’ said Reid, ‘I’ll not get to see it, not unless a major incident involving incendiary devices, several vehicles and a flood of biblical proportions requires my somewhat limited expertise.’

  ‘What nonsense laddie, you’ve a vast range of skills, all vital to the running of this station,’

  ‘Thanks, chief, I...’

  ‘…and knowing how to make a decent brew is one of them. Has anything happened?’

  ‘No,’ said Reid, filling the kettle, ‘we’re still waiting to hear about a replacement for Inspector McGreevy; it’ll be some trumped-up, jobsworth from the city, no doubt.’

  ‘Aye, no doubt,’ said Munro, ‘Charlie, have a wee word with Duncan, here, would you? Tell him about the power of positivity. Anything else?’

  ‘No,’ said Reid, ‘I mean yes, Christ, I nearly forgot. Finally got a call back from Kappelhoff’s solicitors. Fella by the name of Paterson, says he’d like a wee word.’

  ‘Did he say what about?’

  ‘No, just said it might be relevant, wasnae bothered whether you called him back or not, but he says he’s free all morning.’

  ‘Are they nearby?’

  ‘Nearby? Couldn’t be closer, chief. McCleary’s. Bath Street. Above the bank.’

  * * *

  Munro, with the sun on his face and his hands behind his back, dawdled up the street as if enjoying a casual stroll in the park.

  ‘What about Lorna?’ said West, ambling alongside. ‘Shouldn’t we be…’

  ‘She’s not going anywhere, Charlie. Let’s see what this legal eagle has to say for himself first, and let’s hope he’s not charging us for his time.’

  Four minutes later they arrived outside the bank. An old, brass plaque mounted on the wall by the side door, proclaimed ‘McCleary & Partners, Solicitors and Commissioner for Oaths’. West glanced through the open door and up the gloomy, unlit stairwell.

  ‘Looks a bit spooky,’ she said, ‘like the entrance to a haunted house.’

  ‘They do it on purpose,’ said Munro, ‘a wee reminder that you’re about to pass through a portal to hell and surrender all that you hold dear.’

  A balding, middle-aged man, with drooping jowls and a belly like Buddha, sat wedged between his desk and the wall, almost hidden by the piles of folders and books stacked precariously about him. Breathing heavily, he struggled to stand as Munro entered the room, gave up and sat down again.

  ‘Can I help?’ he said, panting, as he regarded him over the top of his half-moon glasses.

  ‘Mr. Paterson? Detective Inspector Munro, and this is Detective Sergeant West. You telephoned earlier. Freida Kappelhoff?’

  ‘Oh, aye, that’s right. Sorry to hear of her passing, tragic circumstances. She was a lovely lady, very polite.’

  ‘You knew her?’ said West.

  ‘No, not really,’ said Paterson, ‘I handled her divorce years back, but that’s pretty much it.’

  ‘I see,’ said Munro, ‘so, what was it, exactly, you wanted to talk about?’

  ‘We had a meeting last week, the Tuesday, it was. No, no, the Wednesday.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, it was all a wee bit, peculiar.’

  ‘What was?’ said Munro.

  ‘Everything, really,’ said Paterson as he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘We had an appointment, you see, three o’clock. She said she wanted to make a change to her will. Well, I popped out for my lunch and came back in plenty of time, about 2.30, and there was a wee lassie hanging about on the street outside. I thought nothing of it, but when Miss Kappelhoff arrived, this lassie’s followed her into my office and, dear God, quite a hullabaloo, it was. The girl’s shouting and screaming like you wouldn’t believe.’

  ‘And do you know who she was?’ said West.

  ‘Aye, her daughter. Apparently. It was obvious she knew Miss Kappelhoff was here to change her will, and I’ll tell you this for nothing, she wasnae happy about it.’

  ‘So, what happened next?’ said West.

  ‘I had to eject her from the premises,’ said Paterson, shaking his head, ‘she was that angry, I told her if she didnae leave, I’d have to call the police.’

  ‘And did she?’

  ‘Aye, in a manner of speaking. Nearly took the door off its hinges.’

  ‘And how was Miss Kappelhoff?’ said West. ‘Was she, upset?’

  ‘A wee bit shaken, I think. She went after her, came back about twenty minutes later, after that, she seemed fine.’

  Munro glanced around the cluttered office, the framed certificates hanging on the wall, the rickety bookcase stuffed to overflowing, and the large, cast-iron safe standing in the corner, serving as a side table.

  ‘Do you happen to know what changes she made to the Will, Mr. Paterson?’ he said.

  ‘No, no. That’s none of my business. I simply witnessed it, she sealed it and then, I locked it away, but…’

  ‘Go on.’

&nbs
p; ‘Well, it’s all supposition, I know, but judging by the way her daughter was acting, I’d say if anyone was going to lose out, it was her.’

  ‘Tell me,’ said Munro, ‘did Freida appoint you Executor, by any chance?’

  ‘No, that would be her sister, let me think now, Magda?’

  ‘Mathild?’ said West, ‘Mathild Brandt?’

  ‘Aye, that’s her.’

  ‘So, you cannae tell us what’s in the Will? You cannae open it?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Paterson, ‘that would be highly irregular, unethical, immoral, even, but … not illegal.’

  ‘So…?’

  ‘So, I’d feel more comfortable about it if we had her sister’s permission, or that of someone in authority.’

  ‘Like…’

  ‘Like the Procurator Fiscal, perhaps.’

  ‘I admire your professionalism, Mr. Paterson,’ said Munro, ‘perhaps it would be best all round, then, if Mathild Brandt gave us her blessing. Are you in contact with her?’

  ‘Oh, aye.’

  ‘Then, would you mind…’

  ‘Nae bother. I’ll call her just now; let you know what she says.’

  ‘Okay, just one more thing – out of curiosity, more than anything else,’ said Munro, ‘did Freida not use her maiden after the divorce? I mean…’

  ‘No, she made that clear in the decree, she wanted to be known as Kappelhoff.’

  ‘Was there any particular reason?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Sentiment, that’s usually the case.’

  * * *

  West shielded her eyes from the blinding sun as they emerged from the gloom of the building and headed back to the station.

  ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ she said.

  ‘That he needs a bigger chair?’ said Munro.

  ‘Apart from that,’ said West. ‘That Lorna thought she was going to lose her inheritance, so she and Nick colluded to bump her off before she could change the Will…’

  ‘Aye, and when Freida was still on her feet despite consuming a bottle of anti-freeze…’

  ‘Lorna took matters in to her own hands and decided to finish her off.’

  ‘Sadly, she was already too late. What a waste, Charlie. What a terrible waste.’

  * * *

  McKenzie, now comfortable in the presence of her captors, sat, quite relaxed, unperturbed by the austere surroundings of the interview room.

  ‘Can I have my coat back, soon?’ she said gleefully. ‘Gets a wee bit chilly down there.’

  ‘We’ll get you another,’ said West, with a smile.

  ‘Another? No, I’d rather mine, if it’s all the same.’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Munro, ‘you see, Lorna, your coat is now being held as evidence.’

  ‘Evidence? I don’t follow.’

  ‘You’ve not been entirely straight with us, have you, Lorna?’ said West.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Your coat. We’ve had it analysed and we found traces of something on the sleeve. Traces of something that shouldn’t be there.’

  ‘Like what?’ said McKenzie, laughing. ‘Chilli sauce?’

  ‘Close,’ said West, ‘we found traces of blood. Human blood. Your mother’s blood. You didn’t pass Nick the hammer when you met by the glen, did you?’

  McKenzie bit her lip and glanced nervously around the room.

  ‘You kept it with you. It was you who led your mother through the glen, and it was you who attacked her, wasn’t it?’

  McKenzie nodded as a stream of tears flowed down her cheeks and fell silently to her lap.

  ‘So, why did you do it?’ said Munro. ‘Was it about her Will?’

  ‘You know about that?’ said McKenzie, perking up.

  ‘Aye, Lorna, we do. How did you find out your mother planned to change it?’

  ‘She told me. She telephoned me last week. Said I ought to know so’s there’d be no surprises when she’s gone.’

  ‘And you thought nothing of it?’ said West. ‘Her changing the Will like that? Out of the blue?’

  ‘Aye, at first I thought she was keeping something from me, like she had the cancer or something, then she said I wasnae fit to have her money, that I didn’t deserve it. She went on and on about how she’d tried to make amends, build bridges and that, and all I did was throw it back in her face. Made me feel great, so it did.’

  ‘You were angry, understandably?’

  ‘What do you think? When she told me she was giving it to somebody else, someone who deserved it, I was fair fuming, I mean, how dare she? How dare she give it to someone else over her own flesh and blood?’

  ‘Have you any idea who she was leaving it to?’

  ‘No. Probably some dumb animal charity, knowing her.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll get something, Lorna,’ said Munro, ‘only problem is, there’s not much to spend it on in prison, is there?’

  McKenzie stared blankly towards the window, dejected.

  ‘You know where this is going, don’t you Lorna?’ said West.

  ‘If you’re going to charge me,’ said McKenzie, ‘just get on with it. I dinnae care anymore.’

  Chapter 23

  Although not averse to the odd surprise, a chance meeting, or encountering the unexpected, Crawford was happier with a degree of regimen in her life, preferring to run to a schedule, thereby knowing exactly what she would be doing, where, when and with whom, at least one week in advance. Interruptions, particularly those occurring within the forty-five minutes that constituted her lunch break, were not well received, unless they involved a delivery from the wine merchant or, as was customary on her birthday, the florist. Munro, however, proved himself to be the exception to the rule. He knocked once and entered without waiting for a reply.

  ‘James!’ said Crawford, pleasantly surprised. ‘Do we have an appointment? I don’t…’

  ‘No, no, Isobel,’ said Munro, ‘I thought I’d chance it, if you’re busy, we could always come back, but…’

  ‘Of course not, come in, sit down. Sergeant West, pull up a chair. So, what’s up?’

  ‘A wee update for you. Lorna McKenzie. She’s admitted the assault on her mother and she’s been charged – wounding with intent.’

  ‘McKenzie?’ said Isobel. ‘That’s a turn up for the books, I thought you had Nick in the frame for the attack?’

  ‘We did,’ said Munro, ‘but, it appears Freida changed her Will shortly before she died and Lorna, rightly or wrongly, thought she stood to lose her inheritance…’

  ‘And does she?’

  ‘Aye, reckon so, we’ll know for sure, soon enough. The assault was her rather … amateurish … attempt at preventing her mother from changing it, but she was too late.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Crawford, ‘so, why not attempted murder then?’

  ‘Because, I don’t believe she meant to kill her,’ said Munro. ‘To be honest, the lassie was confused and angry.’

  ‘The prosecution may not see it like that.’

  ‘Aye, right enough, they’ll go for the jugular, no doubt about that. In her defence, if Nick knew about the Will, then there may have been a degree of coercion on his part.’

  ‘You think he forced her into doing it?’ said Crawford.

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘And the poisoning? You still think Nick was behind it?’

  ‘Oh, aye,’ said Munro. ‘We know he visited Freida the night before she died, and he took her a bottle of wine, which she drank by herself. That’s how he administered the poison.’

  ‘Good,’ said Crawford, ‘I assume then, you’re going to pay him a visit?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said West, ‘we’re waiting for the test results on the empty wine bottle. If, as we suspect, it proves positive for contamination, then we’ll have enough to charge him.’

  ‘And, of course, there’s Mrs. Fraser,’ said Munro, ‘once we have her testimony...’

  ‘Do you think she’ll mind?’ said Crawford. ‘Testifying, I mean? After all, s
he and Nick, they go back years.’

  ‘Mrs. Fraser’s the kind of lady who’d rather do right by Freida than cover Nick’s arse. Trust me, she’ll be fine.’

  ‘In that case, I won’t keep you, and I shan’t waste my breath inviting you to lunch either,’ said Crawford, smirking as she stood, ‘you’re probably up to your eyes in it.’

  ‘No, no, there’s not too much we can do until the lab…’

  Munro winced as West delivered a short, sharp kick to his left ankle.

  ‘What I mean is, you’re right, we need to get back, just as soon as we can.’

  * * *

  Munro, shaking his head, marched swiftly towards the car, handed West the keys and hopped in the passenger seat.

  ‘What was I thinking, Charlie?’ he said. ‘I must’ve lost my concentration, she caught me off-guard, she very nearly had me. I’m indebted to you, really, I am. Thanks very much.’

  ‘I never realised she was so desperate.’

  ‘Thanks very much.’

  ‘She really does want to sink her teeth into you, doesn’t she?’

  ‘It’s not her teeth I’m worried about,’ said Munro, ‘I mean, I cannae see the attraction, myself, a crinkly, old relic like me doesnae…’

  ‘Oh, come on, you’re not that old,’ said West, ‘besides, it’s not all about looks, you know? You’re very … enigmatic.’

  ‘Och, not you too, lassie?’ said Munro, as he fumbled frantically for his phone, thankful for the timely interruption. West cast him a sideways glance, smiled as he mumbled into the handset, and sighed contentedly as she took in the serenity of the empty, tree-lined carriageway, a million miles from the odorous, over-crowded, noisy streets of Bishopsgate.

  ‘That was Paterson,’ said Munro, hanging up, ‘Mathild’s not due for a couple of weeks yet, but she says it’s okay to take a peek at the Will.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said West, her mind elsewhere.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for? This vehicle can travel faster than 30mph, you know?’

  ‘Yeah, I know, but there’s no rush, is there?’

  Munro huffed, confounded by her sudden lack of urgency and stared through the windscreen as the trees flashed by under a clear, blue sky.

  ‘No, I don’t suppose there is, Charlie,’ he said, ‘I don’t suppose there is.’