* * *
Paterson, still stuck behind his desk with a handkerchief tucked into his collar and a trail of curry sauce running down his chin, made no attempt to stand as he hastily pushed a carton of rice to one side and wiped his mouth.
‘Sorry,’ he said, belching under his breath, ‘just having a wee bite to…’
‘If we’re interrupting…’ said West.
‘No, you’re alright. Anything that stops me eating is welcome here.’
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Munro.
‘Aye, of course.’
‘Have you opened it yet?’
‘No, no. Thought you’d like to be present for the unveiling, so I’ve waited.’
‘Okay, well, on you go then,’ said Munro, ‘let’s have a look.’
Paterson pointed to the safe as he downed a pint of water.
‘Miss,’ he said, ‘if you wouldn’t mind. Top shelf, tray full of envelopes.’
‘Okay,’ said West, bending down, ‘what’s the combination?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Paterson, ‘it’s never locked. Just give the door a wee tug, it’s heavier than myself.’
West retrieved a vellum envelope bearing the name ‘Freida Kappelhoff’, elegantly scripted in indigo ink and underscored with a flourish, and passed it to Paterson.
‘Here you go,’ she said, ‘only right that you should do the honours.’
‘Okay,’ said Paterson, clearing his throat as he slit the envelope with a stainless steel letter opener, ‘and the winner is … och, would you look at that. It’s that nice Mrs. Fraser.’
‘Mrs. Fraser?’ said Munro, frowning as he took the Will. ‘The same Mrs. Fraser up at Dunmore?’
‘Aye, that’s her.’
‘She’s to get the bulk of the inheritance, with just fifty thousand going to Lorna. Does that not strike you as a wee bit, odd, Mr. Paterson?’
‘It’s none of my business, Inspector. She must’ve had her reasons, all I know is, to coin the phrase, she was sound of mind and body when she made the change.’
‘Is Mrs. Fraser aware of this?’ said West. ‘That she’s almost a millionaire?’
‘I’ve really no idea,’ said Paterson, ‘you’re forgetting, miss, this is the first time I’ve seen this, too.’
* * *
Campbell, a beer lover who always regarded his glass as half empty, sat, head on hand, morosely stirring a mug of tea whilst an unusually apathetic Reid, sitting opposite, flicked rolled up pieces of paper across the desk towards a makeshift goal.
‘Good grief,’ said Munro as they returned to the office, ‘what’s up with you two? Did Celtic lose again?’
‘No,’ said Campbell, without looking up, ‘we’ve just had some devastating news, that’s all.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said West, ‘I hope it’s not, I mean, did somebody die?’
‘No, worse than that. The new Inspector’s arriving the day after tomorrow, temporary placement till they find someone permanent.’
‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it?’
‘No, it’s terrible,’ said Campbell. ‘He’s a fella by the name of Hourigan, based in Motherwell.’
‘Hourigan?’ said Munro. ‘No, doesnae ring a bell.’
‘It does with me, only it’s not so much a bell, more an alarm.’
‘Why so?’
‘He’s not what you might call, a people person. Does things by the book, everything in triplicate, no leeway. Thinks he’s in the army.’
‘Och, well, a wee bit of discipline Iain,’ said Munro, ‘there’s nothing wrong with…’
‘Discipline?’ said Campbell. ‘He’s not a disciplinarian, chief, the man’s a control freak. If you dinnae do things his way, then it’s the wrong way, and woe betide anyone who begs to differ.’
‘I see,’ said Munro, ‘well, good luck with that, then. We’d like to help, of course, but if all goes to plan, we’ll be out of your hair this time tomorrow.’
‘I’ll be sorry to see you go, chief,’ said Reid, ‘and you, miss.’
‘Ah, thanks Duncan, that’s sweet.’
‘Chief, I’ve been thinking, I’m going to sit my exams. There’s something about Detective Constable that sounds more exciting than plain, old…’
‘Good for you, laddie,’ said Munro, grinning, ‘you’ll make a fine detective, of that I’m sure, now, tell me Duncan, have forensics finished with Nick’s car?’
‘Aye, all done, it’s parked round the back.’
‘Good, there’s a black rucksack in the boot, inside a set of keys, we need to be sure they belong to Freida, grab them and scoot up to Dunmore would you, and then bag the rucksack as evidence. Charlie, Nick’s laptop, let’s have a wee look at what he’s been up to.’
West opened the MacBook, gave it a second to wake from sleep mode, and looked distinctly surprised at the lack of folders on the desktop.
‘It’s like it just came out of the box,’ she said, ‘most people have of tons of folders floating around, you know, photos, work, letters, there’s nothing here except the hard drive.’
‘Check the browser,’ said Iain, ‘maybe he just used it for the internet and email.’
West launched Safari and smiled as McGreevy’s browsing history for the last seven days cascaded down the screen.
‘iPlayer,’ she said, ‘something I’m not even going to look at, and our favourite bank, here we go.’
‘What’s up?’ said Munro as West, groaning, fell back in her seat.
‘Password,’ she said, ‘we need to log-in. Bugger, we could be here for months.’
‘Aye, you’re right there,’ said Campbell, ‘could be anything from his birthday to something to do with McKenzie or Connolly, or, or even a pet, if he had one, and if you cock it up, it may even lock you out altogether.’
Munro wandered slowly but purposefully around the desks, hands clasped beneath his chin as though praying for divine intervention.
‘He’d not use anything obvious,’ he said, ‘not Nick. It’ll be something obtuse. Think about it, he’s hijacked somebody else’s account and he’s liberating their life-long savings. Money that would have seen them through their twilight years. It’ll be something to do with the future. His future. What has he to look forward to?’
‘Not much, now,’ said West, ‘but, the house, I suppose, in Morningside.’
‘Aye, possibly. What else? His retirement, perhaps, but what was he planning…’
Munro stopped, mid-flow, disconcerted by the grin plastered across Campbell’s face.
‘Is there something amusing about this, Iain? Something I’m not quite getting?’
‘No,’ said Campbell, ‘it’s just the thought of the Inspector retiring.’
‘What of it?’
‘He always referred to it as Linwood. He never said “when I retire”, he always said “when I move to Linwood”.’
‘What’s Linwood?’ said West. ‘Is that a village, or a place, or something?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Campbell, ‘I always thought it was like Dunroamin or something, a name you put outside your…’
Munro held up his hand, cutting him short.
‘Linwood,’ he said, quietly, ‘just outside Glasgow. Armed robbery. Three officers shot, two died. They got away with £14,000.’
‘Fourteen grand? That’s not much…’
‘It was a good few years ago, Iain. Charlie, try “Linwood”.’
West carefully keyed in the characters and hit ‘return’.
‘Oh, well, it was worth a try,’ she said, ‘although, it does seem a bit short.’
‘Short?’ said Munro, ‘I don’t follow.’
‘The amount of characters, and they’re all letters. Normally, they insist you have a mix of numbers and letters, that sort of thing.’
‘Okay, well, try “Linwood1969”, that’s when it happened, see if that…’
‘Genius!’ said West, gleefully. ‘We’re in, now, here we go, look, here’s the transfer he made, and if we l
ook here, oh, the greedy bastard, he’s scheduled three further payments for the 10th each month, 100k each.’
‘Anything on there pertaining to his own account, Charlie? With the Bank of Scotland?’
‘Hold on, yup, but we need a password again.’
‘Try the same one,’ said Munro.
‘The same one?’
‘Why not? We’ve nothing to lose.’
‘Well, well, well,’ said West, ‘bit slack for a copper, I bet his pin number’s 1969 too. Look at this, the 250 grand transferred from Freida’s account, it was withdrawn the following day. Cash.’
‘Cash? Where?’
‘Blackhall Street. Greenock.’
‘Come on,’ said Munro, ‘get your coat.’
‘Where’re we going?’
‘Nick’s place. I doubt he’s a wallet large enough for that amount of cash, so it stands to reason he must have it stashed in his house somewhere.’
* * *
Whoever owned the ageing hatchback parked on McGreevy’s drive, with its scratched paintwork, broken taillight and missing hub caps, was, thought West, almost certainly missing a valid MOT certificate as well, not to mention a road fund licence and appropriate insurance.
‘Shall I call it in?’ she said, as Munro cruised past and parked opposite. ‘Get Iain to run a check?’
‘No, no. Let’s just sit quietly for a moment and see if our mystery caller appears.’
‘Why don’t we just go in?’
‘Because,’ said Munro, craning his neck to face the house, ‘there’s a light on upstairs and we have no idea who it is. They could be dangerous.’
‘Fair enough, although, I have to say, it’s more than likely the cleaner or someone who’s parked there to avoid getting a ticket.’
‘Both possible scenarios, Charlie, but with limited probability. You see, Nick doesnae have a cleaner and there are no parking restrictions on this street. I’d say it’s someone he knows.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘Because they’re just leaving.’
* * *
Connolly carefully locked the front door, glanced up and down the street and, assuming she was quite alone, turned for the car. She stopped, startled at the sight of Munro and West ambling up the drive. Her grip tightened on the hold-all in her left hand.
‘Well, well, well, this is a pleasant surprise,’ said Munro.
‘What are you doing here?’ said Connolly, scowling.
‘I could ask you the same question, tell you what, you go first.’
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘Oh, but it is, Miss Connolly. Your bag seems awful heavy, would you like some help?’
‘No. I can manage, it’s not heavy,’ said Connolly, ‘it’s just … just a few things for Nick. You know, clothes, toiletries…’
‘Is that so?’ said Munro. ‘You’ll not mind if we take a wee look, then?’
‘I would mind; I’d mind very much. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to…’
‘Is this your vehicle, Miss Connolly?’ said West.
‘Aye, what of it?’
‘Front nearside tyre. Bald.’
‘So?’
‘That’s an offence,’ said West.
‘So’s harassing innocent folk going about their business.’
‘Have you got a valid driving licence, and insurance?’
‘Of course,’ said Connolly, ‘what do you take me for?’
‘Good, wait there a moment, would you. I’m just going to check.’
‘Wait, hold on, it’s, er, it’s not mine. I borrowed it.’
‘Really?’ said West. ‘How convenient. Who from?’
‘Fella, works in the bar.’
‘Name?’
‘Don’t remember,’ said Connolly.
‘Okay, then I can find out for you, shan’t be long.’
‘Hold on, look, what do you want?’
‘I’ve already told you, Miss Connolly,’ said Munro, ‘we just want to see what’s in the bag. If you dinnae want to show us here, then by all means bring it with you, it’s my guess that in approximately three minutes, we’ll be taking you in for driving whilst uninsured, not to mention…’
Connolly dropped the bag on the ground and held her arms aloft.
‘Go ahead,’ she said, defiantly, ‘I’ve nothing to hide, I’ve done nothing wrong.’
Munro heaved the bag onto the bonnet of the car and slowly unzipped it.
‘My, my,’ he said, ‘you could buy yourself a new motor car with this lot.’
‘Aye, maybe I will,’ said Connolly. ‘Look, it’s all legit, it’s Nick’s money, from his aunty, the one who died, it’s not as though…’
‘Are you fond of game shows, Miss Connolly?’ said Munro as he closed the bag.
‘What?’
‘You know, on the telly, the kind where they ask you a question, then give you a choice of answers?’
‘Aye, maybe, what are you…’
‘Here’s one for you. If Sergeant West were to arrest you, would it be for: A, theft; B, handling stolen property; or C, being an accessory after the fact?’
‘You’re barking; you know that? Mental, off your head.’
‘Actually, it’s a trick question. The answer is: all three.’
Chapter 24
After hours, with its tables stripped of their starched, linen coverings and token vases of freshly-cut flowers, the hotel restaurant had all the ambience of a canteen on an industrial estate.
‘Good job you booked,’ said West dryly, as they sat sharing a bottle of red over a takeaway fish supper, ‘otherwise we’d have never got in.’
‘Pays to know the right people, Charlie. It’s what you call influence. Aye, that’s the word. Influence.’
‘For some reason, it always tastes better out of the paper, than on a plate.’
‘That’s depends on the paper,’ said Munro, ‘you’d not be saying that if Tony Blair was peeking out from under your haddock.’
West laid down her fork, cradled her glass in both hands and stared wistfully into space.
‘What is it, lassie?’ said Munro.
‘I don’t know, it’s just frustrating, that’s all, I mean we’re so close, and yet…’
‘Och, cheer up, Charlie, it’s not that bad, we’ve more in the bag than a sniper on a pheasant shoot, and as soon as we hear from the…’
Munro paused as the door swung open and the familiar, yet unexpected, clatter of stiletto heels on the wooden floor interrupted their conversation.
‘My, my, this is cosy,’ said Crawford sarcastically, as she swaggered towards them. ‘Sergeant Campbell said I’d find you here. Thought you’d be in the bar.’
‘We’ve not long finished, Isobel,’ said Munro, ‘fancy a chip?’
‘I’ll pass, thanks, chips aren’t exactly my…’
‘Perhaps, if you thought of them as pommes frites, they might seem a wee bit more … inviting.’
‘I think not,’ said Crawford, sitting with a sigh and a rubbing her forehead as though troubled by a minor headache. ‘Look, I haven’t trudged all the way over here for nothing, there’s something … there’s something you need to…’
‘Before you go on,’ said West, ‘we’ve just charged Connolly, found her with a bag full of cash.’
‘Cash?’ said Crawford. ‘You mean the money Nick…’
‘Aye, right enough,’ said Munro, ‘so, tomorrow, all we have to do is file the report and wait for the results from…’
‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, James.’
Munro, sensing something awry, glanced at West and took a slug of wine.
‘And that would be, why exactly?’ he said, bracing himself.
‘Hourigan. Jack Hourigan,’ said Crawford, avoiding eye contact. ‘He’s arriving a day early. Tomorrow. And I … I can’t afford to have you here. Either of you.’
‘So, what you’re saying is...?’
‘What I’m saying is, you’re o
ff the case. As of now. End of.’
‘You are joking?’ said West, smarting as though she’d been slapped in the face. ‘Tell me you’re bloody joking. After all we’ve … do you realise just how close we are to…’
‘Yes, yes, Sergeant, I’m sure you are, but there’s nothing I can do, I simply can’t afford to take the risk. Look, if Hourigan gets wind of what’s been going on, if he finds out I authorised the two of you to investigate the case instead of giving it to Greenock, he’ll have my guts for garters.’
West sat back and glared at Munro, willing him to say something.
‘Hold on,’ she said, ‘there’s no need to chuck the baby out with the bath water, there is another way; we can work from the hotel, we don’t even have to be in the bloody office.’
‘Listen,’ said Crawford, agitated by West’s persistence, ‘Hourigan is a pain in the arse, the only reason he’s here is because they can’t stand him down in Motherwell and, given half a chance, he’ll go running straight to the top citing improper procedure, abuse of authority, anything he can think of, and I will be hauled over the coals. I shudder to think what they’ll do to you. No. I’m sorry. That’s it.’
‘But…’
‘No! I’ll inform C.I.D. first thing. Naturally, I expect you to hand over everything you have pertaining to the investigation.’
Crawford flinched as Munro slowly turned to face her, his eyes cold and hard.
‘There is nothing to hand over, Isobel,’ he said, his voice slow and menacing, ‘it’s all on the computer, and you have copies of everything.’
‘Right. Okay. Good,’ said Crawford. ‘Well, I suppose that’s that then. Oh, don’t look at me like that, you can see I have no choice, can’t you?’
‘Que sera, sera,’ said Munro, ‘perhaps we’ll see you in the morning. I take it you’ll not be stopping us from collecting a few items of a personal nature?’
‘No, of course not. For chrissakes, James, I don’t want this to end on a sour note. Maybe once this has all blown over, once C.I.D. have … you know, maybe we could…’
‘Aye, maybe we could, Isobel. Maybe we could.’
West stared in disbelief as a downcast Crawford trudged towards the door, stopped abruptly, then turned and marched back to the table.
‘I’m doing this as a courtesy James,’ she said, producing a sealed envelope from her shoulder bag, ‘Constable Reid asked me to give you this. If it’s something you can…’
AVARICE: Gripping Scottish detective crime fiction (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 2) Page 17
