ENMITY: An enthralling Scottish murder mystery (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 3)

by Pete Brassett

  ‘Lunch?’ said Dougal, creeping out from a darkened corner of the office. ‘Already?’

  ‘Already?’ said Munro. ‘Dear, dear, some of us were up before you went to bed, laddie. Are you not familiar with the dawn chorus?’

  ‘No, sir, sorry. Is that Elgar?’

  ‘Never mind. If you’re not hungry I’ll not force you to eat but Charlie here thought you’d enjoy this – it’s peri something or other which, if you dinnae mind me saying so, smells as though it’s seen better days. Is D.S. Cameron back yet?’

  ‘No, he’s probably still chatting with the folk down the bookies.’

  ‘Och, well,’ said Munro, passing the remaining sandwich to West, ‘looks like you’ve hit the jackpot in the calorie contest today, Charlie. So, Dougal, fill us in while you familiarise yourself with yon teapot.’

  ‘Sir. As you said, Agnes was as popular as anything. Obviously, I didnae get to speak to everyone but those I did talk to wouldnae have a word said against her. Friendly, helpful, generous, smart, modest, funny. A wee bit cagey about boyfriends, relationships, that sort of thing, but…’

  ‘What do you mean, Dougal?’ said West. ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘Och, it’s just something one girl said, that when they were talking about boyfriends, as lady folk tend to do, Agnes would keep quiet. I wouldnae read too much into it though, I mean, by all accounts she was quite a modest lassie, not one to brag, if you ken what I mean.’

  ‘Okay, nice one,’ said West, ‘what else?’

  ‘The cars on Cathcart Street,’ said Dougal, ‘the three vehicles Max mentioned. I’ve checked them out and they’re all kosher, the owners live on the street.’

  ‘You have been busy, well done, Dougal,’ said Munro as he opened his sandwich and peered despondently at the meagre slice of processed cheddar lying beneath two wilting slices of tomato, ‘I think you’ve near enough done a day’s work already.’

  ‘Nae bother,’ said Dougal, setting down a pot of tea, ‘but that’s not all, I’ve something to show you, when you’ve finished your lunch, like.’

  ‘No, no, my appetite’s on the wane all of a sudden, show me what you have.’

  Munro and West stood behind Dougal as he took his seat in front of the laptops.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I’ve been whizzing through the footage from both cameras for an hour before and an hour after the estimated time of death. Now, look at this.’

  ‘Hang on,’ said West. ‘How can you look at both laptops together?’

  ‘It’s not difficult, miss,’ said Dougal, ‘if you watch both together it’s easier to spot a similarity.’

  ‘Have you got ambidextrous vision?’ said Munro.

  ‘Is there such a thing?’

  ‘Well, apparently so. Okay, carry on.’

  ‘Right,’ said Dougal, pointing to the laptop on his right, ‘this is the film from the camera on Sandgate, as you know it’s opposite the pub, about a block south of Cathcart Street. Now look, this vehicle here, tucked just behind the bus, the black saloon with the tinted windows, it comes down Sandgate and disappears around the one-way system only to reappear here, on the other camera. Then it disappears from view as it turns into Cathcart Street and reappears here, back on Sandgate, cruises south in a different lane then off it goes, around the one-way again.’

  ‘Does he not get dizzy driving round in circles?’ said Munro.

  ‘Well, could be anything, Dougal,’ said West, ‘he might be lost or a mini-cab touting for business, or…’

  ‘Hold on, miss,’ said Dougal, ‘here’s the thing. Look at the time: 11:52pm. Agnes and Max would be somewhere on Cathcart, right?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Now, look. Same saloon, back again, turns down Cathcart but… it doesnae reappear on Sandgate for another forty-one minutes.’

  The ensuing silence was almost more than Dougal could take. Fearful he’d made a schoolboy error in his otherwise astute observations, he sat stock-still waiting for the inevitable barrage of abuse until the unexpected slap across the shoulders caused him to jump from his seat.

  ‘Sterling work, laddie!’ said Munro, ‘Really, you’ve excelled yourself. Now tell me, have you had time to run a check on the vehicle yet?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Dougal, ‘just before you came back.’

  ‘Christ, there’s no stopping you, is there?’ said West with a congratulatory grin, ‘well done, you.’

  ‘I wouldnae get too excited if I were you, miss. Not just yet, anyway.’

  ‘Ah-ha, a chink in Superman’s armour.’

  ‘The registration number. It doesnae exist.’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘The car, it’s a Vauxhall Astra, I’ve got that, but the reg, EU55 FAS, is false.’

  Munro walked to the front of the desk, perched on the edge and folded his arms.

  ‘So,’ he said, smiling broadly, ‘what would be the most logical thing to do next, Dougal? Assuming you’re right about the make and model, that is.’

  ‘Well, I reckon, if it was down to me, I’d contact the DVLA, get a list of all the registered Astra owners in the area and pay them a wee visit.’

  ‘Dougal,’ said Munro, ‘as soon as we have a spare moment or two, it will give me great pleasure to stand you a glass or two of the finest malt we can lay our hands on. Now, any word from D.S. Cameron?’

  ‘No, sir, not a dickie bird.’

  ‘Why am I not surprised? Charlie, give the man a wee call, would you, tell him I want to know where the hell he is and what he’s playing at.’

  Munro paused as a concerned and perspiring Elliot swung through the door, a look of consternation on his face.

  ‘George!’ said Munro, ‘are all the hotels booked?’

  ‘No, no, I’ve not come about that.’

  ‘Well, if you’re after borrowing the wetsuit, I’m afraid I dinnae have it anymore.’

  ‘More’s the pity, James. More’s the pity. There’s something you need to see, right away. It’s on the beach.’

  Chapter 11

  Were it not for the presence of the incongruous white privacy screens billowing in the breeze, the setting – with the afternoon sun bouncing off a calm sea and a clear, blue sky offering uninterrupted views across to Arran – would have been picture perfect. A handful of onlookers, intrigued by the arrival of several police officers, gathered on the esplanade to speculate on the origin of the flotsam or jetsam which lay hidden from view.

  Munro took a lungful of fresh air, nudged West with his elbow and nodded in the direction of the officers milling around on the beach.

  ‘I smell something fishy,’ he said, ‘and it’s not coming in off the Firth.’

  Cameron, catching his eye, left the group and dashed towards them.

  ‘Don,’ said Munro, ‘do you have a sixth sense?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘How did you know what was going on here?’

  ‘Pure luck, chief,’ said Cameron, buttoning his coat.

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘Aye. I was at the bookies, see, talking to the manager. Seems the only other person working there today who knew Agnes was Mary Campbell, she’s the lassie who found Agnes, remember?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Munro. ‘And?’

  ‘Her shift started at one o’clock so I hung around so’s we could have a chat but she never showed up, so I came to her house. Uniform were already here.’

  ‘I see. Quite a coincidence. And you’re sure it’s her?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Cameron, ‘I’m certain.’

  Munro, his eyes as cold as steel, fixed Cameron with a penetrating gaze.

  ‘Let me tell you something, Don,’ he said, menacingly, ‘there’s only two things in life of which you can be certain – gravity and death. And both will pull you to the ground. What’s the story?’

  Cameron fumbled for his notebook and flicked needlessly through the pages.

  ‘Well, I’ve interviewed her flatmate,’ he said, ‘fella by the name of Walker. According
to him, she came home last night just after half-eight, had some cheese and crackers, then a friend of hers turned up around nine. She had some bits and bobs for Mary, something to do with a college project – sketch pads, coloured pencils, arty stuff, that kind of thing.’

  ‘And did he know this friend?’ said West.

  ‘Nope. Never seen her before.’

  ‘Did he get her name?’

  ‘Er, no. He left them to it. Said they went to the beach to look at the stars and have a wee natter. He got up this morning and knocked her door but there was no reply so he figured he’d let her sleep and went back an hour later. That’s when he discovered her bed hadnae been slept in so he came down here.’

  ‘So it was Walker who found her?’ said West.

  ‘Aye, he’s fair shaken, understandably.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Munro, staring out to sea. ‘Understandably. Where does she stay?’

  ‘Not twenty seconds from here, chief,’ said Cameron, ‘Queens Terrace. Oh, one more thing, the manager at the bookies.’

  ‘What of him?’ said Munro.

  ‘He says he saw Mary arguing with some fella on the street as he was locking up last night, then they sort of made-up and walked off together.’

  ‘Boyfriend?’

  ‘Unlikely,’ said Cameron, ‘description matches our pal Max.’

  ‘What?’ said Munro. ‘Max? And you didnae think to say so earlier?’

  ‘Well, I was coming to it, chief, I’ve not had the chance to…’

  ‘See here, Don, this is what I need you to do, okay? One, get yourself back to Mary’s place and check her room. See if anything turns up. Two, look out for any cameras on the way and get the footage over to Dougal by this evening. I’ll give you a head start, there’s one in yon car park, got that? And three, pick up Max. I want him in the office by the time we get back. Understood?’

  ‘What’s up?’ said West, as Cameron disappeared from view.

  ‘I’m really not quite sure, Charlie. Suffice to say, the last time I felt like this, they offered me beta-blockers.’

  * * *

  Munro, hands clasped firmly behind his back, stood motionless as he surveyed the body, beset by rigor and coated with a fine dusting of sand. Five feet, six inches in length, or thereabouts; white trainers; navy blue duffle coat buttoned to the neck with the hood up and a scarf, tweed, wrapped around the head.

  ‘Well one thing’s for sure,’ he said, ‘she not rolled in with the tide. First assumptions Charlie?’

  ‘Doesn’t look right,’ said West, frowning as she waved a hand over the body, ‘the position she’s in.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, it was cold last night, cold enough to wear an overcoat, so even if she’d lain down cos… I don’t know, she was drunk or felt drowsy, she’d have curled up to keep warm or turned to face the wall to block out the wind.’

  ‘Aye, she’d not be lying flat on her back with her arms by her side. Good. What else?’

  ‘Gloves. It’s cold enough for a coat and scarf, but no gloves? Doesn’t add up. And one more thing – I think Don must have a sixth sense after all, I mean, how could he possibly know that this is Mary Campbell? She’s wrapped up like an Egyptian mummy, I mean, come on, you can barely see her eyes let alone her face.’

  Munro smiled as he snapped on a pair of gloves and crouched by the body before gently teasing the scarf from the face. Mary’s eyes, dark brown and bloodshot, stared back at him.

  ‘She didnae pass peacefully,’ he said softly, ‘she’s a look of fear about her.’

  Gripping the scarf between his thumb and forefinger, he glanced at West before taking a deep breath and, fearing the worst, pulled it tentatively down towards her chin. His shoulders slumped with a sigh of relief when he saw her mouth was intact.

  ‘Thank Christ for that,’ he whispered, pausing as he noticed the dried blood caked to the underside of the scarf.

  ‘Let me,’ said West as she knelt beside him and gently tugged it from her face, cringing at the sound of the woollen fibres as they tore themselves from the blood-encrusted wound on her neck.

  ‘She might have screamed,’ she said, ‘but with no vocal cords…’

  ‘Right enough,’ said Munro, leaning in for a closer look. ‘It’s a clean cut, Charlie. A single, clean cut. Just like Agnes. Whoever did this knows how to handle a blade.’

  ‘Think we’ve got a serial on our hands?’

  ‘Och, come on Charlie, you should know better than that,’ said Munro as he reached into one of the pockets on the duffle coat, ‘apart from the fact that these two girls knew each other, there’s absolutely nothing to suggest their deaths are connected in…’

  Munro hesitated as he retrieved a quarter bottle of vodka from the pocket, empty bar the usual couple of drops lingering at the bottom.

  ‘…unless, of course, this tests positive for ketamine that is. Bag it for the SOCO please, Charlie.’

  * * *

  Dougal, diligently monitoring the progress of the printer as it churned out the data sheets from the DVLA, allowed his mind to wander as he contemplated a weekend’s fishing on the banks Loch Doon with nothing for company but the osprey and hen harriers and a Tupperware box crammed full of beef paste sandwiches. His reverie was shattered as Cameron burst through the door and glanced around the office.

  ‘They’re not here,’ said Dougal.

  ‘What? Who?’

  ‘Munro and D.S. West, they’re away down the beach.’

  ‘I know where they are,’ said Cameron angrily, ‘I’ve just left them.’

  ‘What was it? They left in an awful hurry, is it another…’

  ‘I’ll tell you later. What’re you doing just now?’

  ‘Finally got that info from the DVLA,’ said Dougal, ‘I never realised the Astra was so popular, it seems so nondescript. I’ve never noticed them before.’

  ‘Och, get a life Dougal,’ said Cameron, sweating, ‘listen, check your inbox later, there’s footage from another camera coming to you. I’ve an errand to run just now so that’s me away. Oh, by the way, that Max fella is downstairs in the interview room. If the chief’s not back in half an hour, go check on him, okay?’

  ‘Nae bother, sir. Shall I say where you’re…?’

  Dougal stared at the door as it slammed shut, shrugged his shoulders and returned to collating the print-outs. He checked his watch, considered looking in on Max but thought the better of it as Munro and West, looking jaded and worn, returned from the beach.

  ‘Dougal,’ said Munro as he slumped in a chair, ‘before we do anything else, is there a half decent hotel nearby? I simply cannae face the drive back tonight and Charlie here is liable to fall asleep at the wheel.’

  ‘Aye, there’s the Ayrshire and Galloway, it’s not far. I’ll see if they have a couple of rooms. You’ll like it there, good food too. Hold on.’

  West, desperate for some kind of refreshment, switched the kettle on, opened the fridge and, in the absence of any milk, turned it off again.

  ‘Hope they’ve got a bloody big bar,’ she said with a sigh.

  ‘All done,’ said Dougal. ‘It’s under your name, sir, two singles.’

  ‘Much obliged. Now, has D.S. Cameron been back?’

  ‘You’ve just missed him, sir. Said he had an errand to run and to let you know Max is downstairs waiting for you. He also said I’m to expect some more CCTV footage but didnae say what or why.’

  Munro wiped his face with his hands and sighed.

  ‘It’ll be from a camera by the beach, Dougal, the car park. I’m sorry to say we’ve another body. Agnes’s friend, Mary Campbell.’

  ‘That’s too bad,’ said Dougal, ‘really, I mean, who would want to do such a thing? It’s not natural.’

  ‘Agreed, laddie. Agreed. Anyway, see if you can spot anything, will you? Not now, of course. It’s late, you take yourself off.’

  ‘But what about Max? Do you need me to…?’

  ‘No worries, Dougal, thanks,’ said W
est, smiling appreciatively, ‘we just need a quick chat concerning his whereabouts last night, won’t take long, then we’ll be off too.’

  * * *

  Max, seated with his back to the door, was trying his best to overcome an attack of the jitters. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and concentrated all his efforts on remaining calm as he waited patiently for someone to arrive. His head twitched at the sound of the door opening.

  ‘Apologies for calling you back so soon, Max,’ said Munro as he walked around the desk, ‘but we just need a quick… what in the name of God happened to you?’

  Max stared blankly at Munro, then at West. A soft, nervous grin creased his face.

  ‘You know,’ he said, lowering his head, ‘the first time I came here, I did so of my own accord. If you wanted to see me again, all you had to do was ask.’

  ‘I don’t follow,’ said West, gazing intently at his swollen eye, half-closed due to the purple, golf ball-sized bruise to his right cheek, ‘I thought D.S. Cameron was picking you up?’

  ‘D.S. Cameron? You mean Al Pacino in the leather jacket? Oh, he came to the office, right enough. He barged through the door and before I knew what was happening, he grabbed the back of my head and slammed it into the desk, then dragged me out by my collar.’

  ‘He did what?’ said Munro, clearly agitated.

  ‘Can anyone corroborate this?’ said West.

  ‘Aye. Lizzie. She was screaming her head off. In fact, she went ballistic, I’ve never seen her so angry.’

  ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘The boss. He’s not impressed, probably thinks I’m mixed up in some gangland feud or something.’

  ‘Okay,’ said West. ‘Look, I may need a statement off them at some point but in the meantime, we’ll get that looked at before you go.’

  ‘No, no, you’re alright,’ said Max. ‘I’ll survive.’

  ‘Can I get you a drink, then? Cup of sweet tea, it’ll do you good?’

  ‘Thanks. I think I’ll wait until I get home, have something a wee bit stronger.’

  Munro leaned back, folded his arms and regarded Max with a look of sympathy.

  ‘I’m shocked,’ he said softly, shaking his head. ‘No. Abhorred. Aye, that’s the word. Abhorred. Do you want to press charges?’