‘There you go,’ said West as he left the room, ‘things are on the up. Maybe you should ask for a rise.’
‘I’m not sure retired officers are eligible, lassie,’ said Munro as Dougal returned, ‘in fact, I’m not sure they’re even supposed to be working.’
‘Okay, who’s the bocadillo and who’s the baguette?’ said Dougal, a look on confusion on his face as he spied the empty mug.
‘I’ll take the ham and cheese,’ said Munro, ‘Charlie here needs the protein.’
‘Very good,’ said Dougal, ‘so what’s next?’
‘Storage unit up by the ferry terminal. Keys are with Dubrowski’s belongings. Take a look, will you? We’re away to see Heather Buchanan just now, time she found out what happened to her husband.’
‘Hold tight,’ said West, taking an over-generous bite and wiping a dollop of brown sauce from the corner of her mouth, ‘I have to make a call before we go.’
* * *
The afternoon sun, though not exactly tropical, was warm enough to draw a sizeable crowd of alfresco diners to Carducci’s on Prestwick Cross where the die-hard traditionalists tucked into plates of square sausage, black pudding, eggs, bacon and tattie scones alongside those with a more adventurous palate who winced as they found the pollo arrabiata too spicy for their underdeveloped taste buds.
Clare MacAllister, whose management skills were limited to opening the café at seven a.m., cashing up at close of play and reserving the best table for “staff” sat supervising a latte, her face hidden by a pair of over-sized sunglasses like some forgotten actress dining out on “used-to-be” in the once fashionable Juan-les-Pins. She stubbed out her cigarette, tucked a tress of auburn hair behind her ear and answered the phone, holding it to her lips like a calorie-laden flapjack she was unsure about eating.
‘Clare MacAllister,’ she said brashly as if it were her agent offering her a career-reviving role, ‘how can I help?’
‘DS West. Alright to talk?’
‘Well I am rather busy just now but go ahead.’
‘It’s about Mr Dubrowski.’
‘Oh aye, Tomek. I expect he’s been asking for me.’
‘No. He hasn’t.’
‘Oh.’
‘I understand you found him his last job,’ said West, ‘the one delivering parcels. Is that right?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’
‘What manner exactly?’
‘Well it wasnae me who gave him the job, exactly,’ said MacAllister, ‘I was asked to find out if he’d be interested.’
‘Who asked you?’
‘Mr Buchanan,’ said MacAllister.
‘You’re sure about that?’
‘Oh aye. It was Mr Buchanan who asked me to find him a job here in the first place. Well, told me more like. And when I said I had to let him go because he didnae have his paperwork in order, he mentioned the courier job.’
‘But why Tomek?’ said West. ‘I mean he must’ve known he doesn’t own a car.’
‘Right enough, but he’s clever like that, Tomek. That’s why he took the job with Kestrel, just so’s he could get his hands on a motor.’
‘And I don’t suppose you happen to know how he and Mr Buchanan met?’
‘No idea, but I do know Tomek used to drive for them,’ said MacAllister, ‘way back when, for him and Mr Carducci I mean. They hired him to fetch stuff from Italy apparently, that’s what he told me anyway, but that was years ago. I reckon Mr Buchanan has a wee soft spot for him because they’ve stayed in touch ever since.’
‘And how often do you see Mr Buchanan?’
‘Once in a blue moon, if that. He’s not one for popping over if you know what I mean, that’s more Mr Carducci’s line.’
‘He likes to keep an eye on the business?’ said West.
‘Carducci? The waitresses more like. He’s an eye for the ladies, that one.’
‘So you haven’t seen Mr Buchanan recently then?’
‘No,’ said MacAllister, ‘we just have a wee natter on the phone every now and then.’
‘And the last time you spoke?’
‘That’ll be when he got me to ask Tomek if he wanted the courier job.’
‘Okay, one more thing, Miss MacAllister; these parcels Mr Dubrowski picked up, any idea what was in them?’
‘No idea, hen, and to be honest, I’m not really interested.’
* * *
Munro paused on the forecourt outside the office, zipped up his jacket and fumbled in his pocket for his car keys, frowning as he caught sight of a gangly, dishevelled miscreant lurking in the privet bounding the car park.
‘Would you look at that?’ he said, shaking his head. ‘The bare-faced cheek of it, I mean, hanging around the police office of all places, has the man no shame?’
West gazed towards the hedge, swallowed hard and glanced furtively at Munro.
‘Are you okay, Charlie?’ he said. ‘You seem pre-occupied, something bothering you?’
‘No, I’m fine,’ said West, forcing a smile. ‘Actually, no. I’m not. It’s my ex. He showed up earlier.’
‘Showed up? Here? Dear, dear, dear. How on earth did he know you’d moved?’
‘God knows. Asked around apparently.’
‘I see. I assume you’ve spoken to him then?’ said Munro. ‘What’s he after, some kind of reconciliation?’
‘Nope. Hand-outs. Daddy’s cut off his allowance and now he’s skint and looking for somewhere to stay.’
‘And he’s hoping that you’re the good Samaritan.’
‘Something like that.’
‘And are you?’
‘You what?’ said West incredulously. ‘You mean let bygones be bygones after what he did to me? Come on, Jimbo, you know what a shit he is. He’s bad news. He can fester for all I care.’
Munro drew a breath and solemnly shook his head.
‘In all the time I’ve heard you speak of him,’ he said, ‘I never once realised things were that bad between you.’
‘They weren’t, I suppose,’ said West, ‘but things are different now. Let’s just say he’s developed a… problem.’
‘Oh?’
‘More of a habit actually.’
‘I see. And would this habit be of the alcoholic variety?’
‘And the rest.’
‘I take it he’s had a wasted journey then?’
‘He’s had a wasted life, Jimbo. If I ever see him again, it’ll be too soon.’
‘Well good for you, lassie,’ said Munro. ‘There comes a time when we all have to move on.’
‘I thought I had.’
‘You have, Charlie, which is why you’ll not let this bother you. Just out of interest, where is he now?’
West lowered her face and spoke quietly into her collar.
‘He’s over there,’ she said sheepishly. ‘By the hedge.’
Munro, momentarily lost for words, stood open-mouthed, gawping at West.
‘Him?’ he said, flabbergasted. ‘That’s Toby Lyndhurst? Dear God, I’m not being funny, lassie, but when was the last time you had your eyes tested?’
West laughed quietly to herself.
‘He never used to look like that,’ she said, smiling, ‘the bloke I was engaged to was actually quite good looking.’
‘Has he been harassing you?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Not really?’
‘He can be a bit… stubborn.’
‘Does he know where you stay?’ said Munro.
‘No.’
‘Okay, here. Take the keys and wait in the car.’
‘But I was going to take mine,’ said West.
‘You listen to me, Charlie, if he sees your car and realises it’s not Noddy behind the wheel you’ll not remain a needle in the haystack for long.’
‘Good point.’
‘Now, on you go. I’ll be along in a moment.’
* * *
Toby, noticing the figure striding casually across the car park was heading directly towards him considered be
ating a hasty retreat but, believing himself to be as invincible as a member of the House of Lords caught taking cocaine in a pole-dancing club, opted to stand his ground instead.
‘Mr Lyndhurst?’ said Munro, as he approached. ‘Mr Toby Lyndhurst?’
‘Who’s asking?’ said Toby, a cocky grin smeared across his face.
‘I am. Munro’s the name. James Munro.’
‘Let me guess. Cop.’
‘Correct. Mind if I have a wee word?’
‘Actually, yeah I do. I haven’t done anything wrong so why don’t you piss off back to where you...’
‘Trespassing,’ said Munro. ‘There’s trespassing, loitering with intent, and vagrancy. I think that’s enough to get us inside.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘And once inside we’ll take a wee look through your pockets, may even treat you to a cavity search if you’re lucky and if we find anything…’
‘Personal use, Plod. Can’t do me for that.’
‘Oh, but I can, laddie, and rest assured, if all I find is the tiniest, weeniest crumb, I will do you for intent to supply as well. Do I make myself clear?’
‘God, you’re boring,’ said Toby. ‘Anything else?’
‘No, no, I think that’s it. Oh, hold on, I almost forgot. Harassing a police officer.’
‘Harassing a… you’re the one who’s… oh I get it! Charlotte, right? She’s put you up to this, hasn’t she?’
‘No, no,’ said Munro, ‘I thought of it all by myself. I’m clever like that. So, here’s the deal, you have two options. Option one gets you a roof over your head, a decent meal and an unlimited supply of nausea, vomiting, diarrhoea, muscle cramps, sweats and blinding headaches as you start to experience withdrawal symptoms from the junk you’ve been pumping into your body. Option two is the opportunity to walk away now.’
‘Nah, don’t think I fancy either of those,’ said Toby as he pulled a crumpled cigarette butt from his pocket, ‘think I’ll just stay here for a bit. Wait for Charlotte.’
Munro took a single pace forward forcing Toby back into hedge, his arms flailing as he struggled to stay upright.
‘See here, Mr Lyndhurst,’ said Munro, gritting his teeth as he pulled him up by the collar, his cold blue eyes drilling menacingly into his, ‘I’m not in the habit of repeating myself. I said. Start. Walking.’
* * *
Munro took the keys from West, fastened his seat belt and started the engine.
‘He’ll not be back,’ he said matter of factly, a subtle smile raising one corner of his mouth.
‘Oh God, please say you haven’t threatened him with a trip to the ICU?’
‘Me? Och, Charlie, I thought you knew me better than that. I just gave him some friendly advice, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, course you did, Jimbo. Course you did.’
Chapter 11
Throughout her entire forty-two-year marriage, Heather Buchanan had remained fiercely independent and enjoyed an active social life which normally involved consuming copious amounts of sponge cake washed down with endless cups of tea whilst Angus, being of a similar disposition, galavanted around Europe chasing golf balls across some distant fairway. However, without the security of knowing exactly where he was, who he was with and how to contact him, she was floundering in the void left by his absence. With no-one to cook for, no-one to clear up after and no-one to argue with, she was happy to embrace any distraction that came her way, even the sight of a police officer pulling up outside her front door.
‘Good afternoon, Inspector,’ she said with a welcoming smile, ‘I see you’ve brought a friend.’
‘Aye, this is Detective Sergeant West,’ said Munro, ‘she’s leading the investigation into your husband’s disappearance.’
‘Well you’re most welcome, the pair of you. Come along inside and make yourselves at home. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure? Are you standing in for social services or have you brought some news?’
‘We have,’ said Munro, ‘but if it’s okay with you, we’ve a couple of questions we’d like to ask first.’
‘In that case I’ll bring some refreshment, what can I get you?’
‘I’ll have a coffee please,’ said West, ‘if it’s not too much trouble.’
‘No trouble at all, dear. Inspector?’
‘No, you’re alright, thanks Heather. Is your friend Mrs Carducci not with you?’
‘Not just now. Dare say I’ll see her later, no doubt. Milk, sugar?’
‘One sugar, thanks,’ said West, calling to the kitchen. ‘Mrs Buchanan, do you know if Angus knew anyone from Europe, anyone he might have stayed in touch with?’
Heather laughed as she returned with a mug of instant.
‘Europe? Angus knew everyone from Europe, hen. What do you expect working on the docks?’
‘Yeah, of course. But I mean, what about Scandinavia? Did he know anyone from say, Norway, for example?’
‘Norway?’
‘Aye,’ said Munro, ‘see Heather, we’re just wondering if he was pals with a fellow by the name of Gundersen. Lars Gundersen.’
‘Lars! Goodness me,’ said Heather as if she’d just remembered she’d left the bath running, ‘why yes, indeed. Och, he was such a good friend, I’ve often wondered what happened him.’
‘Happened?’ said West. ‘How’d you mean?’
‘Well, he just stopped coming round all of a sudden. I assumed he and Angus had had a falling out over something but Angus never mentioned it so I thought I’d just keep quiet, you know how it is.’
‘So, this Lars Gundersen and your husband,’ said Munro, ‘they were good friends, would you say?’
‘Oh aye, them and Remo. The three musketeers.’
‘How did they meet?’
‘On the docks of course,’ said Heather. ‘It was Lars who Angus and Remo hired to fetch the groceries from Italy.’
‘But that was years ago,’ said West.
‘Aye, but Lars kept driving for them even when that stopped. I daren’t ask why but you know Angus and Remo. Fingers and pies, right?’
‘Right. So he was still around then?’
‘He was,’ said Heather, ‘it was Lars who got them into golfing in Norway, the three of them used to go together.’
‘Must have been expensive with all those flights and stuff,’ said West.
‘Somehow they always managed to get a deal. They even slummed it in the back of Lars’s van a few times and travelled on one of the cargo ships.’
‘Boys, eh?’ said West. ‘What are they like? Do you remember the last time you saw him? Lars? Just roughly.’
‘Goodness me, now that is a question,’ said Heather. ‘Couple of years or thereabouts I’d say. Is it important?’
‘Not sure yet,’ said West, offering a reassuring smile. ‘We’ll see.’
‘Well give him my best if you find him. So, Inspector, you said you had some news?’
‘Aye,’ said Munro clearing his throat, ‘and I’m afraid it’s not good.’
Heather looked him in the eye and paused as she bolstered herself.
‘He’s dead, isn’t he?’ she said, abruptly. ‘Och, it’s alright Inspector. To be perfectly honest, I’ve been expecting it.’
‘You have?’
‘I think so. Although hearing it now, you know, I’m not so sure.’
‘Will I fetch you a drink? A brandy perhaps?’
‘I think… yes. Thank you.’
‘Thing is, Heather, we cannae be certain it’s Angus. Not yet,’ said Munro, handing her a glass. ‘Would you be willing to view the body, to make a formal ID?’
‘Of course, Inspector,’ said Heather, downing her brandy. ‘Of course. Is he far?’
‘Glasgow. We’ll run you there and back of course and if you like, you can bring a friend, Mrs Carducci perhaps? It’s best to have some support at times like this.’
‘Thank you, Inspector. That might be a comfort. When will we go?’
‘Whenever you feel up to it. Tomorrow o
r the day after if that’s not too soon.’
‘No, no. Tomorrow will be fine.’
‘Will you be okay?’ said West, ‘I mean, I can arrange for someone to come over and keep you company for a bit, if you like?’
‘No, no. I think I’d prefer to be on my own just now. Besides, Anita will be along soon enough. I’ll be fine. Honestly. Just fine.’
* * *
West, as green at dealing with bereavements as Munro was experienced, sat in silence and waited until they’d reached the end of Dalhowan Street before speaking.
‘Tough old bird, isn’t she?’ she said, mournfully.
‘Aye. But dinnae be deceived,’ said Munro, ‘she’s not as hard as she seems. I can almost guarantee she’s bawling into her handkerchief as we speak. And I’ll not blame her for that.’
‘She shouldn’t be alone. Not at a time like this.’
‘Folk have different ways of coping, Charlie. I’m sure she knows what’s best for her.’
‘Yeah, maybe,’ said West, deflated. ‘So, what shall we do now to cheer ourselves up?’
‘I always find a good film never fails to lift the spirits,’ said Munro, ‘something like Watership Down perhaps.’
‘Dalbair Road it is, then.’
* * *
Munro parked the car, slouched back in his seat and regarded the building opposite with a look of mild bewilderment.
‘Are you sure this is it?’ he said, frowning as he glanced up and down the street in search of a more suitable address.
‘Yup. Positive,’ said West.
‘But a hair salon? And not just any salon mind, but one called “Ayr Raising”. Doesnae inspire confidence in the establishment.’
‘Could be worse,’ said West.
‘How on earth could it possibly be worse?’
‘Could be called “Loch Tress”.’
‘Dear God.’
‘Lunatic Fringe.’
‘Have you finished?’
‘Hair of the dog.’
‘I’m going inside.’
* * *
The salon – either stuck in a time warp or cleverly designed to cater specifically for a more mature clientele – was an homage to the kitsch and glitz of a bygone era with gilt-framed mirrors, vinyl-upholstered chairs, hood hair dryers and a reception desk which looked more like a 1950s cocktail bar. The young girl barely visible behind it reluctantly closed her dog-eared copy of OK! Magazine, forced a smile and offered the kind of enthusiastic greeting normally reserved for customers who were hard of hearing.
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