‘She did,’ said Duncan. ‘Not only was it the second time she’d been caught carrying khat, which would’ve been enough to send her down anyway, but she claimed she was looking after it for a friend who’d told her it was basil and when she refused to name him, or her, that was it, game over.’
‘Well I doubt she’ll find any in the fruit and veg aisle here,’ said West. ‘I wonder what she’s waiting for.’
‘I’m guessing a taxi to take her back to Belmont.’
‘Does she live alone?’
‘Apparently. Though how she pays the rent is anyone’s guess.’
Bemused by the sight of a gleaming white coupé with tinted windows crawling towards the entrance, Duncan reached for his phone and called the office as it drew to a halt by the ATM.
‘I don’t know about you, miss,’ he said as Riley popped her bags in the boot, ‘but that’s not the kind of minicab I’m used to seeing around here. Dougal, I’ve got an index for you, quick as you can please, pal.’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘Papa, X-ray, two-zero, Yankee, Tango, Delta.’
‘Give me a minute.’
Duncan, geared up for a discreet pursuit, turned to West and smiled.
‘Will we follow?’
West pondered for moment.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to spook them. Let’s do our research first. We can pay them a visit once we know who the owner is.’
‘Are you there?’ said Dougal.
‘Aye, you’re on speaker, fire away.’
‘It’s a Lexus RC. The registered keeper stays in Belmont. Burnside Road.’
‘But that’s Riley’s address,’ said Duncan. ‘Are you sure about that?’
‘That’s what is says here.’
‘Who’s the owner?’
‘A Mr Daniel McIntyre.’
‘Run a check please,’ said West. ‘I want everything you can find on him. Who knows, he might be the bloke she refused to name.’
‘No bother,’ said Dougal. ‘Listen, are you two heading back here?’
‘Not if I can help it, it’s getting late. Why?’
‘The boss has been in touch, he’ll be here any minute.’
‘Jimbo? What’s he doing coming over at this time of day?’
‘I think he’s got a wee sniff of something, miss. I had to do some digging for him. Oh, and he says he’ll be needing a bed for the night.’
Duncan flipped the key in the ignition and laughed.
‘I get the feeling we’re about to get roped into something we know nothing about.’
‘You and me both,’ said West. ‘Okay, tell him to meet me at mine, and if he hasn’t got wine, he’s not getting in.’
Chapter 3
Following the untimely passing of his beloved wife some years earlier, Munro – keen to maintain a sense of purpose in his life – had flatly refused the offer of compassionate leave in favour of relocating, albeit temporarily, to London where, secure in his anonymity, a serendipitous meeting with a young Charlotte West had provided a much needed diversion from the anguish of having to deal with the commiserations and condolences of neighbours, friends, and fellow officers.
Thrown together to investigate the case of a missing person, West – desperately trying to survive the emotional trauma of a broken engagement to a philandering fiancé whilst failing to cope with sexist colleagues who harangued her ruthlessly with erroneous claims of incompetence – would have suffered an irreversible breakdown were it not for Munro’s timely intervention.
Detecting a resilience beneath her crumbling exterior, he exercised his right as her superior to administer a well-aimed kick in the pants, a course of action which, though repetitive, boosted her confidence and set her on the way to fulfilling her potential.
However, fearful that his departure might invoke a return to her former vodka-dependant self, he’d cajoled her into joining him on secondment north of the border where, upon accepting the offer of a permanent position, she grafted relentlessly before filling his shoes as a no-nonsense if not headstrong DI.
* * *
Enticed by the tantalising aroma of two twenty-eight-day dry-aged cuts of sirloin, Murdo, suffering from a sudden bout of selective hearing, ignored the call to heel, dashed through the open door, and headed straight for the kitchen leaving Munro cursing in his wake.
‘Just what I need,’ said West, grinning as she eyed the bottle.
‘A disobedient puppy?’ said Munro.
‘A hair of the dog. You’re looking well.’
‘And you’re looking tired, Charlie.’
‘Charming,’ said West, as she handed him a corkscrew. ‘I’ve been stuck in the car all day.’
‘How so?’
‘Keeping tabs on some no-mark with a taste for life’s little luxuries.’
‘And why is he of interest?’
‘She,’ said West. ‘Because she’s done time for possession, more than once I might add, and it seems she just can’t kick the habit.’
‘Dear, dear,’ said Munro, handing her a glass. ‘The thing about easy street, Charlie, is it’s not easy at all. Your very good health.’
‘We know that, but they never learn, do they? Cheers.’
West, whose repertoire in the kitchen was limited to anything involving protein and the minimum amount of washing-up, slipped the steaks under the grill, joined Munro at the table, and gave him a knowing look.
‘Come on, then,’ she said, sipping the wine. ‘Let’s have it.’
‘Have what, Charlie?’
‘You were on the blower to Dougal earlier. What’s going on?’
‘Just a body,’ said Munro.
‘You should be used to that by now.’
‘Not one done up like a scarecrow, I’m not.’
‘Come again?’
‘A lassie by the name of Rebecca Barlow, found dead in a garden strapped to a couple of poles with her arms outstretched.’
West leaned back in her seat, her cheeks billowing as she heaved a sigh.
‘Now that,’ she said, ‘sounds creepy. What did she do to deserve that?’
‘I’ve no idea. At this stage all we have is an address. As yet, her background, marital status, and occupation remain unknown.’
‘Cause of death?’
‘Also unknown. But I’ll tell you this,’ said Munro, ‘it’s not the fact that she was made to look like a dress rehearsal for events at Golgotha that intrigues me. It’s the fact that she was staked on the site of a rowan.’
‘You’ve lost me,’ said West. ‘What’s a rowan?’
‘A tree.’
‘And that’s important?’
‘It could be,’ said Munro, ‘if you believe in folklore, that is.’
‘Go on.’
Munro swigged his wine, placed his hands palm down on the table, and settled back as if regaling a book at bedtime.
‘As far as we Celts are concerned, the rowan is regarded as, shall we say, special. Sacred, if you will. It can live for as long as two hundred years and thrive at an altitude where nothing else will grow.’
‘Fascinating,’ said West, facetiously. ‘Is that it?’
‘It will be if you interrupt again.’
‘Sorry.’
‘They’re said to protect the living from the dead and as such, they’ve been planted for centuries to ward off changelings and to keep evil spirits at bay. The wood itself was used to fashion coffins, crucifixes, and amulets. To use it for any other purpose was, and still is, frowned upon to say the least.’
‘So where is this leading us?’
‘Luck,’ said Munro. ‘Or the lack of it. To cut down a rowan is considered extremely bad luck. The belief is that such an action could unleash a barrage of catastrophic events, even death.’
‘So you’re telling me this girl died because she chopped down a rowan?’
‘I’m saying nothing of the sort, Charlie, but instinct tells me that the felling of that tree is somehow related to her d
eath, in a symbolic way perhaps, but related all the same.’
‘I’m surprised,’ said West, grinning as she turned the steaks, ‘you’re normally so rational. I’d dig out that rabbit’s foot if I were you. So, what was Dougal looking for?’
‘I asked him to run a wee check on the gentleman who found the body. He stays here, in Ayr. I’m of a mind to have a wee chat before the chaps at The Mount get their hands on him.’
‘Good luck with that,’ said West. ‘You’ll have to get it past The Bear first.’
‘You’re forgetting, Charlie, DCI Elliot and myself go way back, I’m sure he’ll be most accommodating.’
‘Well, I hope you’re right, because if the boys in Dumfries find out you’ve been meddling in their inquiry without their approval then your days as a volunteer are well and truly numbered.’
‘I’ve already met the senior investigating officer,’ said Munro. ‘We got along famously.’
‘Maybe, but what makes you so sure he won’t go ballistic when you start treading on his toes?’
‘Because he’s in much the same boat you were, Charlie, when we met. Only without the alcohol. Or the fiancé.’
‘Thanks for reminding me.’
‘He’s a novice. Keen but inexperienced. He’ll appreciate all the help he can get.’
‘Well just don’t expect any help from me,’ said West, ‘or Duncan, or Dougal, we’ve got enough on our plates and… just a bloomin’ moment! What the hell do you mean; the lads at The Mount? Just where exactly was this body?’
‘Auchencairn.’
‘Auchencairn? What the hell were you doing in Auchencairn?’
‘Viewing a house.’
West paused as a look of enlightenment crossed her face, reached for her wine, and scowled at Munro.
‘You went to see that house, didn’t you?’ she said accusingly. ‘The one we looked at together months and months ago.’
‘If you’re referring to the one you were hankering after but couldnae afford, then aye, I was.’
‘Why?’
‘To see if it was up to scratch. And it is. So I’ve made an offer.’
‘Oh that’s nice!’ said West. ‘Here am I looking for a cottage with a garden and you go and snap it up!’
‘You said yourself you couldnae afford it. But I can.’
‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this.’
‘By my reckoning, once the sale has gone through, it’ll only take a month or so to see to the roof and have the boiler installed so you should be able to move in by the spring.’
‘That’s all very well for you to say but… hang on, me? Me move in?’
‘Aye,’ said Munro, ‘you. See here, Charlie, as you know, I’ve nae family and without wanting to sound morbid, who knows how long I’ve got. I’d rather my money was put to use now rather than have it squandered when I’m gone.’
West – confused, surprised, and uncharacteristically speechless – stared blankly at Munro and drained her glass.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ she said. ‘No. Sorry, Jimbo, it’s a lovely offer but no. It doesn’t seem right.’
‘Well if I dinnae sign it over to you, Charlie, the taxman will take it and sell it on to someone who doesnae deserve it.’
‘It still doesn’t seem right. It’s like… it’s like charity.’
‘Och, you’ll not be getting it for nothing,’ said Munro. ‘I propose you pay some rent until all the paperwork is done.’
‘Here we go.’
‘A peppercorn rent. I was thinking twenty-five pounds.’
‘A week?’
‘No, no. A year.’
‘Are you mad?’
‘A question that’s been levelled at me several times and the answer is no. You need a house of your own, Charlie. This place has gone downhill since you moved in.’
‘Thanks very much.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Can I think about it?’
‘Take as long as you like,’ said Munro, ‘you’ll be getting it anyway, the only difference is, if you wait until I’m gone, then you’ll have inheritance tax to pay. By the way, there is just one condition.’
‘I knew there’d be a catch.’
‘If they should plant me before wee Murdo here, then he’s not to go to a home. You’re to look after him. The proceeds from the sale of my house in Carsethorn will pay for his keep.’
‘I’m glad you came over, Jimbo. Cheered me right up, you have.’
‘I do my best. And who knows, once you’ve settled into a place of your own, you might feel more inclined to settle down.’
West topped up their glasses and took a large slug.
‘That,’ she said, ‘is not going to happen anytime soon.’
‘Oh? How so?’
‘I took your advice and invited Andy over.’
‘Mr McLeod, our favourite pathologist? Good for you, lassie, I’m glad. He’s had the hots for you for quite some time.’
‘I know,’ said West, ‘and last night I realised his feelings for me were unrequited.’
‘That,’ said Munro, ‘is a shame. I hope things didn’t get too… out of hand.’
‘They didn’t get anywhere. I kicked him out after dinner and now I feel guilty. Bottom line is, Jimbo, I just couldn’t bear it, him being here, anyone being here, all lovey-dovey that is. I think I like being on my own too much.’
‘It’s no surprise,’ said Munro. ‘After what you’ve been through, you’re just protecting yourself. Perhaps you should buy yourself a rowan to plant in your new garden, just to be sure.’
Chapter 4
Surrounded by the gloom of a darkened room with the cool, eerie glow of two computers illuminating the gaunt features of his sun-starved face, Dougal – on to his second litre of Irn-Bru and last slice of cold pizza – squinted at the screen and groaned as he tried in vain to identify the pixelated image of a woven trademark, his frustration peaking as the sound of footsteps along the corridor broke his concentration.
‘Is it that time already?’ he said as Duncan, balancing four takeaway coffees and a paper carrier bag edged his way through the door.
‘It’s the back of seven. Have you been here all night?’
‘Aye.’
‘How so?’
‘This came in yesterday,’ said Dougal as he rewound the footage from a CCTV camera. ‘See this roofless fella? It’s 11:40pm and he’s cooried down in a doorway having a wee kip. He’s not doing anyone any harm.’
‘I feel for him,’ said Duncan. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t freeze to death.’
‘Aye, now watch. Suddenly he’s set upon by some ned who’s using him for target practice.’
‘Oh! That’s out of order! What kind of twisted pleasure can anyone get from kicking some defenceless fella in the back!’
‘Search me,’ said Dougal.
‘Well something’s wound him up, that’s for sure. What’s the betting that dobber just lost all his dole on the horses. Or just split up with his girlfriend. Or got barred from the pub. Or all three. In that order. Is the homeless fella alright?’
‘I think so,’ said Dougal. ‘When the ned takes off, he just curls up and goes to sleep. Come the morning he’s gone. I checked with the infirmary and no-one matching his description’s been admitted to A&E.’
‘I despair. So you’re trying to identify the assailant, is that it?’
‘Aye. The problem is, Duncan, what with the weather and all, he’s done up like a ninja and he’s got his back to the camera. All I’ve got to go on so far is this bleary image of a logo on his jacket. It looks like “FIR” or “FIRL”.’
Duncan took a step back and narrowed his eyes as he focused on the screen.
‘That’s not a fancy coat like the ones you’re used to wearing,’ he said. ‘Firetrap. That logo, it says “FIRETRAP”.’
‘I’ve not heard of it.’
‘Budget clothing, pal. The only place I know that sells those is the big sports retailer in t
he town. Where did this happen?’
‘Braehead.’
‘There you go. The lad’s a local. Any other cameras along the way?’
‘Aye, a couple,’ said Dougal, ‘but I’ve not secured the footage yet.’
‘There’s some council houses nearby; Glenmuir Road and Ferguson Street. I’m not one to cast aspersions but I’d not be surprised if he lives round there.’
Duncan plucked a toastie from the carrier bag and placed it on the desk.
‘Here,’ he said, ‘I reckon you’ve earned this. Sausage, red sauce, and your favourite caramel cappuccino.’
‘Oh, you’re alright,’ said Dougal. ‘I’ve still some pizza left.’
‘You’re unbelievable, pal. How you’ve not caught scurvy or salmonella by now is beyond me.’
‘I think it’s what they call a cast-iron constitution. Are you stopping long?’
‘We need to visit the Riley girl but I’m not going yet, I’ll wait until it’s light outside, you know what folk are like, if the neighbours hear me chapping her door when it’s still as black as night, the curtains will be twitching the length of the street.’
‘Right enough,’ said Dougal, ‘and the way you’re dressed they’ll probably think you’ve come to collect a debt or break somebody’s kneecaps.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
* * *
Although Dougal, a keen fisherman and all-round nature lover had been fortunate enough to witness the majesty of a golden eagle gliding on the thermals above Kirriereoch Hill and pouting brown trout nibbling his bait on the surface of a moonlit loch, face-to-face encounters with even the most docile of dogs left him quaking in his boots.
Terrified his ankles might make an appetising alternative to his usual bowl of dried kibble, he discreetly lifted his legs from the floor as Murdo, nose to the ground, scampered around the office in search of something edible.
‘You’re in early,’ said West, pulling up a chair. ‘What’s going on?’
‘He’s not been home, miss,’ said Duncan. ‘The man’s pure frazzled. Chief, nice to see you! Are you okay?’
‘Couldn’t be better,’ said Munro. ‘And yourself?’
‘Aye, all good. Okay for Murdo to have a wee piece of sausage?’
‘Aye, but I’d toss it to the ground if I were you or he’ll have your fingers off as well. Incidentally, I could go one of those myself.’
PENURY: A bizarre death tests Scotland’s finest (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 12) Page 3
