PENURY: A bizarre death tests Scotland’s finest (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 12)

by Pete Brassett

  ‘Don’t we all. Well, I shall leave you in peace. I’m grateful for your time, Mr MacDuff. And for the tea, of course.’

  ‘No bother, and you were right, it has helped to talk it through. A problem shared, right?’

  ‘Indeed. You can tell DI Byrne I was asking for him when he arrives.’

  * * *

  Finding MacDuff to be an affable if not hospitable witness with a willingness to co-operate, an inexperienced Munro may have been satisfied with the outcome of their meeting, however, with a non-harassment order already compromising his integrity, a less than convincing explanation for his presence on the upper floor of the hotel, and an eagerness to divulge the details of his gruesome discovery with an unidentified member of the force, MacDuff left him rankled.

  Surmising that anyone with the ability to successfully stalk their estranged spouse undetected might also possess the cunning to deceive even the most trusting of folk, Munro reversed down the street, parked on the corner, and called the office.

  ‘Duncan,’ he said, ‘have you not left yet?’

  ‘We’re on our way now. How’d it go with you?’

  ‘Aye, as planned. Can I have a word with Dougal?’

  ‘He’s away, chief. The fella needs to get some sleep.’

  ‘Then a wee favour before you go,’ said Munro. ‘Call The Mount and ask for a DI Byrne. Tell him to ring me, would you? I dinnae have his number.’

  ‘Roger that, chief.’

  ‘And if you see George on your way out, tell him I’ll be needing a word, as soon as possible.’

  Fighting the urge to clamber into the back seat for a sly snooze, Munro – cynical of the benefits of what was widely referred to as a ‘power nap’ – took a newspaper from the glove compartment and perused the cryptic clues for the previous day’s crossword while he waited for the call.

  ‘Mr Munro,’ said Byrne, excitedly. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘It sounds like I should be asking you the same question.’

  ‘Oh, you know what it’s like. I can’t afford to put a foot wrong at the moment.’

  ‘Can you talk?’

  ‘Aye, I’m outside. And I’m wishing I’d brought my hat.’

  ‘Then I’ll not keep you long,’ said Munro. ‘Are you making progress?’

  ‘Of sorts. You were right about the trees behind the hotel. They were cut down the day before Barlow was found.’

  ‘So you’ve spoken to the gardener?’

  ‘Aye, but I’d not call him a gardener, more a handyman.’

  ‘Have chainsaw, will travel?’

  ‘Something like that. He’s not from the village, he stays in Palnackie. I’ve no reason to suspect him of any involvement. He was in and out in three hours. He says Barlow paid him cash.’

  ‘Good. And speaking of Miss Barlow, what have you found on her?’

  ‘Nothing yet,’ said Byrne. ‘I’ve got someone on it but she’s not a priority just now.’

  ‘Jumping Jehoshaphat! What do you mean not a priority?’

  ‘Well, I need to–’

  ‘Listen to me, Mr Byrne,’ said Munro, losing his patience, ‘I’m not going to teach you how to suck eggs but you need to find every scrap of information you can on that girl! Go all the way back to her school days if you have to. You may find someone she crossed or someone who has a grudge against her, an ex-boyfriend or a business associate. You’d do well to look into her financial affairs while you’re at it, make sure there’s nothing awry there, too.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I know so! Dear God, I’m willing to help you out, laddie, but you need to prove to me you’re worthy of your rank, do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Aye, point taken.’

  ‘Good. Now, have you managed to cut through all that red tape yet?’

  ‘I have,’ said Byrne. ‘We’re away up to Ayr this afternoon. I just hope this MacDuff fella’s not going to give us any grief.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ said Munro. ‘Have you run a check on the chap?’

  ‘Aye. It seems he moved from Springburn by order of the court.’

  ‘So I understand,’ said Munro. ‘Listen, I’ve a wee confession to make. If you want to take it up with your superiors, then it’s entirely up to you. I’ll not mind.’

  ‘I’m not with you.’

  ‘MacDuff. I had a chat with him myself. In fact, I’ve not long left his house.’

  ‘I see,’ said Byrne. ‘And?’

  ‘And if you’re offended by my interfering with your investigation then you must do as you see fit.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. I meant and what did he say?’

  ‘He was friendly enough,’ said Munro. ‘I persuaded him to open up on the premise that he could get things straight in his head before he talked to you.’

  ‘So he’s expecting us?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ said Byrne. ‘That’s one less thing for me to worry about. So what do you think? Do you reckon he’s involved in any way?’

  ‘On the face of it,’ said Munro, ‘I’d have to say no, but…’

  ‘But what, Mr Munro?’

  ‘There’s something else.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘His computer was lying open when I arrived and there was something on the screen, a film of some sort.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘A young lady in what can only be described as a state of undress.’

  ‘So he was watching a porno movie?’

  ‘No,’ said Munro, ‘the movie was black and white, and it certainly wasn’t film quality. It was like the footage you see from these fancy doorbells some folk have.’

  ‘So, live-streaming, then?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, but see here, Mr Byrne, if you’re not already aware of the fact, MacDuff has a history of installing cameras to keep an eye on the unsuspecting, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I think I do, and if that’s the case then we should requisition his gear and take a closer look.’

  ‘And on what grounds would you do that?’

  ‘Suspicion.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Christ, I don’t know!’

  ‘You’re not thinking hard enough! Come on, laddie, you’re halfway there!’

  ‘Maybe… maybe,’ said Byrne, ‘if we asked him to attend voluntarily we could sneak a peek while he was out.’

  ‘You’ve gone off the boil. You cannae do that, and you know it. Besides, if he does have something on his computer then it’s a separate investigation, it’s nothing to do with Rebecca Barlow. You’ll have to do better than that.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can,’ said Byrne. ‘Help me out here, Mr Munro, what would you do?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say,’ said Munro. ‘Unless it was strictly off the record.’

  ‘To be fair, Mr Munro, everything you’ve done since we met has been off the record.’

  Munro glanced out of the window and smiled.

  ‘How many suspects do you have, Mr Byrne?’

  ‘Precisely none.’

  ‘Wrong answer,’ said Munro. ‘You have one. MacDuff.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘Because he was the last one to see her alive?’

  ‘So what’s stopping you?’

  ‘Bring him in on suspicion of murder?’ said Byrne. ‘But that doesn’t make sense. No offence, but if he was anywhere near guilty then why would he talk to you?’

  ‘Och, you’ve a lot to learn, but you’ll get there. You have my number. Let me know what you decide.’

  Chapter 6

  Hailing from the milder climes of southern England there was, on her arrival some years earlier, an unspoken scepticism amongst her younger colleagues that a Sassenach like herself would cope with Caledonia’s unforgiving winters. However, much to their surprise, West had proved herself to be as hardy as an Arctic fox.

  Preferring the dour surroundings of her draughty old Defender to the comfort of Duncan�
�s fully-functioning Audi, West – wearing her trademark waxed black jacket and matching jeans – drew to a halt behind the Lexus, killed the engine, and bundled her hair beneath a baker boy cap.

  ‘Could you not at least get the heater fixed?’ said Duncan, blowing into his hands.

  ‘Stop complaining,’ said West. ‘I didn’t think a hard nut like you would be bothered by a bit of cold.’

  ‘There’s cold, miss. And there’s Siberia. And I’m currently experiencing the latter.’

  ‘I’m surprised,’ said West. ‘I’d have thought a native like you would’ve been used to it by now. At least his car’s here, that’s a good start.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Dougal didn’t find anything on McIntyre, did he?’

  ‘Correction, miss. He’s not even found McIntyre.’

  ‘Stop being so pedantic. So, what’s the connection between him and Riley? Any ideas?’

  ‘Well, she’s not long released,’ said Duncan, ‘and she’s already spending like a sheik, so she must be dealing again. I’m guessing he’s either her supplier or they’re in it together.’

  ‘Okay, but without the evidence we’re scuppered so I’m thinking once we’re in, you need to keep your eyes peeled for any man-stuff. If she has signed on and we can prove she’s not living alone, then at least we can get her off the streets by doing her for benefit fraud.’

  ‘You’re assuming she’s going to let us in.’

  ‘God, you’re in a negative mood this morning.’

  ‘My brain’s starved of oxygen, miss. It’ll be the frostbite next.’

  ‘When’s your birthday?’

  ‘Next month. Why?’

  ‘I’ll get you some gloves. Come on, time for a game of knock-knock.’

  * * *

  Of the options available for gaining entry to a house, Dougal, polite to a fault, would ring once, step back and wait, whilst Duncan, armed with a gift from the mentoring Munro, preferred to work under cover of darkness with his set of lock-picks. West, however, had the irritating habit of scaring the bejesus out of anyone in the building by hammering the door with the side of her fist whilst screaming at the top of her voice to ‘open up’.

  Duncan, wondering if he could possibly arrest his superior for breach of the peace, looked away and cringed.

  ‘Emma Riley?’ said West, grinning as she flashed her warrant card.

  ‘Who’s asking?’

  ‘DI West. And this is DS Reid. Can we have a word?’

  ‘Have as many as you like,’ said Riley. ‘But you’ll not get any from me.’

  ‘Off to a flying start,’ said Duncan, muttering under his breath. ‘How was life inside, Miss Riley?’

  ‘Same as usual.’

  ‘Must be like a second home to someone like yourself.’

  ‘Actually, it’s more like a hotel.’

  ‘Did you by any chance win the lottery while you were locked up?’

  Riley stared at Duncan, nonplussed.

  ‘The Lexus,’ he said, nodding towards the street. ‘It’s registered to this address.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Aye. So it’s not your car?’

  ‘Never seen it before.’

  ‘Oh, I think you have,’ said West. ‘You see, Miss Riley, we know for a fact it picked you up after you’d done your shopping at the supermarket. And we know for a fact you popped your bags in the boot. And we know for a fact you hopped on-board, presumably to get a lift home.’

  Riley, as cool as the proverbial cucumber, forced a smile.

  ‘Not me,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘You’re confusing me with somebody else.’

  ‘Oh, I doubt that,’ said West. ‘You’re one of kind, you are. How are you coping since you got out? Financially, I mean. Have you signed on?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, you’re living off your savings?’

  Riley threw her head back and laughed.

  ‘Savings? Are you joking me?’

  ‘Well you must be surviving somehow.’

  ‘My pals help me out.’

  ‘You must be popular,’ said West, ‘you look like you’ve just come off the catwalk.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong in taking pride in your appearance,’ said Riley. ‘You should try it sometime.’

  ‘Touché.’

  Realising that West’s typically confrontational, if not aggressive approach was getting them nowhere fast, Duncan chose to deploy an alternative tactic.

  ‘We appreciate your time, Miss Riley,’ he said. ‘Apologies for disturbing you.’

  ‘What? Is that it?’

  ‘Aye, as far as you’re concerned it is. We’ll be in that Land Rover until Mr McIntyre comes to collect his car.’

  West smiled as Riley’s thin veil of bravado slipped to reveal the vulnerability of a kitten in a dog pound.

  ‘So, you know who owns it?’

  ‘We know everything,’ said Duncan. ‘We even know what you had for your tea.’

  Riley glanced up and down the street and gestured towards the open door.

  ‘I’ll give you five minutes,’ she said. ‘Five minutes. That’s it.’

  * * *

  Expecting the interior of Riley’s pebble-dashed maisonette to be typical of the other ex-council properties lining the street, West was amazed to find the lounge decorated as a shrine to gaudy opulence.

  Repulsed by the gilt chandelier and matching mirror, the gargantuan TV and the blue, velvet Chesterfield, she declined the offer of a seat and opted to stand by the door rather than risk sullying the sofa or staining the shagpile while Duncan, still feeling the chill, thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his battered leather car coat and stared at Riley.

  ‘Right,’ he said, ‘let’s start again. Daniel McIntyre. What’s the story?’

  ‘We’re pals,’ said Riley as she perched on the couch.

  ‘Just pals? So, he’s not your partner?’

  ‘No. He’s not my partner.’

  ‘Then what exactly is your relationship?’ said Duncan. ‘Is it business?’

  ‘I’d not call it that.’

  ‘Then what would you call it?’

  Riley shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘I scratch his back, and he scratches mine.’

  ‘So you just help each other out?’

  ‘Aye. If you like.’

  ‘And how long have you two known each other?’

  ‘Years,’ said Riley. ‘Several years, in fact.’

  ‘How did you meet?’

  ‘I worked in his office.’

  ‘Doing what?’ said Duncan. ‘Were you a secretary? Or a receptionist? Or a colleague?’

  ‘A dogsbody,’ said Riley. ‘Filling envelopes, answering the phone, making coffee. Six hours a day, five days a week.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He was always behind me, hovering about like a lost puppy.’

  ‘So he fancied his chances?’

  ‘Aye. I think he fancied me,’ said Riley, ‘definitely, but I had my looks back then.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  Riley sat back on the sofa, thought for a moment, and smiled.

  ‘I had a Cinderella moment,’ she said. ‘Danny said it couldn’t be easy getting by on what I earned. He said I deserved better. He said he could make things better.’

  ‘And did he?’

  ‘Aye. For a while.’

  ‘How?’ said West. ‘How exactly did McIntyre make things better?’

  ‘He said if I made myself presentable, if I wore a skirt and some heels, he’d see me right.’

  ‘He sounds like a pimp.’

  ‘He is,’ said Riley, ‘but not in the way you’re thinking.’

  ‘How then?’

  ‘It started easy enough. He’d give me a package, like a small Jiffy bag, then tell me where to go and who to give it to, then he’d slip me a few quid afterwards.’

  ‘How much exactly?’

  ‘Fifty. A hundred. Sometimes more.’


  ‘You must have been raking it in. Had you any idea what is in these packages?’

  ‘None,’ said Riley. ‘I could’ve guessed but I was enjoying myself too much.’

  ‘So how did things progress?’ said West.

  ‘The drops got more frequent, the parcels got bigger.’

  ‘And your earnings went up?’

  Riley looked at West and nodded.

  ‘Right up,’ she said. ‘To the point that I got used to it.’

  ‘So Daniel McIntyre,’ said Duncan, ‘is he the fella you refused to name in court? Is he the one who landed you with a sackful of khat?’

  Riley hesitated before answering.

  ‘Might be,’ she said.

  ‘And it’s not the first time he’s landed you in it, am I right?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Am I missing something, here?’ said West, frowning as she folded her arms. ‘A minute ago you wouldn’t let us in the house and now you’re gassing like a guest on Oprah. Why the change of heart?’

  Riley pulled a tissue from her pocket and slowly shredded it between her hands.

  ‘I’m getting on,’ she said. ‘I want my life back.’

  ‘My heart bleeds.’

  ‘I’ve taken the fall for him once too often. I’m not doing it again.’

  ‘But why now?’ said West. ‘Why didn’t you do something about it before? Why didn’t you speak up in court? Why didn’t you tell them the gear you were carrying belonged to McIntyre? Were you scared?’

  ‘Petrified,’ said Riley. ‘See Danny, he’s clever. He covers his back. If I’d have said anything he’d have denied even knowing me. Then he’d have come after me when I got out.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ said Duncan. ‘I mean, has he ever threatened you?’

  ‘It’s second nature to him.’

  ‘Has he ever been physically abusive towards you?’

  ‘No. He wouldn’t dare do that. It’d be like leaving evidence.’

  ‘It still doesn’t answer the question though, does it?’ said West. ‘Why now?’

  ‘It’s an opportunity,’ said Riley. ‘I mean, I didn’t come crawling to you begging for help, did I? You came to me, and right now I really don’t care anymore. I really don’t care. I’m fed up being at his beck and call seven days a week. I’m fed up keeping the curtains pulled day and night. I’m fed up not knowing who’s chapping my door and if I should hide. I’m not even allowed out on my own.’