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

by Pete Brassett

  ‘Wait!’

  ‘What?’

  Drennan stared at Duncan with a look of apprehension on his face.

  ‘What’s it like?’ he said. ‘Inside.’

  ‘It’s not pleasant. I’d not believe the stories you hear about inmates having mobile phones and TV sets. If your cellmate doesn’t do you, the depression will.’

  ‘The homeless fella,’ said Drennan with a gulp. ‘I was asked to put the frighteners on him.’

  ‘Say that again.’

  ‘I was paid to scare him off. Get him to do one. Scarper.’

  ‘Who was he?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Then how did you know you had the right fella?’

  ‘She pointed him out to me.’

  ‘Who pointed him out?’

  ‘Emms,’ said Drennan. ‘Emma.’

  ‘Emma who?’

  ‘I don’t know her last name.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘My supplier.’

  Duncan pulled his phone from his pocket and began typing.

  ‘And why did she want him moved on?’ he said as he sent a text.

  ‘She said he needed to be taught a lesson. She said he’d scored off her and not paid up.’

  ‘Can you describe her?’

  ‘Flash,’ said Drennan. ‘Expensive clothes, always turned up in a fancy motor and…’

  Drennan paused at the ping of the phone.

  ‘For the benefit of the tape,’ said Duncan, holding his phone aloft, ‘I am now showing Mr Drennan a picture of Miss Emma Riley. Is this your supplier?’

  ‘Aye. That’s her.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw her?’

  ‘When she paid me,’ said Drennan. ‘The day before I clocked the homeless fella.’

  ‘And you’ve not seen her since?’

  ‘No. She’s disappeared. And she’s late with my gear.’

  ‘How much did she pay you to assault that fella?’

  ‘Five hundred,’ said Drennan.

  Duncan stood, picked up the envelope, and reached for the voice recorder.

  ‘Interview terminated, the time is 7:03pm,’ he said. ‘You’ve done the right thing, pal. Someone will take you back to your cell now and you’ll be in court tomorrow. Like I said, I’ll ask for leniency on the grounds of your co-operation. Take it easy.’

  * * *

  Though not as experienced as the code-breakers of Bletchley Park or as proficient as the hackers who inhabited the dark side of the web, Dougal was nonetheless skilled enough to access any password-protected device without the loss of data by over-riding protocols with a few choice key commands and some simple coding.

  Having successfully logged into MacDuff’s computer as ‘Administrator’ he gleefully set about foraging through the files and folders of the largely unused laptop which, much to his disappointment, revealed little of interest whereas the hidden cache of the well-worn browser contained a history of links to locations risqué enough to make the prudish detective blush with embarrassment.

  ‘You’re looking pleased with yourself,’ said Duncan.

  ‘Aye, I’m rattling away. Not only that, Kay’s on her way over and she’s bringing supper.’

  ‘Very good. There’s nothing like dinner for two in the intimate surroundings of a freezing cold office. What are you having?’

  ‘Pizza,’ said Dougal. ‘Pepperoni. And some garlic bread. And some buffalo wings. And–’

  ‘That’s plenty. You’ll be done before I get home. I should have left ages ago.’

  ‘I know,’ said Dougal, ‘that’s probably my fault, I owe you. I’d have questioned him myself if I didn’t have all this to do.’

  ‘You’re alright, pal, although, as you’re offering, there is one way you can repay the favour.’

  ‘Name it.’

  ‘The report for the fiscal. We need to send it as soon as possible.’

  ‘No bother,’ said Dougal. ‘I’ll get a transcript of the interview and do it straight after supper. I take it the photo of Riley did the trick then?’

  ‘Aye, spot on,’ said Duncan. ‘Emma Riley, would you believe, is his supplier and she paid him to attack the roofless fella.’

  ‘Are you joking me? But why?’

  ‘He reneged on a deal, apparently. Not that that’s anything to do with us, what matters as far as we’re concerned, is we can do him for assault. I need to call Westy and let her know, she’ll not be happy about Riley’s involvement.’

  ‘Right enough,’ said Dougal, ‘especially as she’s probably halfway through a bottle of Merlot by now.’

  ‘Well, that’s not my problem, Dougal. I’ve done enough for one day. Either she has to have a word with Riley now or get uniform to pick her up and face her in the morning. Anyway, how are you getting on with MacDuff? Find anything interesting?’

  ‘Oh aye,’ said Dougal, ‘but I’d not call it interesting. More creepy.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He’s got remote access on this laptop to a network of cameras all over town. Cameras he’s installed.’

  ‘So what’s wrong with that? I mean, that’s his job.’

  ‘These are tiny wee cameras,’ said Dougal. ‘Spy cameras. And they’re hidden in bathrooms and bedrooms. Ladies’ bathrooms and bedrooms.’

  ‘The dirty… so he’s some kind of voyeur, then?’

  ‘Aye. I’m going to trace the locations then we’ll have to contact all the residents, tell them what’s happened, and strip out the cameras.’

  ‘Well, as MacDuff’s not around to spy on those folk anymore, I’d say that’s the least of our problems just now.’

  * * *

  Declining the offer of a biscuit, Murdo, shrewd enough to know that something more palatable was on the horizon, bided his time on the sofa while West, in a consummate display of effortless multi-tasking, swigged from a glass of red while pulling a steak and haggis pie from the oven.

  ‘I’m glad to see you’ve got the hang of cooking again,’ said Munro. ‘Now if you could only master the art of washing-up, you’d make the perfect hostess.’

  ‘Any more of that and you’ll be queuing at the soup kitchen tomorrow, trust me.’

  ‘Well, you’ll not have to bother with the washing in your new house, Charlie. I’ll make sure the plumbers install a dishwasher for you.’

  ‘Hold on,’ said West, ‘I haven’t said I’m taking it yet! Look, Jimbo, I don’t want to seem as though I’m looking a gift horse in the mouth but…’

  ‘But that’s precisely it, lassie! It’s a gift horse, not a Trojan one. There’s nae catch, nae caveats. Think about it but dinnae dither or I shall leave it to the Dogs Trust.’

  ‘You wouldn’t. You would. Okay, I’ll think about it but don’t rush me, I’ve got too much going on right now.’

  ‘Take your time,’ said Munro, raising his glass. ‘Your very good health. I wonder if Duncan’s made his way home yet?’

  ‘I hope so,’ said West. ‘I feel a bit guilty for leaving him to it.’

  ‘It’s one of the benefits of being the boss, Charlie. It’s called delegation.’

  ‘I’d call it a cop-out. So, what does tomorrow hold for you? Any more suspects you’d like to tell me about?’

  ‘None,’ said Munro. ‘First I shall see what young Dougal has for me regarding the Barlow girl, then I shall visit The Mount and present his findings to DI Byrne. Lord knows, that chap’s going to need all the help he can get.’

  ‘You’re telling me. He’d be lost without you.’

  ‘And I’m sure you know how that feels.’

  ‘Thanks for reminding me,’ said West as the phone rang. ‘It’s Duncan, I’d better take it. Haven’t you got a horse to feed or some armour to polish or something?’

  Munro helped himself to a forkful of pie as Murdo, licking his lips, appeared silently by his side and gazed longingly at the plate.

  ‘Sorry, Jimbo,’ said West, struggling to put her coat on, ‘I’ve really got to go.’


  ‘At this time? What on earth’s going on?’

  ‘It’s what they call karma. That scally with the tattoos who attacked the tramp? He was paid to do it by Emma Riley.’

  ‘Well, I have to admit,’ said Munro, ‘I like a convoluted tale as much as the next man, but I never saw that coming.’

  ‘No, nor I. Don’t wait up.’

  ‘A word to the wise before you go,’ said Munro. ‘I’d not drive if I were you.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘I think you’ll find the answer to that question lies in that half-empty bottle of wine.’

  ‘Oh, crap.’

  ‘Dinnae fret,’ said Munro, ‘I’ve only had a sip, I shall drive you myself but if you’re about to arrest someone, I suggest you arrange for uniform to meet us there. You’ll be needing some assistance to bring her back.’

  * * *

  Belying his appearance as a doddery old pensioner returning from a late-night shopping trip, Munro – despite the ageing Peugeot twitching erratically on the black ice – hurtled along the street and slew to a halt inches behind McIntyre’s car.

  ‘I didn’t know you had it in you,’ said West. ‘I’m impressed.’

  ‘There’s more to me than meets the eye, Charlie. You should know that by now. I’ll leave you to it.’

  West bounded up the steps and, no longer concerned about being the centre of attention, hammered the door with her fist as Munro signalled the patrol car to pull up alongside.

  ‘Is he here?’ she said as Riley, still dressed to the nines, inched open the door. ‘McIntyre?’

  ‘No. I mean, this is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you.’

  ‘Clearly not,’ said West. ‘Do you like keeping secrets, Miss Riley?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘We just found a skeleton in your closet and his name’s John Drennan.’

  Riley, looking completely confused, frowned and raised a hand.

  ‘Can you slow down a wee bit,’ she said. ‘Drennan?’

  ‘He’s a druggie. About five foot eight. Tattoos on the fingers of his left hand.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Oh, indeed. So, let’s cut to the chase,’ said West. ‘Who’s the bloke you had beaten up?’

  ‘Sorry, Inspector, but now I really am confused.’

  ‘According to Drennan you paid him five hundred quid to give a fella a good kicking. So, who was he, and why?’

  ‘No, no. It’s not me,’ said Riley. ‘I’d not hurt a fly let alone have some smelly old tramp beaten up.’

  West took half a step back and smiled as she pulled a pair of cuffs from her hip.

  ‘Who said anything about a tramp? Emma Riley, I’m arresting you under Section 1 of the Criminal Justice Act on suspicion of art and part whereby you instructed one John Drennan to carry out an assault on an unidentified male. You do not have to say anything but anything you do say will be noted and may be used in evidence. Do you understand?’

  Chapter 11

  Born of an age when delving into a suspect’s past would have involved weeks of scouring newspaper archives, countless door-to-door enquiries, and travelling to some far flung location for a five-minute conversation with somebody who’d died three weeks earlier, Munro – enthused by the wonders of the internet and Dougal’s flawless ability to follow the smallest snippet of information to a veritable gold mine of pertinent data – watched in admiration as his fingers flashed like lightning across the keyboard.

  ‘I’m beginning to think your talents are wasted here,’ he said. ‘You should have trained as a concert pianist.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not musically inclined, boss,’ said Dougal. ‘I think I was at the back of the line when they were handing out rhythm.’

  ‘Then you would have made a fine jazz musician. Have you managed to find anything yet?’

  ‘I have,’ said Dougal, ‘and not just for you. Prepare yourself for what you might call “a web of intrigue”.’

  Dougal clicked a tab on the browser and opened the online edition of a local newspaper.

  ‘This is the Dumfries and Galloway! What’s Going On? newsletter.’

  ‘Aye, I’m familiar with that.’

  ‘This edition goes back a while but the article we’re interested in… is here. See the headline: “Entrepreneur to breathe new life into old hotel”. It doesn’t tell us anything we don’t already know but it does have a wee photo of Rebecca Barlow, I needed that to make sure I was looking at the right Rebecca Barlow in my other finds.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Munro. ‘And what of your other finds?’

  ‘Okay, you said her family were in Penrith, in the Lakes, right?’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘Well,’ said Dougal as he opened another tab, ‘this photo is years old but it’s definitely the same Rebecca Barlow.’

  Munro took his spectacles from his breast pocket and studied the screen.

  ‘Aye, no doubt about it,’ he said. ‘That’s the same girl, younger mind, but definitely the same. The folk she’s standing with, the man and the woman, are they friends of hers?’

  ‘Aye. And this is where it gets interesting,’ said Dougal. ‘This photo appeared in another newspaper, The News and Star which covers Carlisle and the surrounding area.

  Dougal gave Munro a moment to read the headline, “Local businessman to open a fourth office”.

  ‘The businessman in question is an estate agent by the name of Daniel McIntyre.’

  ‘But is that not the fellow Charlie’s been looking for?’

  ‘Aye. Now get this. The other girl in the photo is one Emma Riley.’

  Munro slumped back in his seat and drew a short, sharp breath.

  ‘By jiminy! That’s astounding!’ he said. ‘Aye, that’s the word, astounding. You’d best check the cupboards for something alcoholic, laddie. I know it’s 7:00am but when Charlie hears of this she’ll be wanting a drink.’

  ‘Hears of what?’ said West as she barged through the door. ‘Dougal, why are you here so early?’

  ‘I had to break the news myself, miss.’

  ‘For crying out loud, don’t tell me someone else has died.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Dougal. ‘I’ve been doing some research on Rebecca Barlow for the boss.’

  ‘The girl in Auchencairn?’

  ‘Aye, and I found a couple of folk she used to work with.’

  ‘Sorry, Dougal,’ said West, ‘I’m not being rude, and no offence, Jimbo, but Barlow’s not my case. That’s for D&G to sort out.’

  ‘I’d reserve judgement on that,’ said Munro. ‘Let Dougal finish.’

  ‘Barlow started out as an estate agent, miss. That’s where she caught the bug for doing up properties and selling them on.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘The agent she worked for had four offices, three in Scotland; Dumfries, Ayr, and Falkirk. And one in Carlisle. That’s where Barlow was based and one of the girls she used to work with is Emma Riley.’

  West stared at Dougal and dropped to her seat.

  ‘You have got to be kidding me,’ she said. ‘That woman’s got more bleeding skeletons than a graveyard.’

  ‘There’s more,’ said Dougal. ‘The fella who owned the chain of estate agents is one Daniel McIntyre.’

  Cherishing one of the rare moments when West was actually lost for words, Munro sat back and smiled as he waited for the penny to drop.

  ‘That does it,’ said West. ‘I need some Nurofen and a large whisky. Just a flipping moment! If he’s got four blooming offices dotted around the country then why is he so difficult to find?’

  ‘He rolled the business,’ said Dougal, ‘nearly two years ago. I looked at the returns he filed with HMRC and it looks as though he was heading for bankruptcy anyway.’

  ‘But what about his address?’ said West. ‘If he’s listed as a director with Companies House then they’d have his address!’

  ‘They have,’ said Dougal. ‘I’ve already followed it up. He lived in Carlisle but the house he owned
was sold nine months ago so his current whereabouts remain unknown.’

  West threw back her head, ruffled her hair, and groaned.

  ‘Do me a favour,’ she said, ‘check online, see if there’s any jobs going at Tesco. I think I’ve just about had enough of this.’

  * * *

  As proven by the medical profession, an irrefutable fact of life is that a lack of sleep will undoubtedly have a detrimental effect on the body’s physical and cognitive ability to perform at peak levels, and for those who endured the agony of a restless night the cause was either buried in the realms of the deep subconscious or a direct result of emotional or anxiety-related stress but for Duncan, it was the irritating niggle that something surrounding the investigation was awry.

  Returning to the office in the hope that an hour on his own might evoke an epiphany, he paused in the doorway with a look of weary disappointment on his face.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting a full house,’ he said.

  ‘There’s breakfast there,’ said West, waving towards the kitchenette, ‘tuck in before it gets cold. I thought you were having a lie-in.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘Heavy night?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Duncan, snatching a bacon toastie, ‘it’s just… you know what it’s like when you hear a record on the radio and you can’t remember the name of the artist even though at the back of your mind you know damn well who it is?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Munro, ‘and when I do remember I often wish I hadn’t.’

  ‘Is this a personal thing?’ said West. ‘Or is it something to do with work?’

  ‘It’s work,’ said Duncan. ‘Definitely work.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘No, you’re alright. It’ll come to me sooner or later.’

  ‘Nice job on Drennan by the way. Well done.’

  ‘All in the line of duty,’ said Duncan. ‘I’m not being funny, miss, but should you not be downstairs with Riley?’

  ‘Been there, done that.’

  ‘Well the clock’s ticking so are we charging her or letting her go?’

  ‘Neither,’ said West. ‘Not yet anyway. I spoke to Elliot earlier and he’s agreed to let us hold her for another twelve hours.’