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

by Pete Brassett

  ‘You spoke to The Bear? At this hour? I bet he’s not happy about that!’

  ‘He wasn’t, but given the circumstances he soon calmed down.’

  ‘So what’s the story?’

  ‘Well, on the one hand,’ said West, ‘she’s more than willing to co-operate because she wants McIntyre off her back, but on the other, as far as Drennan’s concerned, she’s claiming it’s his word against hers and she’s refusing to talk to a brief because she sees that as an admission of guilt.’

  ‘So she’s planted herself between a rock and a hard place.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Well, is there anything else we can throw at her to seal her fate?’

  ‘Aye, there is,’ said Dougal. ‘If we could find the homeless fella Drennan assaulted, get him to identify her, and then admit he’d taken drugs he never paid for, then would that not substantiate Drennan’s claim?’

  ‘I think it just might,’ said West. ‘Can we get a decent still off the CCTV to circulate? Then we can ask uniform to keep an eye out.’

  ‘Aye, I’ll give it a go,’ said Dougal, ‘I’ll finish with MacDuff first, I’ve just the second phone to go through now.’

  ‘Did you get anything off the first?’

  ‘Not much, miss. The usual texts and contacts but they’re all business related. Oh, and he had the same creepy apps we found on his laptop, the ones he used to access the cameras. I’m guessing he had the second phone for personal use.’

  ‘He should’ve upgraded and got himself a dual SIM,’ said West, ‘it would’ve saved us all a lot of bother. So, Jimbo, are you going to visit your mate Byrne in Dumfy now?’

  ‘I am indeed,’ said Munro. ‘I shall finish my tea then wee Murdo and I will–’

  Munro stopped at the shrill tone of West’s phone.

  ‘Oh, Gawd,’ she said. ‘It’s Andy.’

  ‘Dr McLeod? Then you best take it, lassie. It’s no doubt important.’

  ‘I know but after what happened the other night, when I lost it over dinner, it’s just a bit awkward, isn’t it?’

  ‘No offence,’ said Duncan, ‘but you’re both adults, miss, and we have to work with the fella too. The chief’s right, you need to answer it.’

  West scowled at Duncan, laid the phone on the desk, and took the call.

  ‘Andy. You alright?’

  ‘Charlie. Yourself?’

  ‘Yeah, all good. Listen you’re on speaker and everyone’s here so let’s stick to business, shall we?’

  ‘If there was another reason for my call, Charlie, I’d have phoned you on the landline later this evening.’

  ‘That’s me told,’ said West. ‘Sorry, mate, I’m just a bit wound up at the moment. So, what have you got?’

  ‘Alan MacDuff. Have you time to talk?’

  ‘Yup. Fire away.’

  ‘Okay, I’m not one for conjecturing but my initial hunch was correct. As you know, the victim was exhibiting a large contusion on the fossa jugularis sternalis and, having opened him up, I can confirm that the hyaline cartilage was forced back under pressure thereby severing the larynx and the trachea. As a result, I’ve been able to attribute the cause of death to asphyxiation.’

  ‘Forgive me for interrupting,’ said Munro, ‘but would you hold the line while I fetch an interpreter?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said McLeod. ‘In layman’s terms, James, extreme pressure was exerted just below his Adam’s apple, probably by a thumb, this effectively ruptured the windpipe thereby blocking his airways. The amount of blood present was also a contributing factor.’

  ‘So tell me,’ said West, ‘I mean, this all sounds a bit specialist, would whoever did this be trained in anything like martial arts or survival techniques, maybe?’

  ‘No, I doubt that,’ said McLeod, ‘it’s a common enough hold even for street brawlers, the only difference being they usually stop when the victim blacks out. Nine times out of ten they’re not even aware of the damage they’re causing and for that reason alone I’d have to say that finding a fatality as a result of this kind of injury is actually a rare occurrence.’

  ‘How rare?’

  ‘Rare enough for me to backtrack to see if any other similar cases had been reported.’

  ‘And had there?’

  ‘Aye,’ said McLeod. ‘One. It happened a few days ago. A lady by the name of Rebecca Barlow.’

  Munro, smiling at the prospect of a double murder to solve, hooked Murdo to his leash and stood.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said, reaching for his coat, ‘to inflict this kind of injury, would the perpetrator have to be particularly strong?’

  ‘No,’ said McLeod, ‘they’d simply need the determination to continue exerting pressure until the job was done.’

  ‘So anyone could’ve done it?’ said West. ‘I mean, even a girl?’

  ‘I don’t see why not, Charlie. And if she had the element of surprise on her side it would make it even easier. Don’t go getting any ideas now, will you.’

  Munro paused by the door.

  ‘I fear I already know the answer to this question,’ he said, ‘but tell me, Dr McLeod, in your professional opinion, would you say these two deaths are related?’

  ‘Going by the post-mortem report on Barlow and what I’ve seen of MacDuff, I’d say yes. Whoever killed the girl definitely killed MacDuff as well.’

  Chapter 12

  When faced with the trials and tribulations of everyday life there are those who possess the admirable if not irritating ability to laugh in the face of adversity and soldier on with the dogged determination of a salmon swimming upstream, but for those burdened with the stress of a demanding job or trying to cope with the loss of a beloved spouse the answer to their woes sometimes lay atop a high-rise building or at the bottom of a fast-flowing river.

  With his collar up against the cold and a crushing sense of pessimism weighing heavy on his shoulders, DI Byrne, oblivious to the scores of people milling along the river bank, contemplated the icy waters of the Nith as a spritely gent with a dog in tow approached from his left.

  ‘The only upside to jumping,’ said Munro, ‘is that you’ll probably have a cardiac before you drown.’

  Byrne turned his back to the railings and smiled.

  ‘Mr Munro,’ he said, ‘it’s good to see you.’

  ‘Likewise, I’m sure.’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind coming here. I thought if we met at the office it would only raise a few eyebrows.’

  ‘Right enough,’ said Munro. ‘So, are you making progress?’

  ‘To be honest, I’m muddling through,’ said Byrne. ‘Truth be known, I preferred life as a DC. I’m not one for dishing out orders, I think I’m better off taking them.’

  ‘Och, away and stop your havering, laddie! It’s all a question of adjustment. You have to give yourself time to settle in. You’ll get there.’

  ‘Aye. Maybe. So, will we walk?’

  ‘Aye, my car’s up the way,’ said Munro, ‘by Dock Park. I suggest we fetch ourselves a coffee and get out of the cold.’

  * * *

  Byrne, sitting silently with his arms folded, gazed vacuously through the windscreen towards a group of adolescents lounging about the playground as Munro popped the lid on his latte and tore through a cheese toastie.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not hungry?’ he said.

  ‘I’ve no appetite just now,’ said Byrne. ‘I’ll have some supper later.’

  ‘As you wish. So come on, laddie, what have you got?’

  ‘Not very much, I’m afraid. We went back to Barlow’s house and ran over it with a fine-tooth comb. Nothing. SOCOs managed to lift a few prints from her office but they’re not hers, and they’re not on the system, so that’s another dead end.’

  ‘Your optimism is inspiring,’ said Munro. ‘Can your GP not prescribe you something to lift your mood?’

  ‘I’m fine. Really.’

  ‘I’d have a word with those lads on the swings, if I were you. They could probably set you up
with ketamine. I hear it’s quite the tonic when it comes to raising your spirits.’

  Byrne smiled and reached into his pocket.

  ‘We got copies of Barlow’s missing bank statements,’ he said, handing Munro a memory stick. ‘I’ve been over them twice, as have two other members of the team. We’ve double-checked all the transactions and can’t find anything amiss. Maybe your lads will have better luck.’

  ‘It’s never easy when you dinnae have a clue what it is you’re looking for,’ said Munro. ‘Still, we can but try. Anything else?’

  Byrne cast a sideways glance, took a deep breath, and sighed.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Door-to-doors in the village drew a blank. The gardener who was at the hotel knows nothing. And the lady in the shop gave us a wide berth so I’m sorry to say, Mr Munro, we’re still at square one.’

  ‘I suggest you go back to the shop,’ said Munro. ‘According to the owner Miss Barlow had a boyfriend, or a partner. I’d stroll along that avenue, if I were you.’

  ‘Duly noted,’ said Byrne. ‘I’ll nip back later.’

  ‘And what about the hotel? Did the SOCOs not find anything there?’

  ‘Not a sausage,’ said Byrne, ‘and that’s why it’s so annoying. I mean, if Rebecca Barlow was killed indoors and then carried out to the garden you’d think we’d have something but there’s not so much as a footprint.’

  Munro leaned over the seat, tossed Murdo the crust off his toastie, and sipped his coffee.

  ‘Speaking of Rebecca Barlow,’ he said, ‘were you not a wee bit surprised at the results of the post-mortem?’

  Byrne cleared his throat and said nothing.

  ‘You’ve not read it, have you?’

  ‘It’s on my list,’ said Byrne. ‘I’ve just not got around to it.’

  Wary of exacerbating the dithering detective’s sense of despair by raising his voice, Munro spoke softly and offered some backhanded encouragement.

  ‘See here, Mr Byrne. I’m more than willing to help you out. And if you find yourself in a wee hole, I’ll happily nudge you in the right direction, but I’m not here to do your job for you. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Byrne, nodding. ‘Sounds like a deal. Thanks.’

  ‘Good. Now then, our friend MacDuff. I’m sure you’ll agree his passing was, to say the least, unexpected.’

  ‘Aye, you’re not wrong there,’ said Byrne. ‘I don’t mind saying seeing him sprawled out on the kitchen floor fair took the wind out of my sails.’

  ‘The pathologist’s ascribed the cause of death as asphyxiation, with a wee bit of blood drowning thrown in for good measure.’

  ‘So he was strangled?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking, aye. But without a ligature, and with just the one hand. A thumb was placed on his throat and forced back until his windpipe ruptured.’

  ‘Would it not have been easier to use a knife?’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Munro, ‘but the problem you’d have there, Mr Byrne, is that MacDuff would have screamed. Think about it. Nae windpipe. Nae larynx. Nae chance of speaking.’

  ‘Clever. I’ll make a note of that.’

  ‘Something else you may like to note. Rebecca Barlow died of the same injuries. Exactly the same injuries.’

  Byrne turned to Munro and frowned.

  ‘So, are you saying the same fella killed both Barlow and MacDuff?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Munro. ‘Just one thing though, it’s not necessarily a he. You dinnae have to be a Mike Tyson to inflict an injury like that, a wee lassie could have done it.’

  Byrne rubbed his forehead and moaned.

  ‘I’m not sure if that’s a good thing,’ he said. ‘Or bad.’

  ‘At the very least it narrows your horizons,’ said Munro. ‘It gives you something to focus on.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Good heavens, man! Do I have to spell it out? You’re looking for someone who’s known to both MacDuff and Barlow! Someone who knew where they both lived! And as there are no signs of a forced entry at either of their addresses, it would be someone they trusted enough to let in! Someone they were not afraid of!’

  Byrne, looking like a wean who’d won a reprieve from the naughty corner, glanced at Munro with a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘That’s just what I needed.’

  ‘A kick in the pants?’

  ‘No. Something to focus on.’

  ‘Well, if you’re being sincere,’ said Munro as he reached for his phone, ‘then I’ve done my job. Oh, and take my advice, next time you take a walk by the river, make sure you’ve got your water wings with you.’

  * * *

  Endeavouring to enhance an image of the homeless man on his computer whilst simultaneously attempting to unlock MacDuff’s second mobile phone, the normally ambidextrous Dougal McCrae was left unable to concentrate by Duncan’s persistent pacing of the floor accompanied by the muffled mumblings of someone who’d spent too long in the cuckoo’s nest.

  ‘Are you still thinking about that record?’ he said, brusquely.

  ‘There was no record! I was speaking metaphorically.’

  ‘Aye. I get that. So was I.’

  ‘Oh. Well in that case the answer to your question is yes. How are you getting on?’

  ‘Slowly,’ said Dougal, ‘but I’m nearly there with the image of the homeless fella. It’s not the greatest angle, and it’s not exactly passport quality, but it will have to do. Is Westy still downstairs with Riley?’

  ‘Aye. Since you uncovered that wee photo of her with McIntyre and Rebecca Barlow, she’s keen to find out what their relationship is so she’s grilling her like a well-done steak.’

  ‘I’m not sure she’ll get anywhere with that,’ said Dougal, ‘Riley seems like a tough nut to crack.’

  ‘I agree, but Westy’s got a plan. I think her tactic is to wear her down so when she comes to question her about getting Drennan to hammer the roofless fella she’ll crumble like the walls of Jericho.’

  ‘Well I hope it works,’ said Dougal, ‘but my money’s on Riley keeping quiet. She knows if she says nothing then sooner or later we’ll have to let her go and that means…’

  Dougal paused mid-sentence and stared at the mobile with a look of consternation on his face.

  ‘What’s up?’ said Duncan. ‘Have you found more porno pics?’

  ‘No, no. This phone, Duncan, it’s not MacDuff’s at all. It belongs to Rebecca Barlow.’

  Not normally given to overt displays of elation, Duncan, experiencing the same buzz of excitement as a lovestruck lassie on Valentine’s Day, stood behind Dougal and grinned like the proverbial cat.

  ‘Wait until the chief hears of this!’ he said. ‘MacDuff must’ve lifted that from the hotel!’

  ‘Aye, maybe,’ said Dougal, pragmatic to a fault. ‘The question is: why?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why would he steal her phone? I mean, he’s got one of his own and this one’s no different, it’s the same model. And he was making good money so if he wanted to, he could’ve bought a new one.’

  ‘Well there has to be a reason,’ said Duncan. ‘Unless he was a kleptomaniac as well as a peeping Tom.’

  Dougal lay the phone on his desk, leaned back in his chair, and stared pensively at the ceiling.

  ‘What are you playing at?’ said Duncan. ‘Are you not going to delve into that?’

  ‘I’m thinking,’ said Dougal. ‘I’m thinking that under different circumstances, him having this phone would have put him right in the frame for Barlow’s murder.’

  ‘Well it doesn’t exclude him.’

  ‘But he’s dead.’

  ‘And your point is?’

  ‘Simple,’ said Dougal, ‘they were both killed by the same perp, that’s what McLeod says anyway, and as MacDuff didn’t commit suicide, it couldn’t be him.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Duncan. ‘You’re thinking’s too logical. See here, Dougal, what if MacDuff wasn’t alone at the hotel?
What if he turned up with a pal or a workmate? MacDuff could have murdered Barlow then his pal could’ve topped him a day or two later, only he was clever enough to make it look like one fella had killed the pair of them.’

  ‘I never thought of that. It’s possible, but if MacDuff did murder Barlow, then why did he call it in?’

  ‘Have you not learned anything?’ said Duncan. ‘It’s a textbook diversion technique. Right, that’s enough theory, let’s move on to the practical, get that phone open and let’s see who she knows.’

  * * *

  Dougal, swiping slowly through the contacts lest he should miss any abbreviations, acronyms, or nicknames, jumped as Duncan slapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘There!’ he said. ‘Make a note of that one – “Dan”. That has to be McIntyre. We’re going to need that before you hand this over to the boys in Dumfries.’

  ‘Calm yourself,’ said Dougal. ‘I’ll copy all the contacts before we release it.’

  ‘Well whatever you do, make sure you don’t accidentally dial that number or we’re humped.’

  ‘Give me some credit; as if I’d do that. She’s not got what you might call a wide circle of friends.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ said Duncan, pointing over his shoulder. ‘“Dante”. Is she in league with the devil?’

  Dougal cross-checked the number on his computer and laughed.

  ‘Aye, of sorts,’ he said. ‘It’s a takeaway in Dumfries. Fish and chips and kebabs.’

  ‘That’s plenty. I could go a chicken shish myself, just now. Who else?’

  ‘No-one we know,’ said Dougal, as he continued scrolling, ‘I’m guessing they’re… jeez-oh! I know some folk are friends for life but I wasn’t expecting this!’

  Duncan leaned over his shoulders and peered at the phone.

  ‘Emma Riley! I’m not kidding, pal, the chief’s going to have kittens over this, and as for DI Byrne, he’ll be wanting to open a vein! Quick, let’s see the call log.’

  ‘The most recent call she made,’ said Dougal, ‘was to Dan at 7:33 on the day she was murdered. Seven minutes before that, she called MacDuff.’

  ‘Maybe that was to check he was on his way. Who else?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘Are you joking me? That can’t be right, I’ve a history on my phone that goes back weeks! She must have more than that!’