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

by Pete Brassett

‘In a spanking new Lexus?’ said West. ‘I don’t think so. But here’s the interesting thing: while you were waiting for McIntyre to arrive, you gave this homeless bloke twenty quid.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll get the dashcam footage, if you like. So, can you explain why you gave him twenty quid?’

  ‘I was being charitable,’ said Riley. ‘He’s a beggar, he’s skint.’

  ‘Yeah, I get that,’ said West, ‘but why twenty quid? I mean, you’ve just come out of jail, you haven’t got a job, and you’re not signing on. Strikes me as being a bit generous for someone with no income. Most people would be hard-pushed to part with a pound.’

  ‘It’s just the way I am. It’s better to give than it is to receive.’

  West leaned back in her seat and smiled.

  ‘That’s exactly what the judge says when he’s handing out sentences,’ she said. ‘He’s very altruistic like that. Let’s move on, shall we? You had quite a good job a few years back, didn’t you?’

  ‘I’ve had several jobs,’ said Riley. ‘They’ve all been good.’

  ‘Yeah, but working for an estate agent’s pretty cushy though, isn’t it? I mean, you sit around all day waiting for the phone to ring, show a few buyers around a house or two, job done. Why’d you pack it in?’

  Worried that line of questioning was turning away from John Drennan and the alleged assault and appeared to be focusing on a part of her life she believed to be a closed chapter, Riley hesitated and slowly pulled the blanket tight around her shoulders.

  ‘Carlisle,’ she said, clutching at straws. ‘I left because I didn’t like living in Carlisle.’

  ‘So what happened?’ said West. ‘Did McIntyre give you a helping hand? Did he transfer you to another office?’

  ‘No. I just left.’

  ‘But you stayed in touch. You must be good mates because you still work together. If you can call it that.’

  Riley stared blankly at the desk and said nothing.

  ‘Who else was there?’ said West. ‘In the office, I mean, apart from McIntyre? Did you have any mates you hung out with?’

  ‘No,’ said Riley. ‘I’m not that sociable.’

  ‘Really? So, there’s no-one you used to go to lunch with? No-one you’d have a drink with after work?’

  ‘No!’ said Riley, getting agitated. ‘I went to work! I went home! I didn’t mix with anyone!’

  ‘Not even Rebecca? Rebecca Barlow?’

  West watched as Riley tightened her grip on the blanket.

  ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ said West. ‘I’m getting bored of this now! You worked in the same office together. You were under each other’s feet five days a week! The difference is she got bored before you. And she left before you. She started her own business doing up tatty flats and selling them on. Before you. Did that make you jealous?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So you didn’t stay in touch?’

  ‘No! Alright, look,’ said Riley, ‘I knew Rebecca, I admit it, but we worked together and that was it. It was years ago. I’ve no idea where she is or what she’s doing!’

  ‘I find that hard to believe,’ said West. ‘I find that really hard to believe.’

  ‘Why? It’s not that strange, folk move on. I moved on. We don’t all cling to the past.’

  ‘Yeah, I couldn’t agree more,’ said West as she reached into the envelope. ‘This is your phone, isn’t it?’

  ‘Aye. What of it?’

  ‘Well, if what you say is true, then there’s something that bothers me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’ve had a look at your list of contacts,’ said West as she switched it on, ‘and it makes for quite interesting reading.’

  ‘You’re not allowed to do that!’

  ‘Says who? Anyway, what I can’t figure out is, if you haven’t seen Rebecca Barlow in years, in fact so long that phones like this hadn’t even been invented, then how come you’ve got her number on it?’

  As the sagacious James Munro had once pointed out, suspects in the line of questioning who proffered the truth rarely changed their body language whilst those attempting to slide a lie or two past the interrogator would subconsciously fidget, blink, and glance furtively around the room or, as in the case of Emma Riley, look the interviewer square in the eye and exhibit what they believed to be a reassuring if not utterly sincere smile.

  ‘I probably forgot to delete it,’ said Riley, smugly. ‘It’s not exactly top of my agenda just now.’

  ‘No, and it clearly hasn’t been for some time,’ said West. ‘Tell you what, why don’t we give her a quick call and see what she’s been up to. Let’s see what she’s got to say about your friendship, shall we? Oh no, I forgot, pointless exercise really. She won’t answer anyway.’

  ‘I know,’ said Riley. ‘Like I told you, she’s probably moved on. She’s probably got a new job, a new phone, and a new number.’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing to do with that,’ said West. ‘The reason she won’t answer is because she can’t. She’s dead. Dead as a dodo. She was murdered three days ago. Now, what have you got to say about that?’

  Riley rolled her eyes and looked to the ceiling.

  ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘Well, you don’t look very surprised,’ said West, ‘or shocked, even. It’s almost as if you already knew.’

  ‘People die,’ said Riley. ‘It’s a fact of life. I’ve not seen her for years, we weren’t close, so why should I show any remorse? Now, if I’m not mistaken, your time’s almost up so can I have my things, please.’

  ‘Your watch must be fast,’ said West, ‘you’re not going anywhere for at least another twelve hours except back to your cell.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Riley, indignantly. ‘See here, Inspector, I may not be across the law like you but one thing I do know is you either have to charge me or let me go, so that’s me away.’

  ‘Dream on,’ said West. ‘Emma Riley, I’m arresting you–’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘–under Section 1 of the Criminal Justice Act on suspicion of art and part in the murder of Rebecca Barlow. The reason for your arrest is that I suspect you have committed an offence and I believe that keeping you in custody is necessary and proportionate for the purposes of bringing you before a court or dealing with you in accordance with the law. Do you understand?’

  Chapter 15

  Despite his anxiety at having to relinquish the late shift and consequently suffer the interminable distraction of clattering coffee cups, idle banter, and probing questions on the state of his love life, Dougal thought there were, nonetheless, occasions when the office had more in common with a reference library than a hub of criminal investigation.

  With nothing more than the sound of Munro leafing through a newspaper to disturb him, Dougal, preparing for the call to McIntyre, happily set about configuring the tracking software on his computer when West’s theatrical entrance caused him to shudder in his seat.

  ‘I’m all over the shop!’ she said, as the door slammed open. ‘Jimbo! Why didn’t you wake me? I was going to make breakfast!’

  ‘What with, Charlie?’

  ‘I stopped at the corner on the way back last night; eggs, bacon, tomatoes, and black pudding.’

  ‘Well, you were sleeping,’ said Munro, ‘I didnae want to drag you from your pit. Far be it for me to comment on beauty sleep, lassie, but you could certainly do with a few more hours.’

  ‘Thanks very much.’

  ‘The chief’s right,’ said Duncan. ‘No offence, miss, but you look like you’ve swallowed a wasp.’

  ‘It’s that flipping takeaway,’ said West, licking her lips. ‘I can still taste the chilli sauce.’

  ‘Well, if you dine with the devil,’ said Munro, ‘you’ve only yourself to blame.’

  ‘I need a cuppa.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ said Duncan. ‘I gather you played a blinder last night, miss, getting Ril
ey locked up for another twelve hours.’

  ‘Yeah, God knows how that happened,’ said West, ‘it just came to me out of the blue but if I’m honest, I think I’m winging it a bit.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Because we’ve still got nothing on her! I need to see The Bear and make sure he’s onside with it, there’s a chance he might say we have to let her go.’

  ‘I can’t see that happening,’ said Duncan, ‘you re-arrested her on suspicion of a different offence, that resets the clock and gives us another twelve hours at least.’

  West took her mug and made for the door.

  ‘Even so,’ she said, ‘I’d best make sure. Wish me luck, I’ll be back in a bit.’

  ‘Before you go,’ said Dougal, ‘can I just–’

  ‘Not now, Dougal. Be back in ten.’

  * * *

  Munro, who despite his retirement still considered himself to be the patriarch of the team, folded the newspaper, returned his spectacles to his pocket, and crossed his arms.

  ‘Dougal,’ he said, mustering the gentlest of smiles, ‘you’re more of a night owl than an early bird, how are you coping with these early starts?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll survive, boss, I mean it’s not for long. Once we’ve stitched this up I can get back to normal.’

  ‘Has it not played havoc with your sleep patterns?’

  ‘No, no. To be fair, I think I’m getting used to it.’

  ‘Good. I imagine you’re quite enjoying having the evenings to yourself.’

  ‘Well I have to admit,’ said Dougal, sheepishly, ‘there is an upside to finishing at a reasonable hour.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘A foxy wee SOCO by the name of Kay!’ said Duncan. ‘You can tell by the colour of his cheeks.’

  ‘Is that so?’ said Munro.

  ‘No! Aye. Maybe. The bottom line, boss,’ said Dougal, ‘is she doesn’t work the same hours as us, so I gave her a key. Sometimes she’s there when I get back.’

  ‘Oh, aye?’ said Duncan. ‘It didn’t take her long to get her feet under the table!’

  ‘Away!’ said Dougal. ‘It’s not like that! She’s a decent girl, not like some I’ve met.’

  ‘I’m pulling your leg, pal! I’m made up for you, we all are. It’s about time.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Munro, ‘I for one am glad you’ve finally found something other than druggies, dealers, and dead bodies to occupy your time. Now, if we could only find a suitor for Charlie, we’d be one big happy family.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath,’ said Duncan, ‘she’s not hooking up with Redbeard, if that’s what you’re thinking. In fact she’s not hooking up with anyone. I think she’s enjoying her freedom just now.’

  ‘Och, you’re probably right,’ said Munro, ‘unless of course she happens to meet the owner of a distillery or a vineyard, then that could all change in the blink of an eye.’

  * * *

  West, one hand in her pocket with the other clutching her mug, stood in the doorway and glanced first at Munro, then at Duncan, and then Dougal, her curiosity roused by the suspicious smiles plastered across their faces.

  ‘I don’t know what you lot are up to,’ she said, ‘but you can stop it right now.’

  ‘How’d it go, miss?’

  ‘Sorted,’ said West, ‘we’re in the clear. Right, shall we start?’

  ‘Before we do,’ said Dougal, ‘can I just–’

  ‘Let’s get McIntyre out of the way first,’ said West. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Aye, I’m all set.’

  ‘Is it not a bit early to be calling him?’ said Duncan. ‘He’s probably still asleep.’

  ‘I disagree,’ said Munro. ‘In my experience folk are more likely to answer an unexpected call, especially if it wakes them. If you leave it any longer he’ll probably ignore it and wait for a voicemail.’

  ‘In that case,’ said West, ‘let’s crack on. So, who’s going to do the honours? Dougal?’

  ‘No, no. Not me, miss. I’ll be tracing the call.’

  ‘Duncan, you then?’

  ‘Aye okay, but to be fair I think the chief sounds more like a council jobsworth than me.’

  ‘Another quip like that,’ said Munro, ‘and you’ll find out what your job’s really worth.’

  ‘Jimbo? What do you say?’

  ‘Nae bother, lassie. Dial him up and hand me the phone. You’d best put it on speaker, a wee bit of echo never goes amiss.’

  Munro, adopting the poise of a bored civil servant, waited for the call to connect as West hovered silently beside him.

  “You have dialled an incorrect number. Please hang up and try again.”

  ‘Butterfingers.’

  ‘For crying out loud,’ said West, ‘I could have sworn…’

  “You have dialled an incorrect number. Please hang up and try again.”

  ‘Something’s not right,’ said Dougal. ‘The number starts with 07949, that’s the EE network, I’ll make a quick call and see what I can find out.’

  ‘Well, that’s just brilliant,’ said West. ‘Talk about an anti-climax.’

  ‘That number,’ said Duncan, ‘was it taken from Riley’s phone?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Then it has to be right. Was there a log on the phone of when she last called him?’

  ‘Nope, and he certainly hasn’t called her.’

  ‘Maybe that explains why she’s on tenterhooks, being cooped up in that house all the time would be enough to drive anyone mad.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Dougal, ‘according to EE that was definitely McIntyre’s number.’

  ‘Was?’ said West. ‘What do you mean was?’

  ‘He used to have a pay-monthly contract but it was terminated three months ago.’

  ‘Why? Did he screw up on the payments?’

  ‘No, miss, he cancelled it himself.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Who knows,’ said Dougal, ‘but if he’d gone bust maybe he didn’t need it anymore.’

  ‘Is there anything else we can try?’

  ‘Aye, but–’

  ‘Oh, forget the buts, Dougal! Just give me the options!’

  ‘Well, we could try using GPS. Or I’ve got some software which would allow me to hack his SIM, and if it’s an iPhone I could always log in to iCloud and access the “find my phone” feature.’

  ‘So, what’s stopping you?’

  ‘Simple, miss. I need a number.’

  ‘So, we’re stuffed?’

  ‘Temporarily, aye.’

  ‘Not so,’ said Duncan, ‘we do have two other options that don’t involve technology and I hate to say it but they’re blindingly obvious.’

  ‘Come on then, clever clogs, let’s have it.’

  ‘Well,’ said Duncan, ‘we could use Riley as bait.’

  ‘You mean let her go?’

  ‘Aye. She’s bound to meet with McIntyre at some point, but there is an easier option.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He’s still not collected the Lexus, miss. Assuming he’s not going to leave a car like that sitting around too long we could sit it out. He’s bound to pick it up sooner rather than later.’

  ‘If it’s not gone already,’ said Dougal. ‘He may have gone knocking for Riley then legged it when she’s not answered.’

  ‘There is that,’ said Duncan, ‘but there’s only one way to find out. It just means sitting in a car and slowly freezing to death while we wait.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Dougal. ‘We’ve got her keys, you could wait in the house.’

  ‘Can we do that?’ said West.

  Munro looked up and smiled.

  ‘Are you familiar with the phrase “turning a blind eye”, Charlie?’

  ‘Yes,’ said West. ‘And I’m also familiar with the phrase “collect your cards”.’

  ‘That’s me away, then,’ said Duncan. ‘I’ll give you a call as soon as he shows up. If he shows up.’

  ‘Just watch your back
,’ said West, ‘he may have a set of keys, too.’

  * * *

  West strolled to the kitchen, filled the kettle, and rummaged through the sandwich bags in search of some leftover breakfast.

  ‘Why,’ she said, tucking into a cold bacon roll, ‘is nothing in life ever easy?’

  ‘If everything was easy, Charlie, we’d all be bored. Think of it as nature’s way of avoiding dementia.’

  ‘Speaking of which,’ said West, ‘Dougal, did you remember to put a track on McIntyre’s debit card?’

  ‘I did, miss, aye. Nothing’s happened yet.’

  ‘Well at least we’ve still got that to fall back on. Anyone else for coffee?’

  ‘Much obliged,’ said Munro. ‘Milk and three, if you will.’

  ‘Listen, miss,’ said Dougal. ‘There’s something I’ve been trying to tell you all morning, can we do that now?’

  ‘Yes, alright, let me get my coffee.’

  ‘You might want a drop of whisky in that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’ve been going through the last bag of bits and bobs Duncan brought back from MacDuff’s house.’

  ‘I thought you’d done all that.’

  ‘The laptop and the phones, aye, but there was also this.’

  Dougal grabbed a large, plastic bag containing a collection of goodies normally found down the back of a sofa and held it up.

  ‘This lot was in a bowl on the sideboard.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Just stuff,’ said Dougal. ‘Stuff Duncan thought might be useful. There’s about fifteen quid in loose change, a second set of house keys, six first class stamps, an old credit card, an unopened letter with a telephone number scrawled on the back, two biros–’

  ‘And Duncan thought that would be useful?’

  ‘–and this.’

  ‘A key fob?’ said Munro. ‘It might have been useful to MacDuff, laddie, but not us. It’s probably for that wee white van of his.’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Dougal. ‘This, boss, is for a Lexus.’

  Contrary to popular belief, the stoical Charlotte West was neither as hard as nails nor as cold as a reptile but, despite barely batting an eyelid during The Blair Witch Project, the unexpected revelation had much the same effect as cattle prod wired to the mains.

  ‘Working with you, Dougal,’ she said, trying to keep calm, ‘is like waiting for the bleeding Enola Gay to perform a flyby. You, my son, are the king of the bombshells.’