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

by Pete Brassett

  ‘McIntyre!’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you bleeding well say so!’

  ‘I was getting to it, miss.’

  ‘Charlie,’ said Munro, softly, ‘there’s a time to speak and there’s a time to listen. I suggest you do the latter. Go on, Dougal.’

  ‘Okay, we know they have a history, right? We know from her bank records that she received a large sum of money from McIntyre, probably a loan of sorts, and we know she’d gone some way to repaying it.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, been there, done that,’ said West. ‘What’s new?’

  ‘It seems she still owed McIntyre twenty-three thousand pounds and he’d been hounding her for it.’

  ‘Sounds like he was desperate.’

  ‘She replied several times saying he’d get it soon but that’s when he starts getting nasty.’

  ‘Nasty how?’

  ‘He sent a couple of messages demanding interest on the loan and when she refused he started hassling her for a slice of her business instead.’

  ‘Charming,’ said West. ‘They’re as bad as each other. One’s a thug and the other’s a walking compulsory purchase order.’

  ‘Can you date these messages?’ said Munro. ‘Precisely, I mean.’

  ‘Oh, aye,’ said Dougal, ‘no bother at all.’

  ‘Were they before or after Mr McIntyre lost his business?’

  ‘Long after,’ said Dougal. ‘In fact, they were relatively recent.’

  ‘How recent?’

  ‘The last message received from McIntyre was two days before she died. It reads: “Meet you in Auchencairn, you’d better be there”. There’s no reply.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ve got yourself a suspect, Jimbo,’ said West. ‘Looks like our worlds have collided after all.’

  Munro raised his head at the kerfuffle in the corridor and watched in mild amusement as a red-faced DCI Elliot blundered through the door struggling to slide an arm into the sleeve of his overcoat.

  ‘George,’ he said, ‘are you okay?’

  ‘Aye, but I’m not stopping, James. Mrs Elliot’s got a vegetarian lasagne in the oven so I need to get myself a sausage supper before I get home or I’ll starve to death. Charlie, you’re after a white Lexus, is that right?’

  ‘Certainly is,’ said West. ‘Why?’

  ‘One’s been spotted on the northbound carriageway of Allison Street, details are downstairs.’

  ‘Bang goes my evening,’ said Duncan, leaping to his feet. ‘Right, that’s me away, then, Allison’s not far from MacDuff’s house, maybe he’s heading there. Dougal, get me some back-up, pal, just in case.’

  West zipped her jacket and tucked her hair beneath her cap.

  ‘Well, for once,’ she said, ‘it looks like we’re going to get an early night, Jimbo.’

  ‘Hold your horses,’ said Munro. ‘I need a wee word with DI Byrne. I’ll not keep you long.’

  Chapter 18

  Questioning the wisdom of the council’s planning department which, like many up and down the country had introduced one-way systems and pedestrianised precincts under the misguided belief that it would lower air pollution despite increasing the taxpayers’ daily commute by forty-five minutes, Duncan – forced to negotiate queues of traffic and blocked thoroughfares like an Uber Eats driver a sat nav short of a destination – huffed as he finally cruised to a halt on Taylor Street.

  Buttoning his battered leather coat against the cold, he approached the patrol car parked on the opposite corner, rapped the roof with his knuckles, and pressed his badge against the window.

  ‘DS Reid?’ said the constable behind the wheel.

  ‘Aye. Do you know why you’re here?’

  ‘You’re after some nutter in a Lexus, is that it?’

  ‘Close enough,’ said Duncan. ‘Listen, I have to check on a house up the street, you sit tight, I’ll not be long.’

  ‘No bother,’ said the constable, nodding towards his partner, ‘if it all kicks off, Geordie here is an STO so we can always stun the numpty if it comes to it.’

  Duncan, unimpressed, leaned down and poked his head through the window.

  ‘See here, pal,’ he said, menacingly, ‘I’ve already had a day of it and I’m not in the mood for waiting on paramedics if you fire anything so you’d best keep that Taser in your pocket, understand?’

  With his cap pulled snugly over his ears and his hands buried deep in his pockets, Duncan, astounded that a trigger-happy Specially Trained Officer should be deployed to assist in the search for a stolen vehicle rather than patrol the pubs and clubs of the town centre, trudged up the street, crossed the lawn in front of the block of flats, and peered through the reinforced glass of the communal entrance.

  Satisfied that the blue and white tape draped across the door to MacDuff’s apartment was still intact, he walked to the front of the building and cupped his hands against the blackened windows where, in the absence of any light, he concluded that McIntyre was probably already on his way to Carlisle.

  Resigned to the fact that he’d no doubt be woken at 2:00am with a phone call informing him that his quarry had been stopped for a speeding offence on the southbound lane of the A74, Duncan, intent on telling his back-up to stand down, ambled along the street and, safe in the knowledge that West would be cavorting with a glass of red rather than tucking into her steak supper, reached for his phone when the shrill sound of an impact driver emanating from a lock-up over the road stopped him in his tracks.

  Deeming it far too late for anyone with a modicum of respect for their neighbours to be embarking on a DIY project, he crossed the street and, like a moth to a flame, peeked through the gap between the dilapidated doors where the glow of an inspection lamp hanging from the ceiling was bouncing off the bonnet of an unidentified white vehicle.

  Citing the serendipitous discovery as second only to meeting Cathy, a witness in a murder inquiry who later became his partner, he smiled as he beckoned the constables from their car instructing them with a downward wave of the hand to approach with caution.

  Raising a finger to his lips, he gestured for them to wait to one side and eased open the door to find the Lexus up on blocks with the wheels and the seats stacked neatly against the wall.

  ‘Danny?’ he said, boldly. ‘Is that you?’

  A middle-aged man sporting a severe crew cut with a well-established beer belly straining against the seams of his ill-fitting coveralls scrambled from beneath the car and scowled.

  ‘You’re in the wrong place, pal,’ he said, struggling to get to his feet. ‘On your way.’

  ‘Danny sent me,’ said Duncan. ‘I’m a mechanic. I could have that thing stripped in no time.’

  ‘Are you deaf, son? I’ve no idea who Danny is. Now, do one.’

  A substantially slimmer second man who clearly patronised the same barber as his ageing partner, emerged from the rear of the vehicle brandishing a wheel brace.

  ‘Better do as he says. We’re busy and you’re holding us up.’

  Raised on a scheme where trouble was often courted by the runt of the gangs, Duncan, unperturbed by his threatening behaviour, smiled as he produced his warrant card.

  ‘See here,’ said the beer belly, wheezing as he jabbed his finger in the air, ‘I’m not bothered if you’re the police! I’m not bothered if you’re the effing SAS! I’ll do you. It’s two against one.’

  Duncan, raising his eyebrows, casually swung the door aside with the heel of his foot to reveal one officer wielding a baton and an STO standing legs akimbo with his Taser drawn.

  ‘I think you’ll find the bookies just revised the odds,’ he said as he drew his cuffs. ‘It’s two against three. I’m arresting you under Section 1 of the Criminal Justice Act on suspicion of theft and TDA. You’re not obliged to say anything but anything you do say will be noted and may be used in evidence. Now turn around and place your hands on the roof of the vehicle.’

  * * *

  Whilst the loners of the country relished the thrill of whipping up a culinary masterpiec
e with no-one for company but the thumping sound of their iPod, cooking for those unfortunate enough to have had solitude foisted upon them was often a chore of necessity where appetites were sated with factory-produced fodder in fancy packaging labelled with the promise of an authentic Tuscan recipe and the assurance of no artificial additives.

  Lounging on the sofa with a large glass of red balancing on her chest and Murdo curled at her feet, West, grateful for the opportunity to be a guest at her own table, watched as Munro checked on the tatties before dropping two thick-cut fillets into a searing hot pan and seasoning them with a sprinkling of salt.

  ‘Fifteen minutes,’ he said, ‘unless you’re wanting yours swimming in a pool of blood.’

  ‘I’m not French, Jimbo. Burnt to a crisp will do me fine. Cheers.’

  ‘Health, wealth, and happiness,’ said Munro, raising his glass. ‘You look troubled.’

  ‘Not really,’ said West. ‘I’m just thinking.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Your woman in Auchencairn.’

  ‘Barbara Muir?’

  ‘Yeah. All that stuff about the money, can’t you nick her for theft or fraud or something?’

  ‘I’d be averse to doing any such thing, Charlie. It’s her business and no-one’s been affected by her actions. Besides, we’d have to prove she took the money without her father’s consent and given his present circumstances there’s nae chance of that happening. Not unless we hold a séance.’

  ‘I’ll take that as no, then. Oops, hold on, phone. I wonder who’s calling at this time of… Duncan, you alright, mate?’

  ‘Aye, miss, not bad. I’m not interrupting your supper, am I?’

  ‘No, chef’s still in the kitchen. What happened with McIntyre?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Duncan, ‘it was a false alarm, of sorts. McIntyre’s nowhere to be seen but we did find the Lexus.’

  ‘Top man! Where?’

  ‘In a garage opposite MacDuff’s house.’

  ‘Hold up, that’s a bit of a coincidence, isn’t it? I mean to find it on Taylor Street?’

  ‘Makes sense to me,’ said Duncan, ‘besides, you’ve seen Taylor Street yourself. I bet if you opened every workshop, lock-up, or garage up there you’d find something not quite legal going on. I believe it’s what they call the black economy.’

  ‘Whatever,’ said West. ‘And you’re sure McIntyre wasn’t in the flat?’

  ‘Aye, I checked. The place is secure.’

  ‘And what’s happening with the motor? Are you getting a flatbed to pick it up? I think SOCOs should take a look, don’t you?’

  ‘It’s not worth the effort,’ said Duncan, ‘and we’ll not need a flatbed, just a few carrier bags.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s in pieces, miss. A couple of neds were stripping it for parts.’

  ‘Were they anything to do with McIntyre?’

  ‘No, just a couple of chancers who’d nicked the vehicle.’

  ‘Any trouble?’

  ‘Nothing we couldn’t handle,’ said Duncan. ‘Uniform are taking them in as we speak. I’ve a wee bit of paperwork to sort out before I charge them then that’s me away. I’m needing a pie and a pint.’

  ‘You deserve it,’ said West. ‘Have one on me and I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Called by the clattering of cutlery, West shot to the table with Murdo in hot pursuit as Munro served supper and topped up their glasses.

  ‘I take it that was Duncan,’ he said.

  ‘Yup, he found McIntyre’s motor,’ said West as she wired into her steak. ‘Dougal was right, it’d been nicked after all.’

  ‘And McIntyre?’

  ‘Gawd knows. He could be anywhere.’

  ‘Well, given he’s a suspect,’ said Munro, ‘should you not be informing the authorities over the border?’

  ‘It’s all in hand, Jimbo. The thing is, without the Lexus, it’s going to be difficult, isn’t it?’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Because the only likeness we’ve got of him is the mugshot off his driving licence and a press photo that’s years old. The words needle and haystack spring to mind but he did have a flat in Dumfries so maybe your mate Byrne should keep an eye out for him.’

  ‘He already is,’ said Munro.

  ‘You mean he’s not resigned yet?’

  ‘He’s surviving, Charlie. Just. I’ve brought him up to speed on what we know so with any luck he’ll soon start to allay the fears of his superiors.’

  ‘Well, I wish him luck,’ said West. ‘I was cacking myself when I was in his shoes, until you dragged me out of the mire.’

  ‘All in a day’s work, lassie. All in a day’s work.’

  * * *

  Having demolished her meal in record time, West sat back, sipped her wine, and eyed the last of the potatoes sitting on Munro’s plate.

  ‘Any news on the house?’ she said. ‘In Auchencairn?’

  Munro raised his eyebrows and smiled.

  ‘Your very asking suggests you’ve changed your mind,’ he said. ‘Are you warming to the proposition?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said West, coyly. ‘I must admit, the thought of having a garden is quite appealing.’

  ‘Not to mention no mortgage,’ said Munro, ‘or two reception rooms. Or a bedroom big enough to host a performance of Riverdance.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, alright, there is that as well. So? Any news?’

  Munro cleaned his plate, raised his glass, and winked.

  ‘You’re forgetting,’ he said, ‘estate agents and solicitors are driven by greed, Charlie, not efficiency. It’ll be a few weeks before we hear anything yet.’

  ‘Even so, there’s a chance we might be in by summer?’

  ‘Och, there’s every chance, lassie. And we’ll not be needing a wing or a prayer.’

  ‘Can we take another look?’

  ‘Aye. We can. I’ll call them in the morning and arrange a visit. Now, I suggest you retire to the sofa so I can do the dishes in peace.’

  Chapter 19

  Bewildered by the empty chairs, the dormant computers and more worryingly the mystifying absence of his punctilious colleague whose obsession with cyberspace drew him to his desk with the infallible punctuality of the Shinkansen railway, Duncan, attributing Dougal’s tardiness to an overnight encounter with a besotted SOCO intent on dusting his dabs, grinned slyly, snatched a sandwich from a bagful of breakfast and filled the kettle as the patter of paws scampering across the floor echoed around the room.

  ‘Alright, wee man?’ he said as Murdo begged for a bite of his bacon toastie. ‘Miss, chief, how’s it going? Did you get plenty of antioxidants last night?’

  ‘I think I got my RDA,’ said West. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Well I managed to make it to my pit before twelve so I’m not complaining.’

  ‘Where’s laughing boy? It’s not like him to be late.’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Duncan. ‘I’ve tried calling him but he’s not picking up.’

  ‘Och, the poor chap’s probably overslept,’ said Munro. ‘You cannae blame him for that, his brain’s been working overtime recently.’

  ‘Gawd, it’s not as if he’s been lugging bricks around a building site all day,’ said West. ‘He’s on his backside most of the time.’

  Munro helped himself to a fried egg roll, looked at West, and smiled.

  ‘Do you know why you get so irritable, Charlie?’ he said. ‘It’s mental fatigue. The stress of dealing with the turmoil in your head. It can burn more calories than a workout in the gym which explains why young Dougal is built like a stick insect.’

  ‘Well, if you’re right,’ said West, ‘that would explain why my ex was built like a Christmas pudding.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Duncan as the phone rang, ‘if he’s overslept then it’s nothing to do with his brain. I’m guessing it’s because he had Kay stay over. She’s probably worn him out.’

  ‘Maybe that’s a good thing, he needs to build his stamina. Any coffee on th
e go?’

  ‘Aye, on the way, I’ll just answer… it’s Dougal. Are you alright, pal?’

  ‘Aye, not bad. Sorry I couldn’t answer your call.’

  ‘No bother. I’ll pop you on speaker. Are you enjoying your lie-in?’

  ‘I’m not having a lie-in!’ said Dougal, indignantly. ‘I’m at the hospital.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ said West. ‘Are you okay? What happened? Did you fall off your scooter?’

  ‘No, no…’

  ‘Is it Kay, then? Did you cook last night? Have you poisoned her?’

  ‘Calm your jets, miss! We’re both fine! I got a call last night. Some homeless fella was picked up suffering from hypothermia. They thought it might be the same fella we’re looking for.’

  ‘And is it?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Dougal, ‘I’ve not seen him yet. They’re still checking him over and making sure he gets some rest. They reckon I can see him in an hour so, so I’m stopping here.’

  ‘Perfect,’ said West, heading for the door. ‘I’ll come over. If it is him and he’s up to it, then maybe he can verify Drennan’s story. That’ll sort Riley out once and for all.’

  * * *

  Smiling as a stillness descended on the room, Munro took his breakfast to the table, sat down, and loosened his tie.

  ‘I’m not being rude,’ he said, ‘but there are times when I think that woman swallowed the Blarney Stone.’

  ‘Aye, right enough,’ said Duncan. ‘Is she like that after hours, too?’

  ‘If by that, you mean talkative, excitable, stubborn, irrational, and argumentative, then aye, the answer’s yes. So, what’s on your agenda today?’

  ‘Top of the list, chief, is a report for the fiscal. I’ve still got the neds who lifted the Lexus sitting downstairs. And yourself? Are you heading back down south again?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Munro. ‘I intend to make the most of the peace and quiet and catch up on some reading.’

  ‘Is that not something for bedtime?’

  ‘Ordinarily, aye, but this,’ said Munro, waving a bundle of pamphlets, ‘is not for the faint-hearted.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I picked these up in the village shop. They’re newsletters published by the Auchencairn Historical Society. They offer a fascinating insight into what really goes on in that village.’