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

by Pete Brassett

  * * *

  Derek Fisher, too tired to make it across the hall for a formal introduction, waved from the end of the corridor and beckoned them over.

  ‘Are you anything to do with the two officers who were here this morning?’

  ‘We are indeed,’ said Duncan. ‘DS Reid, and this is James Munro. How’s he doing?’

  ‘Aye, okay,’ said Fisher. ‘He’s responding well to treatment and he’s been resting all day which is what he needs just now.’

  ‘What was his condition like,’ said Munro, ‘when they brought him in?’

  ‘Just as you’d expect with hypothermia. He looks worse than he is, but it’s nothing to worry about. Human skin has a great habit of repairing itself.’

  ‘Right enough,’ said Munro, ‘it’s a shame the bits on the inside cannae do the same.’

  ‘Right, that’s you,’ said Fisher pointing at the door. ‘Don’t be long, I’ll wait for you here.’

  No stranger to the paraphernalia used to keep someone in the land of the living, Munro was struck not by the stack of monitors displaying the patient’s vital signs, nor by the ventilator, the IV lines, or the pillows which, as he recalled, were as comfortable as a sack of cement, but by the unusual silence and the empty bed.

  Unlike Dougal who would have panicked at the thought of losing a suspect, or West who would have turned the air blue with expletives as she demanded to know who was in charge, Munro simply turned to Duncan and shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘He’s probably gone to fetch himself a brew from the canteen.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Duncan, ‘or maybe he’s in the gents. I’ll find security and take a look at the CCTV.’

  ‘Right you are,’ said Munro. ‘I’ll have a wee word with the nurse and get you in reception.’

  * * *

  Barely blinking as Duncan breezed down the corridor, a distraught Derek Fisher sat staring at the opposite wall, his mind awash with thoughts of defending an allegation of negligence and more worryingly how he’d tell his wife that he’d been suspended pending the results of a full investigation.

  Munro, hands clasped behind his back, stood to one side and proffered a reassuring smile.

  ‘The look on your face,’ he said, ‘is that fatigue or fear?’

  ‘Both,’ said Fisher. ‘If I have to face disciplinary sanctions for this, that’s me humped. No job, no pay, no wife.’

  ‘Och, dinnae fret,’ said Munro, ‘it’s not your fault.’

  ‘That’s not how they’ll see it.’

  ‘Nonsense. You’ve obviously been in the job a wee while, has anything like this ever happened before?’

  ‘Not on my watch. I’ve got a clean sheet,’ said Fisher. ‘I’ve never put a foot wrong.’

  ‘Well there you are, then. If anything you’ll get a written warning and everything will be back to normal.’

  ‘I wish that were true.’

  ‘The gentleman who’s disappeared, have you any idea who he is?’

  ‘Aye! Of course. His name’s McIntyre!’

  ‘Sorry, I didnae phrase that correctly,’ said Munro. ‘What I meant was, have you any idea what he’s done?’

  ‘Done? You’ve lost me,’ said Fisher, ‘I thought he was the victim here.’

  ‘Aye, of course he is. I’m wondering,’ said Munro, ‘how did he manage to leave his bed without being noticed?’

  ‘It’s not difficult,’ said Fisher, ‘I mean, we can’t watch him twenty-four-seven. A wee check in-between meals, that’s about it.’

  ‘Was he not hooked up to a heart monitor or some other piece of equipment?’

  ‘He was, aye.’

  ‘Surely that would have made a sound if he took his wires off?’

  ‘Ordinarily, aye, unless they were switched off first and as you can see, the screen’s blank so I’m guessing that’s exactly what he did.’

  ‘So he was fit enough to do that?’

  ‘It doesn’t take much to pull a plug, does it? It’s not as if he was an invalid or incapacitated, just cold and tired.’

  ‘I see the bedside cabinet’s open, did he have anything in there?’

  ‘Aye, not much, just a phone and a wallet and he’s obviously taken them with him.’

  ‘Well he’d not get far without them,’ said Munro. ‘Listen, I’ve taken up too much of your time already, I apologise for all the questions, I didnae mean to give you a grilling.’

  ‘You’re alright,’ said Fisher, ‘you’ve got your job to do. I just hope you’re better at it than I am.’

  * * *

  Mystified as to why anyone in their right mind would choose to stand in the freezing cold rather than the warmth of a foyer or a patrol car, PC Clive Mullen, an opinionated thirty-year-old with more attitude than aptitude, shivered outside the hospital as he waited with Munro for Duncan to arrive.

  ‘The fella inside,’ he said, ‘is he an armed robber or something?’

  ‘No,’ said Munro. ‘He is not.’

  ‘It’s pure Baltic out here. Are you sure I can’t fetch us a drink? A hot cup of tea, maybe?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I don’t agree with experienced officers like myself being used for jobs like this, we should be on the front line. If you asked me, they should have sent you a Special. You’re not one for a blether, are you?’

  Munro turned to Mullen and scowled.

  ‘With the amount of hot air coming out of your mouth, it’s no surprise you’re feeling the cold. Now wheesht!’

  ‘Seven minutes past one,’ said Duncan as he barged through the door and joined them outside. ‘He didn’t hang around. He came here, cut across the car park, and turned left up the street.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Mullen, ‘I’m not being funny but should I not be inside?’

  ‘Aye, you should,’ said Duncan, ‘but not anymore. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

  ‘Right, no bother. Just as long as I know where I stand.’

  ‘It’ll be out here if you dinnae show some respect for a senior officer, I’ll not tell you again,’ said Munro. ‘Duncan, you were saying?’

  ‘Unless he’s a fitness fanatic, he’ll not get far on foot, it’s miles into town, he’ll be needing the bus.’

  ‘I cannae see him doing that,’ said Munro. ‘If he’d booked a taxi, it could have met him on the street.’

  ‘Aye, right enough. You, what’s your name?’

  ‘Mullen. Sir.’

  ‘I need you to ring the local taxi firms and see if anyone did a pick-up here between one-ten and one-thirty. There’s a place in Doonfoot, not ten minutes’ drive away, start there. The passenger’s about five-ten, scruffy with a bushy beard.’

  Gritting his teeth as Mullen wandered towards his car, Duncan glanced at Munro and shook his head.

  ‘He’d not last five minutes if he was with me,’ he said, ‘the fella needs a belt up the bahookie.’

  ‘If I’m not mistaken,’ said Munro with a grin, ‘you’ve had a few of those yourself.’

  ‘Aye, and I’ve still got the bruises. Just a thought, chief, if McIntyre did jump a taxi, how would he pay for it?’

  ‘He’s got his phone and his wallet,’ said Munro, ‘the problem you’ve got is finding out where he went.’

  ‘Well, he’d not go to Riley’s or MacDuff’s, that’s for sure, so there’s only one place he could go, and that’s back to Carlisle.’

  ‘You’re not thinking like a killer,’ said Munro, ‘at the risk of sounding like a cliché, there is most definitely somewhere else he could go. Somewhere nobody would think of looking for him.’

  ‘Oh, you’re not suggesting that old chestnut about returning to the scene of the crime, are you?’

  ‘It’s a compulsion criminals have. Besides, he’d know the police would be long gone by now, he knows how to get in, it’s warm and dry, and there’s probably food in the fridge.’

  ‘Aye, maybe,’ said Duncan, ‘but a taxi? He’d have to be daft.’

  ‘How so?’

 
; ‘You know as well as I do, chief, it’d take him at least an hour and a half, not to mention a couple of hundred quid.’

  Duncan rolled his eyes as Mullen stepped from the car and paused to check his phone.

  ‘Ho! You! Are you familiar with the phrase “a sense of urgency”?’

  ‘Aye okay, just coming,’ said Mullen. ‘It’s the lads, they’re meeting in the Black Bull later. I was just saying I might be late.’

  ‘Carry on like this and there’s a good chance you might not make it at all. So?’

  ‘You were right about the cab company. They picked your man up on the main road.’

  ‘And where did they take him?’

  ‘Kilmarnock.’

  ‘Did you get the address?’

  ‘The train station.’

  ‘And did he go inside or wander off?’

  ‘No idea,’ said Mullen. ‘I didn’t ask.’

  ‘They’ve cameras there,’ said Duncan, ‘but it’s too late for that. If he did board a train then he has to be heading south. Constable Mullen, do something useful and check the train times from Kilmarnock to Carlisle. Now!’

  Of the opinion that logic and intuition were not mutually exclusive but rather the strangest of bedfellows, Munro, a skilled oarsman when it came to paddling his own canoe, reached for his phone and scrolled through the list of contacts.

  ‘Are you calling Westy?’ said Duncan.

  ‘No, no. DI Byrne. It’s an hour by train to Dumfries. Too late for a welcoming party, I’ll give you that, but he could meet us in Auchencairn. Unless, of course, you fancy a wee drive across the border?’

  ‘No, you’re alright, chief. I’ll come with you. Just give me a minute to–’

  As a firm believer in the tenet that manners maketh the man, Munro, though riled by the constable’s irreverent behaviour, politely refrained from commenting as he interrupted their conversation.

  ‘There was a train at 13:51,’ said Mullen, ‘that arrived into Carlisle at 15:40–’

  ‘If he was on that,’ said Munro, ‘he’d be long gone by now.’

  ‘–and the next was at 14:28, that gets in at 16:47.’

  ‘Then we’re in with a shout,’ said Duncan. ‘Right, Mullen, that’s you away. Chief, let’s go. I need to make a quick call.’

  Munro slipped into the passenger seat and buckled-up as Duncan clipped his phone into the dashmount and fired up the Audi.

  ‘Dougal,’ he said, ‘are you back in the office, pal?’

  ‘Aye, we’re waiting on McIntyre’s fingerprints to appear on the system, should be any second now. What’s up?’

  ‘I need BTP at Carlisle station, quick as you like.’

  ‘No bother, but why British Transport Police?’

  ‘There’s a chance McIntyre might be on the next train from Kilmarnock, it gets in at ten to five.’

  ‘Jeez-oh, that’s tight! Leave it to me but don’t hang up, someone’s wanting a word.’

  ‘Where the bloody hell are you two?’ said West, bellowing down the phone.

  ‘Where do you think, miss? Following your instructions to arrest McIntyre.’

  ‘So is he still laid up, or is he fit to travel?’

  ‘Oh, he’s fit to travel,’ said Duncan. ‘No doubt about that.’

  ‘So are you bringing him in?’

  ‘That’s a negative, miss. He’s taken himself off.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s gone. Done a bunk. Had it away.’

  Duncan glanced at Munro, smiled, and rolled his eyes at the momentary silence.

  ‘Well, he can’t go far,’ said West, ‘he hasn’t got a flipping car!’

  ‘No, he hasnae,’ said Munro, ‘but he does have money and a phone. He took a taxi to the station and he’s heading south.’

  ‘Well, if you’re heading for Carlisle, Jimbo, you’ll have to get your own supper.’

  ‘Relax, Charlie, we’re not going to Carlisle, we’re going to Auchencairn.’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘The old Commercial Hotel, it’s the perfect place to hide.’

  ‘For crying out loud! Have you lost the plot?’

  Not normally given to sudden outbursts of emotion, Dougal, unable to contain his excitement, leapt to his feet and yelled across the room.

  ‘Miss!’ he said, his eyes glued to the screen. ‘He’s right!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The boss, I think he’s right! The prints we lifted from the beaker, they’re a positive for those in Barlow’s place!’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said West, ‘what’s the big deal? It’s just what we’ve been hoping for, isn’t it?’

  ‘Aye, but they’re not a match to Daniel McIntyre, he’s not on the system, they’re a match to Daniel Cassidy!’

  ‘Well, who the bloody hell is Daniel Cassidy?’

  ‘If I’m not mistaken,’ said Munro, ‘he’s Barbara Muir’s brother.’

  ‘Spot on,’ said Dougal.

  ‘Somebody fill me in,’ said West, ‘I feel like I’m losing my mind.’

  ‘Barbara Muir was adopted, right?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Her birth name is Cassidy. She was pulled from the wreckage of the train crash with just two other survivors, her brother and an adult male. Her brother was adopted too.’

  ‘But not by the Muirs? Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘Correct, miss. He was taken in by a family in Carlisle.’

  ‘Well how come he’s got a record?’ said West. ‘If he’s on the system, he must have done something.’

  ‘Daniel Cassidy was arrested after a brawl outside a pub under Section 38, what we used to call Breach of the Peace. He was twenty-seven years old and gave his birth name, not his adopted one.’

  ‘So,’ said West, ‘maybe going to the old Commercial isn’t so bonkers after all? Maybe he’s going to see his sister?’

  ‘Welcome aboard,’ said Munro. ‘We’ll call you later, Charlie. In the meantime, if you’re quick, you’ll just catch the butcher on the High Street. I’ll take a sirloin, please.’

  Chapter 23

  As an incurable urbanite who craved the clamour of a crowded curry house, the convenience of late-night shopping, and the safety of a well-lit street, DI Byrne – already unsettled by a pitch black night and the distant rumble of the raging burn – jumped at the hoot of a tawny owl and raced back to his car where, fearful of an attack by a feral predator, he locked the doors and sat with his thumb poised above the speed dial button on his phone until the welcoming glare of oncoming headlights bathed him in relief.

  Zipping his coat, he stepped from the car as Munro, tickled by his wan complexion, crunched across the gravel to greet him.

  ‘Mr Byrne,’ he said, smiling, ‘you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘I’m not used to the countryside,’ said Byrne, ‘I’m hearing things I’ve never heard before.’

  ‘Och, relax. There’s nothing here to harm you.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Well, you might get a wee nip from an adder if you dinnae watch your feet, and there’s a chance you might get trampled by a herd of cows, or you might pick up a tick or two, but apart from that it’s a feast for the senses.’

  ‘If it’s all the same with you, Mr Munro, I prefer my feast on a plate, thank you very much. Have you not got your dog with you?’

  ‘Aye, he’s on the back seat,’ said Munro, ‘and he’s brought a pal with him. This is Detective Sergeant Reid.’

  ‘Alright?’ said Duncan. ‘I take it you’re not the nocturnal type.’

  ‘I am not,’ said Byrne. ‘I like to see what I’m doing. Before we go any further, I should thank you, Mr Munro, and no doubt you too, Sergeant, for all your help.’

  ‘Och, away,’ said Munro. ‘You’d have got there in the end. It may have taken you a year or two but you’d have got there all the same.’

  ‘So McIntyre’s definitely our man?’

  ‘Aye, it would appear so,’ said Duncan, ‘yo
u’ll get the details soon enough.’

  ‘And you think he’s here?’

  ‘I do,’ said Munro. ‘We’ll check the old Commercial first and if he’s not there, then there’s one last place we can try.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Byrne, ‘the Commercial? Why would he go back there?’

  ‘Because,’ said Munro, ‘it’s the last place someone like yourself would look for him.’

  ‘Thanks for that. There’s nothing like a wee confidence boost to get you going.’

  ‘Dinnae take it the wrong way, you’re in good company. Now, as this is your territory perhaps you should be the one making the arrest.’

  ‘No, no. I’ll not steal your thunder,’ said Byrne. ‘If he’s responsible for MacDuff as well, then he’s all yours. After all, I’d not be here if it wasn’t for you.’

  ‘As you wish. In that case we’ll leave it up to DS Reid to do the honours. Right, we’ll not want to draw attention to ourselves so you walk on ahead and we’ll get you by the hotel.’

  * * *

  Had he been in the town then choosing to sit on a bench beneath the glow of a street lamp like a lovestruck Lothario waiting for his date, a distrait DI Byrne may have gone unnoticed but in a small village where privacy was at a premium, the incongruous figure drew nothing but suspicion from the locals.

  Unnerved by the curious gaze of an elderly gent walking his dog and the twitching curtains in the house across the square, he ducked down the darkened path to the side of the Commercial as Duncan and Munro approached at a leisurely pace.

  ‘The place looks haunted,’ he said. ‘Will we try somewhere else?’

  ‘Calm your jets,’ said Duncan, ‘I’ve a crucifix in my pocket if you want to borrow it.’

  ‘But he’s not here!’ said Byrne, anxiously. ‘There’s no lights on!’

  ‘Och, he’ll not turn the lights on, will he?’ said Munro. ‘Dear God, if you cannae think straight, Mr Byrne, perhaps you should wait in the car.’

  ‘No, you’re alright. I’ll stick with you.’

  Duncan turned the latch on the gate and gave it a hearty shove.

  ‘It’s locked from the inside,’ he said as he hauled himself over the top, ‘but no bother. I’ll be back in a jiff.’

  Byrne shuffled nervously on the spot and glanced towards the square.