‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll nip across to the hospital at Crosshouse, it’s only a couple of miles away. I’ll wait while they run some tests. Give me an hour or two.’
‘You’ve an hour,’ said Munro. ‘One hour. And you’re to call me as soon as you’re done. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Perfectly. Oh, one more thing, the lassie has a wee tattoo on the small of her back. It’s not a professional number, it looks homemade.’
‘By jiminy, you’re trying my patience, you balloon! How in God’s name could she tattoo herself on the back?’
‘I really have no idea, Inspector. Mister. Whatever it is you call yourself, but I suggest she gets it checked out. Could turn nasty if she’s got an infection. Perhaps you’d care to have a word. Cheery-bye.’
* * *
Unlike a sommelier whose discerning sense of smell could differentiate between the subtle notes of a sublime chardonnay and the delicate fragrance of a smooth sauvignon, Munro’s uneducated palate was limited to detecting the difference between rump and sirloin which, as a consequence, resulted in a reaction bordering on anaphylactic shock when he once mistook a habanero for a cherry tomato. Alarmed by the palpitations pounding in his chest, he pulled a neatly pressed handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed his forehead, his deep breathing interrupted by the unexpected arrival of Sergeant Ryan.
‘Mr Munro,’ he said. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Aye, never better. What’s up?’
‘A wee favour.’
‘I’ve no time for favours, laddie,’ said Munro. ‘I’m about to run Miss Jackson home.’
‘No, no. You misunderstand. It’s me doing you the favour.’
‘How so?’
Ryan proffered his hand and slipped Munro a folded sheet of paper.
‘It’s an address,’ he said. ‘You should go there now.’
‘Stop havering and explain yourself!’
‘Just go. I’m sure she’ll not mind waiting another half an hour.’
* * *
From the first daffodils of spring to the umber days of autumn, the sprawling Kay Park – with its vast lake and abundance of wildlife – was enjoyed from dawn until dusk by love-struck teens, parents with buggies, kids on bicycles, and dog walkers exercising their tireless hounds but, after dark in the depths of winter, the thirty-acre site adopted a less welcoming atmosphere.
Drawn by the array of flashing blue lights, Munro, hands in pockets with his cap pulled low over his brow, marched through the persistent sleet towards a row of leafless trees, their silhouetted limbs twisted and gnarled like tortured victims of a forest fire.
A doleful-looking officer with a face like a wet weekend squinted at Munro and, recognising the Sillitoe tartan around his cap, raised the cordon and beckoned him through.
‘DS McCrae?’ he said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
‘No.’
‘Oh. I just assumed… I mean, I was told he was on his way.’
‘Well you’ll not miss him,’ said Munro. ‘He rides a scooter that sounds like a wasp trapped in a can of fizzy pop. In the meantime, you’ll have to settle for me. The name’s Munro.’
‘Of course it is,’ said the constable. ‘Sergeant Ryan said you were coming. Sorry but we’ve not had time to get a marquee up yet.’
‘That’s why God gave us umbrellas. So, what’s the story?’
‘A young girl, sir. A fella with a Lab spotted her not even an hour ago.’
‘Any ideas?’
‘Not really,’ said the constable, shrugging his shoulders. ‘She still has her purse and her phone so it’s not a mugging, which means she was probably attacked, attempted rape maybe. One thing’s for sure, she’s not having a wee lie down for the hell of it.’
‘If you fancy a career as a comedian, sonny, I can arrange for you to give up your day job.’
‘Sorry, no offence, I was just…’
‘Have you made an ID?’
‘Not formally, sir, no. But if the purse belongs to her then her name’s Sullivan. Miss Jessica Sullivan.’
Munro threw his head back, closed his eyes and drew a long, deep breath.
‘Dear God,’ he said, gritting his teeth.
‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that.’
‘Déjà vu, laddie. Déjà vu. Next of kin?’
‘The lads are at the house now but there’s nobody home.’
Recognising at once the ripped jeans and denim jacket as described by Mrs Sullivan, Munro pushed his cap to the back of his head, approached the familiar figure hunched over the body and crouched down beside him, his eyes narrowing as the beam from his penlight bounced off her rosy cheeks.
‘Mr McLeod,’ he said. ‘You’ve obviously not got a home to go to either.’
‘Mr Munro. I thought you were retired.’
‘Dinnae be fooled, my presence is nothing less than serendipitous. Although I have to say, I do appear to be tied to this blessed job with a bungee rope. How long?’
‘A couple of hours, tops.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘Well, I’m not ruling out a cardiac arrest,’ said McLeod, ‘it’s more common than you think amongst the younger generation, especially when you consider the concoctions they’re so fond of drinking.’
‘Aye, right enough,’ said Munro. ‘In my day it was pale ale or lager, and if you couldnae afford that, it was down to the hardware store for a bottle of methylated spirit.’
‘Oh aye. I’m sure it was.’
‘Now, unless you’re about to tell me otherwise,’ said Munro as he scrutinized the body, ‘then I’m of the opinion that this lassie wasnae attacked. There’s no sign of a struggle, not even a hair out of place.’
McLeod pulled the mask from his face, ran his fingers through his bushy, red beard, and turned to face Munro.
‘My thoughts exactly,’ he said. ‘This lassie wasn’t dragged to the ground or pushed like she’d been ambushed. If she had, she’d have her arms out like she was trying to save herself. No, no. She fell alright, or more to the point, collapsed on the spot. She’s a nasty wee graze to the side of her head where she hit the deck.’
‘So?’
McLeod stared pensively at Jessica’s face and paused before speaking.
‘I can’t say for certain, not yet, not until I’ve run a few tests but if it’s not her heart then, going by her bloodshot eyes, I’d hazard a guess at…’
‘Benzodiazepine.’
‘Top of the class, Mr Munro. What makes you say that?’
‘Instinct.’
‘And?’
‘And the fact that she may not be the first.’
‘How so?’
‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ said Munro. ‘See here, Mr McLeod, correct me if I’m wrong but this Benzodiazepine, it doesnae hang around, does it? Once it’s taken?’
‘It does not. Ten minutes on average, maybe sooner if it was a strong dose, by which I mean a fatal one.’
Munro glanced over his shoulder gauging the distance to the entrance on the street.
‘Then there’s every chance she wasnae alone when she entered the park. Either that or she took the Benzo’ just before cutting through here. Let me know for sure just as soon as possible, would you? You have my number.’
‘I will indeed,’ said McLeod. ‘By the way, I’m curious, how come Charlie’s not dealing with this?’
‘Charlie? The object of your unrequited love?’
‘Very good. Let’s just say we appear to have a mutual fear of commitment.’
‘Then you’re in luck,’ said Munro as he stood. ‘She’s in Arran.’
‘Holidays?’
‘Aye. A busman’s. What’s the matter, Mr McLeod? You’ve a look of trouble about you.’
‘You say she’s in Arran?’
‘Correct.’
‘And is she there for the lassie on Goat Fell?’
‘I assume so. I’m afraid I’m not up to speed on the whys and wherefores concerning her trip
. Why?’
‘Because the girl on the mountain, name of MacCall, she’d taken roofies.’
‘Roofies?’
‘Rohypnol. And when I say taken, I mean somebody probably slipped it into her drink.’
Munro stared at McLeod, his face riddled with angst.
‘Exactly how many cases involving Rohypnol have you dealt with?’
‘Throughout my career? MacCall makes two.’
‘That’s two more than me,’ said Munro, cocking his head as the drone of a scooter drew near. ‘Mr McLeod, correct me if I’m wrong but I thought Rohypnol was a banned substance?’
‘Yes and no,’ said McLeod. ‘Yes, generally speaking, but it’s available under private prescription.’
‘From a GP?’
‘From any GP.’
‘Right, that’s me away. Young Dougal will attend to you now.’
* * *
Intent on maintaining his image as an ice-cool member of the Genoese scooteristi, Dougal resisted the temptation to bulk-up his slight physique with overweight leathers like an extra from Mad Max III, choosing instead to protect his wiry frame from the elements with nothing more than a fluorescent Canali blouson and a thick, woollen scarf.
Looking as happy as a dog with two tails, he hopped off the scooter, lifted his goggles, and greeted Munro with a maniacal grin.
‘Boss!’ he said. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you!’
‘Life is full of surprises, Dougal.’
‘Did you happen to find your friend’s… jeez-oh, that’s not her, is it?’
‘No, no. Fortunately, it is not.’
‘Oh, that is a relief.’
‘Were you not in your bed when they called you out?’
‘No, no,’ said Dougal. ‘I was looking into the mysterious case of the man with the machete. It’s a belter.’
‘And have you found him?’
‘I have a suspect, I’ll have a wee word tomorrow. What brings you here anyway?’
‘The fickle hand of fate,’ said Munro, ‘and if I’m not mistaken, it belongs to the Reaper. I’ll leave you to it, laddie, I have to run Miss Jackson back to Carsethorn just now, but I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Right you are, boss. Incidentally, I had a look at those ticketing websites for you and…’
‘I appreciate your efforts,’ said Munro, ‘but it’s not important anymore, they didnae go to the concert. It was all a front, a ruse to hide some night time shenanigans.’
‘Shenanigans? Were they up to no good?’
‘See for yourself,’ said Munro as he nodded towards the body and pulled his phone from his pocket. ‘I have to take this. Doctor?’
‘Mr Munro. I’m still waiting for more results but I thought I’d call you with the good news.’
‘The word “good” is debateable.’
‘We can’t say for certain whether Miss Jackson was given Flunitrazepam or not, not without doing more detailed tests.’
‘Well she was given something man!’ said Munro. ‘Enough to knock her out!’
‘Aye, I’m not denying that,’ said doctor, ‘but all I can say at this stage is that it could’ve been anything from a Benzo’ to painkillers. Sorry, but that’s the nub of it.’
Chapter 7
Despite a steaming-hot shower in a spume of citrus-scented body wash, copious amounts of deodorant, and a generous splash of eau de toilette, an unshaven Duncan Reid – dressed in a manky pair of jeans, brown biker boots and a battered leather jacket, with a hairstyle loosely based on a squirrel’s drey – still managed to look like he’d spent the night roughing it amongst the flora and fauna of the neighbouring woods with only a munchy box and a bottle of barley wine for company.
Thinking he’d impress his superior by finishing breakfast before she’d even risen from her bed, he made his way downstairs to the dining room only to be confronted by a serene-looking West casually sipping coffee as she waded through a wodge of A4 papers.
‘Alright mate,’ she said. ‘You having a lie-in?’
‘No, miss,’ said Duncan, spying the empty plate. ‘Have you already eaten?’
‘Yup. Smoked kippers, scrambled eggs, bacon, oh, and a couple of sausages. Blooming great it was too. You’d best order something quick if you’re hungry.’
‘Oh, there’s no rush. It’s just the back of seven and they serve breakfast until ten.’
‘Yeah, but we’re off in twenty so you’d best get a wiggle on or you’ll have to make do with a lovely bowl of granola.’
Panicked by the thought of surviving the next five hours on a bowl of cereal designed for sheep and badgers, Duncan hastily ordered a traditional fry-up and returned to the table.
‘Anything interesting?’ he said, nodding towards the papers as he helped himself to coffee.
‘I’m not sure yet. It’s the passenger list and vehicle inventory from CalMac.’
‘Really? Is Mackenzie here then?’
‘Nah, it was waiting for me in reception,’ said West as she plucked her phone from her hip. ‘He must’ve dropped it off late last night. Speak of the devil. Constable Mackenzie, you’re up bright and early. How’s tricks?’
‘Aye, all good, miss. Yourself?’
‘Tickety-boo.’
‘Are you up for a wee chat?’
‘Yup. DC Reid’s with me so I’ll stick you on speaker.’
‘Okay,’ said Mackenzie. ‘Excluding private hire, as you know there’s really only two taxi firms that operate from the ferry terminal and neither says they had a fare with four girls off the 6:55.’
‘That’s odd,’ said Duncan. ‘They’re adamant they didn’t walk here, so why would they lie about getting a taxi?’
‘You know your trouble, don’t you?’ said West with a smirk. ‘You’re too suspicious.’
‘I thought that was part and parcel of the job.’
‘Relax. They probably cadged a lift off some poor unsuspecting tourist.’
‘Aye, I think you might be right,’ said Mackenzie. ‘I took the liberty of looking at the CCTV footage from the quayside…’
‘You are keen,’ said West. ‘I like that.’
‘I’ve sent you the same but I’ve got the girls, clear as day, waiting for a car to roll off the ferry, then they all hop in.’
‘Excellent. Have you got a make on it?’
‘I have indeed,’ said Mackenzie. ‘It’s a Vauxhall. Will I give you the index?’
‘Yeah, go on,’ said West as she shuffled through the papers.
‘It’s sierra alpha, one six, oscar charlie golf.’
West ran a finger down the list of vehicles, turned the page and paused, a look of consternation on her face.
‘That car,’ she said, ‘SA16 OCG. It was on the return leg too.’
‘But that doesn’t make any sense,’ said Duncan. ‘Who in their right mind would take a ferry from the mainland only to go back thirty minutes later?’
‘My guess is they either realised they’d left the gas on and legged it back before the house blew up or they made the trip for no other reason than to drop the girls off.’
‘Like a taxi from Kilmarnock?’ said Mackenzie.
‘Possibly, although I reckon that’s a bit too extravagant considering their budget.’
‘Either way, something doesn’t add up,’ said Duncan as he left the room. ‘I think it’s time I had a word with them. I’ll not be long.’
‘Find out if there’s any cameras here while you’re at it,’ said West, ‘front entrance and reception.’
‘Roger that.’
‘Constable Mackenzie, are you still there?’
‘Miss.’
‘Do me favour,’ said West. ‘Find out if that vehicle booked a return ticket in advance or if it just showed up, would you?’
‘No bother.’
‘Now, what about the driver? Is the footage clear enough to get a gander at his face?’
‘No chance. It’s dark and there’s too many reflections, not to mention the sleet.�
��
West pondered the situation as she drained the last dregs of coffee from her cup.
‘CalMac,’ she said. ‘Have they got cameras on board the ferries? On the car decks?’
‘I’m ahead of you, miss,’ said Mackenzie. ‘Leave it with me and I’ll call you back.’
‘Nice one. Quick as you can please, we have to head home this afternoon.’
West, amused by the fact that as a young DC her presence on the force was regarded as nothing more than a token nod to the equal opportunities commission but as a DI, male members of the same fraternity made it their mission to impress her with uncharacteristic displays of diligence, thanked Mackenzie for his sterling work and terminated the call.
She smiled as a burly chef with his sleeves rolled to the elbow arrived at the table bearing an oval platter laden with enough food to feed a family of four and swiped the only slice of toast from the plate, dusting crumbs from her lips as an irate Duncan returned from reception.
‘You’ll not believe it, miss,’ he said, grabbing a knife and fork. ‘The girls, they’ve checked out already.’
‘You what?’ said West. ‘Cheeky blighters. I told them to stay put until my say-so.’
‘I just spoke with the landlady, that Kelly Baxter woman, she says they went for the eight o’clock.’
‘Oh well, look on the bright side, it gives us more time with McIver.’
‘You don’t seem that bothered. If it was me, I’d be raging.’
‘What’s the point?’ said West. ‘We know where they live, we’ll catch up with them later. Cameras?’
‘Negative, miss. Baxter says she prides herself on running a trouble-free establishment, she says they’re not necessary.’
‘Nice to know there’s still some places you can go without being spied on, I suppose. Now, eat your breakfast before it gets cold.’
Duncan glanced at his plate and then at West.
‘What’s up?’ she said.
‘Toast,’ said Duncan. ‘Someone’s stolen my toast.’
‘In a place like this? Unheard of. I’d call the cops if I were you. I’ll be outside on the blower to Dougal.’
* * *
With her shoulders twitching against the crisp, morning breeze, West – shielding her eyes from the low-lying sun – filled her lungs with the damp, musty smell of the woods and called Dougal who, despite a sleepless night in front of his computers, sustained by a couple of litres of Irn-Bru and a family-sized packet of chocolate chip cookies, sounded as chirpy as ever.
RANCOUR: A gripping murder mystery set on the west coast of Scotland (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 8) Page 6
