RANCOUR: A gripping murder mystery set on the west coast of Scotland (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 8)

by Pete Brassett

  ‘He knows you.’

  ‘I’m flattered.’

  ‘Can you vouch for your whereabouts over the last couple of days?’

  ‘Questo è impossibile, amico mio,’ said Ricci, shaking his head. ‘I am a busy man.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Dougal, ‘I’ll take that as a no then. I think we’re almost done here but I’d just like to check; you’re not planning on leaving the country any time soon, are you?’

  ‘And why would I do that?’

  ‘Old habits,’ said Munro, ‘die hard.’

  ‘I can assure you, Mr Munro, I have no intention of…’

  ‘See here, Mr Ricci,’ said Dougal, scratching the back of his head, ‘I’m afraid that’s a risk I’m just not willing to take. Alessandro Ricci, I’m arresting you on suspicion of causing grievous bodily harm, oh, and driving without insurance. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’

  Chapter 9

  Reaching for his shades as the dappled sunlight played on his face like a strobe in a discotheque, Duncan – bouncing in his seat like a co-driver in the Scottish Rally Championship – tried his best to remain calm as West floored the Defender, bombing through the wooded countryside dodging red squirrels and the occasional hare before slowing to a crawl around Lamlash Bay and yelping with delight at the unfettered view of the mainland shimmering in the distance.

  ‘Look at that!’ she said. ‘It’s stunning! The scenery around here is bleeding stunning!’

  ‘Miss, are you familiar with the phrase “speed kills”?’

  ‘So do most amphetamines,’ said West. ‘Stop worrying, you’re in safe hands.’

  * * *

  The antiquated appearance of McIver’s garage, reminiscent of an age when the roads were populated with Model Ts and Austin 7s was, to an outsider, the kind of place where terms like “diagnostics”, “emissions”, and “traction control” were bandied about with derision and any vehicle which couldn’t be started with a crank handle would be turned away.

  West parked on the forecourt alongside a redundant petrol pump, grinning as she pointed out the mud-encrusted Land Cruiser.

  ‘That must be his,’ she said.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘The number plate, dopey. SN54 RSQ.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘RSQ. Rescue.’

  ‘Oh, very clever,’ said Duncan sardonically. ‘Very clever indeed.’

  * * *

  Dressed in dark blue overalls with a tweed cap sitting on the back of his head, McIver, fastidiously decoking an alloy cylinder head, looked up from his workbench roused by the sight of a lithesome West in her black jeans, white T-shirt and a Belstaff jacket swanning through the door with her hands on her hips. Downing tools, he rubbed the greying stubble on his chin and smiled as she sauntered towards him.

  ‘John McIver?’ she said, waving her warrant card.

  ‘At your service.’

  ‘DI West. And this is DC Reid.’

  ‘You’re here about the girl?’

  ‘Ella MacCall. That’s right. Have you got a minute?’

  ‘I’ve got as long as you like.’

  Duncan rolled his eyes and perched on an empty oil drum while West, enamoured of the anomalous array of hi-tech equipment, outboard motors, a quad bike, and a spanking new Range Rover straddling the service pit, wandered aimlessly around the workshop like a tourist in an art gallery.

  ‘Can you run me through what happened that night?’ she said.

  ‘Have you not spoken with Bobby?’

  ‘PC Mackenzie? Yeah, we have. Diamond bloke, very helpful but I’d like to hear it from you.’

  ‘Well I’m not sure what else I can tell you,’ said McIver. ‘We got the call-out, headed up the fell, and thanks to Bailey…’

  ‘Bailey? He didn’t mention him. Is he one of your team?’

  ‘Oh aye. He’s the most valuable member we’ve got. He’s a retriever.’

  ‘Ah, lovely! Sorry, go on.’

  ‘If it wasn’t for him, I doubt we’d have found her. It pains me to say it but we were too late, so down we came and off she went.’

  ‘Did she have any injuries?’

  ‘Aye, she did,’ said McIver. ‘A broken leg and a wee cut to the head but ultimately it was the cold that took her. She had severe frostbite, which is no surprise, and visibility was zero. Chances are she lost her footing, slipped and fell.’

  ‘Mackenzie said you were quite peeved that night. Understandably so given what you’d been through.’

  ‘Peeved? No, no,’ said McIver. ‘I was raging. It’s not often we get a fatality and it’s not the fact that she went up there ill-equipped and under-dressed, it’s the fact that her so-called friends did nothing to stop her.’

  ‘For what it’s worth,’ said Duncan, ‘they did try. Apparently.’

  ‘Well, not hard enough. Not in my book. She should have been forcibly restrained.’

  West slipped her hands into her pockets, leaned against the bench, and shot him a sympathetic smile.

  ‘It can’t be easy doing what you do,’ she said. ‘This sort of thing obviously hits you where it hurts.’

  ‘No, Inspector. I’m too long in the tooth for that. It’s stupidity and a lack of loyalty that hits me where it hurts.’

  ‘Silly question, I know,’ said West, ‘but did you find anything up there?’

  ‘We’re always finding stuff up there. You’ll not believe what these nature-loving walkers and climbers leave behind.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Rubbish,’ said McIver. ‘What’s left of their packed lunches, spent batteries, anything they can’t be arsed to carry back with them.’

  ‘And that night?’

  ‘Och, you’ll have to ask Isla, she’s like a magpie when it comes to picking up litter.’

  ‘Sorry, Isla?’

  ‘Isla Thomson. She’s one of us and my number two when we’re on a shout. Hold on, I’ll fetch her.’

  McIver wandered to the rear of the garage and disappeared through the back door while West, peering through the window of the Range Rover, sneered at what she considered to be the car of choice for footballers and drug dealers.

  ‘What do you reckon, miss?’ said Duncan as he polished his shades.

  ‘I prefer my Defender.’

  ‘No, I meant McIver.’

  ‘Seems like a nice bloke.’

  ‘He’s an eye for yourself.’

  ‘Behave,’ said West. ‘What about you? What do you think?’

  ‘If I’m honest,’ said Duncan, ‘the way I see it, anyone who’s willing to risk their own life to save some numpty deserves a slap on the back in my book. Hats off to the fella.’

  * * *

  ‘Inspector!’ said McIver, yelling as he returned from the yard. ‘This is Isla. Isla, Inspector West and… sorry son, I can’t remember your…’

  ‘No bother,’ said Duncan. ‘It’s not important.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ said West. ‘Mr McIver was just telling us that you’re his second in command.’

  ‘Aye, and the rest.’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘Second in command, dietician, diary. This fella would be lost if I didn’t keep him in check.’

  ‘So you work here too?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Isla. ‘I’m a teacher, Brodick Primary. I’ve a wee while before class so I said I’d clear out the Cat before John gives it a service.’

  ‘The cat?’

  ‘The Argo Cat. It’s our ATV, an eight-wheeler. It gets us pretty much anywhere we need to go. So, how can I help?’

  ‘We were just talking about Ella MacCall.’

  ‘Oh aye, poor girl. Such a needless waste of life.’

  ‘And I was wondering,’ said West, ‘I know conditions were bad up there but did you happen to find anything?’

  ‘I’m not with you.’<
br />
  ‘Anything someone might have lost or thrown away. I dunno, like a phone maybe, or gloves, that sort of thing.’

  ‘No,’ said Isla as she plonked a carrier bag on the bench, ‘not at the top, but these are the bits and bobs I collected as we came down. There’s not much there but help yourself.’

  West snapped on a pair of gloves, rolled down the bag, and rummaged through the contents.

  ‘Beggars belief,’ she said as she pulled out two empty cans of lager, a comb, a silver flask, a scarf and an empty sandwich wrapper. ‘Litter louts, they get my back up.’

  ‘That makes two of us.’

  ‘Whoever had this must’ve liked their brew,’ said West as she shook the flask, ‘it’s almost empty.’

  ‘And it’s brand new,’ said Isla. ‘It’s yours if you want it.’

  ‘No ta, got one. Maybe the charity shop will take it.’

  ‘Aye, probably. I’ll drop it in once I’ve given it a wee rinse. Well, that’s me, wouldn’t do for the teacher to be late now, would it?’

  ‘Right enough,’ said McIver. ‘Thanks doll, are you up for a wee bevvy later? My treat.’

  ‘Okay, you’re on. Would you care to join us, Inspector?’

  ‘Thanks,’ said West, ‘but we need to head back soon.’

  ‘Oh, hold on,’ said Duncan, leaping from his seat. ‘Sorry, Miss Thomson, but where did you say you found that flask?’

  ‘A couple of miles up the path.’

  ‘And this path, would it be the same path the walkers would use if they were heading up Goat Fell?’

  ‘Aye, indeed it would.’

  Duncan turned to West and frowned as he lowered his voice.

  ‘That Megan Dalgleish,’ he said. ‘She told us Ella went up there with a flask and a packet of crisps. Is it not worth a punt?’

  ‘Bloody well is,’ said West as she grabbed the bag. ‘We’ll take it after all. In fact, we’ll take the whole lot.’

  * * *

  Seemingly preoccupied, West slipped the key into the ignition, slumped in her seat and stared at the Land Cruiser.

  ‘Are we okay for time?’ she said.

  ‘Aye,’ said Duncan, buttoning his coat, ‘which makes me wonder…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well as we’re here and McIver’s a mechanic, maybe he could take a look at the heater. It’s like an igloo in here.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said West, ‘it’s not cold, it’s fresh, that’s all. It helps to keep your wits about you.’

  ‘It’s not my wits I’m worried about.’

  ‘Okay, listen up. As soon as we get back, I want you to run this bag of toot up to forensic services for analysis.’

  ‘Forensics? In Glasgow?’

  ‘Yup. It won’t take you long from Ardrossan, you can drive this and I’ll get Dougal to sort me out a lift. I want prints and DNA off everything and I want to know what’s in that flask apart from tea, understood?’

  ‘Roger that, miss.’

  ‘And if they give you any grief about getting it done, call me and I’ll give them a boot up the backside. We need results back quick-sticks, oh, and while you’re waiting, give McLeod a bell, ask him to send MacCall’s DNA to FS for a possible match.’

  ‘No bother.’

  Aware that West’s catalogue of facial expressions was limited to wooden and deadpan unless cracking a joke, Duncan – conscious of the sudden dip in her enthusiasm – had nonetheless learned to recognise when her inscrutable gaze was the result of something deeper.

  ‘What’s up?’ he said.

  West fumbled in her pockets and retrieved two crumpled sheets of paper, smoothed them on her lap, and began reading.

  ‘Dunno,’ she said. ‘It just seems familiar, that’s all.’

  ‘What does?’

  ‘That number plate. RSQ.’

  ‘It would. You clocked it when we came in.’

  West thrust the sheets of paper into Duncan’s chest and leapt from the car.

  ‘I knew it,’ she said. ‘Sit tight. Back in a jiff.’

  * * *

  McIver, still busying himself with the cylinder head, looked up and winked at West.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ he said, ‘you’ve changed your mind about tonight?’

  ‘Fat chance,’ said West. ‘The Cruiser out front…’

  ‘Oh, it’s not for sale. It’s mine.’

  ‘Thought so. Can you tell me what you were doing on the 6:55 ferry from Ardrossan?’

  ‘Am I under suspicion, Inspector? Because if you want to take me in, I’ll not put up a fight.’

  ‘In your dreams. So?’

  ‘TMS Spares,’ said McIver. ‘North Harbour Industrial Estate. I was picking up stock. Brake pads, cables, hoses, everyday stuff.’

  ‘Can you prove it?’

  ‘You’re not one for trusting folk, are you Inspector? I’ll fetch the invoice, it’ll have the date and the time on it.’

  ‘Cheers. And after that, what did you do?’

  ‘I unloaded here,’ said McIver as West pulled her phone from her hip and took a snap of the receipt, ‘then I made a dash for the doctor because I was on-call from eight. It was all a bit rushed.’

  ‘The doctor? Cripes, sorry,’ said West, ‘I didn’t realise you were ill.’

  ‘You’re alright, I’m not ill. I had to fetch my prescription, that’s all.’

  ‘Still, nothing serious I hope.’

  ‘No, no. Just my sleeping pills. Sometimes I need them when I’m not on duty.’

  ‘I don’t blame you,’ said West. ‘Thanks again, I’ll leave you in peace now, I really have to… hold up, did you say sleeping pills?’

  ‘I did, aye.’

  ‘Your GP, is he nearby?’

  ‘Sorry, Inspector, but why is that of interest to you?’

  ‘Just wondering.’

  ‘Are you indeed? Follow the shore road, you’ll find the surgery right next to the coastguard station.’

  * * *

  Despite the dazzling sunshine, the medical centre – a drab pebble-dashed bungalow with faded paintwork and lifeless windows – remained as grey and foreboding as a storm surge in the Firth of Clyde.

  ‘Now this,’ said Duncan, ‘is the kind of place where you’d wipe your feet on the way out. I’m not touching anything.’

  Assuming the lack of response was down to nothing more than a faulty bell, West – employing the kind of tactics normally reserved for shaking villains from their slumber at four o’clock in the morning – hammered the door with the side of her fist with a vociferous request to “open up” only to be greeted seconds later by a disgruntled receptionist wearing the sanctimonious smile of an air hostess on a charter flight to Benidorm.

  Regarding Duncan as if he’d been hauled off the streets by a social worker, she turned to face West and huffed.

  ‘Consultations are by appointment only,’ she said.

  West produced her warrant card and held it an inch from her face.

  ‘I don’t think we need one,’ she said. ‘Can we come in?’

  * * *

  Doctor Audra Shea, a plump fifty-something with a rosy complexion who needed to heed her own advice when it came to recommending the benefits of healthy eating and limiting alcohol consumption, struggled to budge from her chair and chose to remain seated instead.

  ‘And a good morning to you,’ she said as the surly receptionist left the room. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector West and this is DC Reid.’

  ‘Are you here on business?’ she asked, making a laboured point of eyeing Duncan from head to toe, ‘or is it something of a personal nature?’

  ‘Oh, good grief,’ said West. ‘We’re here about John McIver.’

  ‘John? Oh my, whatever is the matter?’

  ‘Calm yourself, hen,’ said Duncan, ‘he’s fine, toiling away in his wee garage.’

  ‘Then?’

  ‘He says he gets his sleeping pills from you. Is that so?’

  ‘I c
ouldn’t say,’ said Shea. ‘Sorry. Client confidentiality.’

  ‘See here, doctor, your client has already told us that he does get his tablets here, therefore that information is no longer confidential, do you get what I’m saying?’

  ‘Aye, but that’s not how it works.’

  ‘We just want to know what tablets he’s taking,’ said West. ‘Whether it’s lightweight stuff you can get over the counter or something stronger?’

  ‘Well, why can’t you ask him yourself?’

  ‘Because we don’t want him to know.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Can’t say,’ said West. ‘It’s confidential.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry, I’d like to help but…’

  ‘Okay,’ said West. ‘No sweat, I’ll put in an official request. I just have to nip back to the station and sort the paperwork. DC Reid can wait here.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  ‘With any luck,’ said West glancing at her watch, ‘I should be back in about four hours. Might take a bit longer.’

  Shea, flabbergasted, glanced at Duncan and winced.

  ‘Four hours you say? That’s an awful waste of time. Let me see what I can do.’

  Shea reached for her spectacles, logged into her computer and, using her two index fingers, slowly searched for McIver’s records.

  ‘Okey-dokey,’ she said, ‘We started him off on a ten-milligram dose of Diphenhydramine Hydrochloride, it’s basically an antihistamine which gets you drowsy but that didn’t work for him, so we upped it to twenty-five.’

  ‘And that’s something you can get anywhere?’

  ‘Aye, any pharmacy will have them.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But that didn’t work either. Ever since then he’s been on Flunitrazepam. They are prescription only.’

  ‘So they’d knock you for a six?’ said Duncan.

  ‘In a manner of speaking. He’s on a low dose mind, one milligram, not to be taken regularly, just as and when.’

  ‘And how many does he get?’ said West.

  ‘Each box contains thirty tablets. That normally sees him right for about three months.’

  ‘This fluni…’

  ‘Flunitrazepam.’

  ‘Aye. Flunitrazepam,’ said Duncan. ‘Does it come by any other name? You know, like a brand or something?’

  ‘It does. It’s called Rohypnol.’

  Chapter 10