DUPLICITY: A compelling Scottish murder mystery (Detective Inspector Munro murder mysteries Book 4) Read online

  Dougal sat next to Heather as Anita returned carrying a steaming mug and a small plate of biscuits.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘just a teabag, hope that’s okay.’

  ‘That’s perfect, Mrs Carducci. Thank you. Tell me, have you any idea where your husband may have gone? I mean, I know his departure was unexpected but, for example, does he smoke? Could he have nipped to the pub to get a packet of fags, maybe?’

  ‘The pub’s a thirty second walk up the street, Detective,’ said Remo, ‘not a three-hour hike. And no, apart from a panatella at Christmas, he doesn’t smoke.’

  ‘Fair enough. And I take it that, apart from yourselves, there’s no-one else hereabouts he might have called on?’

  ‘No,’ said Heather, ‘Remo and Anita are the only folk we know in the village.’

  ‘So, you can’t think of a single reason why he may have left so abruptly?’

  ‘Mr McCrae,’ said Heather indignantly, ‘if there’s one thing my Angus looks forward to every month it’s lunch with Sophia bloody Loren here, sorry Anita, I didn’t mean… anyways, he’d not give that up for anything.’

  Anita sat next to Heather, took her hand and smiled warmly.

  ‘We’ve known each other for decades, Constable,’ she said, ‘we’re like brothers and sisters. There’s just no way Angus would up and leave without saying something, it’s simply not in his nature.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Dougal, draining his mug, ‘I have to admit, as you say, it’s all a wee bit odd, folk dinnae just disappear into thin air so here’s what we’ll do. I’ll have a word with the officers outside just now and see what’s happening. It’ll be dark in a couple of hours so we’ll have to organise another search of the area for tomorrow. Mr Carducci, if you’re not averse to the suggestion, I’d like you to stay here in case he comes back. Mrs Carducci, perhaps you could stay with Mrs Buchanan at her house tonight? I’m sure you’ll not want to be alone, am I right, Heather?’

  ‘Right enough. Thank you. Would you mind Anita? I wouldnae want to put you to any trouble.’

  ‘It’s no trouble, hen. I’ll just grab a few bits and bobs and we’ll be on our way.’

  ‘Good. I’ll get one of the cars out front to drop you round,’ said Dougal, ‘one more thing before I go: can you let me have a recent photo of your husband? and I’ll need some personal details too – age, what he was wearing, that kind of thing and, if you dinnae mind, I’d like his bank details, too.’

  ‘Bank details?’ said Heather. ‘Why on earth…?’

  ‘See here, Mrs Buchanan, when folk go missing, chances are they’ll not get far without some cash in their pocket. Tracking their bank account for signs of activity is one of the best ways of keeping tabs on them. It also reassures us that they’re still… that nothing untoward has happened to them.’

  ‘That’s very clever, Mr McCrae. His wallet’s in his coat, I’ll fetch his bank card for you now. When would you need the photo?’

  ‘Just as soon as. I’ll drop by your house tomorrow morning if that’s okay? Then we’ll get a few wee posters about the place, too. It’s a tiny village. Someone, somewhere, must’ve seen something.’

  Chapter 3

  DI Munro, hands clasped behind his back, stood on the balcony of the second floor flat and contemplated the view towards the Firth of Clyde, smiling ruefully as he recalled the sight of trawlers chugging home along the Ayr flanked by flocks of gulls squawking and swooping as they dived for titbits, a memory which, with the demise of the fishing industry, was rooted in the all too distant past. West dumped the rucksack containing all her worldly goods in the bedroom, joined him outside and took a lungful of fresh, sea air.

  ‘Alright, Jimbo?’ she said, smiling.

  Munro, lost in thought, stared dead ahead.

  ‘You know something, Charlie?’ he said with a wistful sigh. ‘I used to come here as a wean, not to fish like, just to watch the boats. I’d sit down there on the harbour wall and just watch. There used to be all sorts coming and going back then, not just the trawlers mind, there were ships from all over. I’d watch them and I’d say to myself: when I grow up, I’m going to be like Para Handy, piloting a puffer laden with coal or timber, battling against the elements on my way to Arran and Jura and Mull and Skye. In charge of my own destiny but at the mercy of the waves.’

  ‘A typical “Boy’s Own” adventure, eh?’ said West. ‘So how come you didn’t follow your dream?’

  ‘Cannae swim. One hit from a twelve-footer and I’d have been on my way to Davy Jones’s Locker.’

  ‘Come on then,’ said West, laughing, ‘tell me what you think, does it pass muster?’

  Munro turned around, leant against the railings and folded his arms as he surveyed the building. Mariner’s Wharf, a relatively new complex built in a style reminiscent of a Victorian waterside warehouse was, he had to concede, aesthetically acceptable.

  ‘Well,’ he said, rubbing his chin, ‘it’s pleasant enough to look at...’

  ‘Two bedrooms,’ said West, interrupting, ‘new kitchen, parking, away from the town centre so nice and quiet and don’t forget the view, I mean, imagine what the sunsets must be like from here.’

  ‘Are you selling it to me or trying convince yourself you’ve done the right thing?’

  ‘The latter, I think. Anyway, it’ll do for now. I can always move just as soon as I find myself a nice little cottage with a garden somewhere.’

  ‘Good luck with that. Och, I’m joking you. Look, you’ll be happy here, what’s more you can walk to the office, it’s not far at all.’

  ‘Not sure if that’s good or bad,’ said West, ‘still, doesn’t bear thinking about, I’m not starting for a couple of days yet.’

  ‘You’ll be fine. Listen, it’s not as if you’re starting a new job where you dinnae know your arsenal from your Elgin. You’re familiar with the place now and you’ll be working with young Dougal again. He’s a good lad.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right I suppose. By the way, I never said thanks for the lift, for running me up here I mean. You didn’t have to.’

  ‘Nae bother lassie, you dinnae want to be fussing with public transport when you’re moving into your new flat, it’s a cause for celebration although I have to admit it’ll not be the same without a drink or two.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I have to drive home!’

  ‘Oh, yeah. Shame. What time do you have to go?’

  ‘Och there’s no rush, I’ve the whole day ahead.’

  ‘Great! In that case, how about giving me a lift to the supermarket so I can stock up on stuff and then maybe we can go pick up my car?’

  ‘I may be nearing retirement, Charlie, but I dinnae work for Uber. Not yet, anyway.’

  * * *

  Munro pulled over, waited for the traffic to pass and executed yet another U-turn as West, cursing, fumbled with her phone.

  ‘Charlie,’ he said, his patience fading, ‘if you waste any more time with that blessed sat-nav of yours there’s a fair chance we’ll end up in Timbuktu and I’m not dressed for the climate. There’s a map in the glove compartment, I take it you’re old enough to remember what a map is?’

  ‘Sadly, yes.’

  ‘Do you actually have any idea at all where it is we’re meant to be going?’

  ‘Some place called Mauchline,’ said West, desperately flicking through the pages, ‘Fernlea Avenue. Ah, found it. Where are we now?’

  ‘Good grief,’ said Munro, shaking his head. ‘We’ve just passed Tarbolton. For the second time, I might add.’

  ‘Okay, okay. We’re a bit off but it’s not far. Keep going, we’re almost there.’

  ‘When exactly did you buy this motor car, anyway? I cannae recall you looking at one the last time we were up.’

  ‘I didn’t. Got it the day before yesterday, off the internet. Ad in AutoTrader.’

  ‘Are you joking me? So you’ve not even seen it?’

  ‘Don’t be daft, of course I have,’ said West, ‘they had
a picture of it on the website. Quite a few as it happens.’

  ‘I didnae have you down as one of the more-money-than-sense-brigade, lassie. There’s no telling what state the vehicle’s in.’

  ‘Relax,’ said West, ‘it’s got a full service history, three owners, good runner.’

  ‘Aye, well, I’m saying nothing,’ said Munro. ‘What did you get? Is it a Defender? I could see you in a Defender. Be ideal up here when the snow starts to fall.’

  ‘Dream on, I may have more money than sense but I’m not loaded.’

  ‘Well I hope it’s not a wee sports car, that would never do. You need something solid, well-built, reliable.’

  ‘What? Like this knackered old thing?’

  ‘I’ll have you know that this Peugeot, like it’s owner, is far from knackered.’

  ‘Okay,’ said West with a smile, ‘life in the old dog yet, eh?’

  Munro turned in to Fernlea Avenue half expecting to see a row of grey, pebble-dashed terraces but was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a tree-lined street full of large, detached houses with well-tended gardens and block-paved driveways.

  ‘We appear to have left Scotia and landed in Hampstead,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘Up there on the right, I think,’ said West.

  Munro pulled up and killed the engine.

  ‘Okay lassie, on you go. I’ll wait here. I hope you’re not disappointed.’

  West scurried up the path, rang the bell and disappeared inside only to reappear minutes later followed by a trendy, young man who, with his skinny jeans, black-rimmed glasses and a beard like Rasputin, would’ve looked more at home in Shoreditch. Munro, intrigued, stepped from the car and watched intently as they went to the garage, his initial surprise at the throaty roar of a turbo-charged engine echoing off the walls turning to laughter as a car only Noddy would drive rolled sedately towards the street. West, beaming like a six-year-old at a birthday party, waved and beckoned him forward.

  ‘I cannae believe it,’ he said, doing his best to hide his amusement, ‘you’ve bought yourself a beige pedal car.’

  The beardy man laughed, handed over the keys and went inside.

  ‘It’s a Nissan Figaro,’ said West, defensively, ‘and for your information not only is it cool but it’ll do a ton flat out.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

  ‘And by the way, it’s not beige, it’s Topaz Mist.’

  ‘Topaz Mist? I think I drank one of those in the pub last week. Are you not taking it for a wee test drive?’

  ‘Nah, it’ll be fine. Anything goes wrong, I know where he lives, right? Come on, race you back. Oh, hold on.’

  West pulled her phone from her pocket and glanced at Munro, a worrying frown creased her face.

  ‘DCI Elliot,’ she said, ‘what on earth could he want?’

  ‘Well he’s not calling to ask if you’d like some flowers on your desk. Answer it.’

  ‘Sir?’ said West, cautiously. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Charlie! Glad I caught you,’ said Elliot, ‘listen, are you still down in Carsethorn?’

  ‘No, I’m here in Ayr, been moving in to my new flat. Jimbo, I mean DI Munro, gave me a lift up.’

  ‘James? Is he there with you?’

  ‘Yup, standing right here.’

  ‘Excellent. Listen, Charlie, I dinnae mean to impose but any chance you could drop by this afternoon? Something I’d like you to take a look at.’

  ‘Well I’m not due to start for a couple of days yet, sir, and I’ve just picked up my new car and I’ve got my flat to sort out, and…’

  ‘Thanks Charlie, I knew I could count on you. Oh, and bring James, would you?’

  West put the phone away, looked at Munro and shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘He wants us to drop by,’ she said, ‘this afternoon.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘That’s what he said.’

  ‘I dinnae like the sound of this, Charlie. I dinnae like the sound of this at all.’

  Chapter 4

  Dougal, having risen at dawn to call on the Carduccis, then coordinate an extended search of Kirkmichael and then conduct further enquiries regarding the disappearance of Angus Buchanan was, due to a lack of sleep, breakfast and coffee, not his normal ebullient self. His mood was buoyed, however, by the premature and wholly unexpected sight of DS West marching purposefully through the door with Munro trailing in her wake.

  ‘Miss! Am I glad to see you!’ he said, beaming broadly. ‘You too, boss, and not before time, I can tell you.’

  ‘Someone’s a happy puppy,’ said West, perching on the edge of a desk.

  ‘Quite the opposite,’ said Dougal, ‘I’m fizzing. What are you doing here anyway?’

  ‘No idea. DCI Elliot asked us to drop by.’

  ‘The chief? Oh, I hope it’s to lend a hand, I cannae do everything myself.’

  ‘Well I’m not starting for a day or two yet, so I doubt it. Probably a pep talk or something I imagine.’

  ‘How about you, boss? Tell me you’re here for the duration.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Munro with a smile, ‘I hate to disappoint you, Dougal, but I’m just dropping my fare off.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Ignore me. So, where is George? I do hope he’s not languishing in a bar some place.’

  ‘He’s right behind you, boss,’ said Dougal, raising a hand and pointing towards the door.

  DCI Elliot, sleeves rolled up and grinning like a grizzly after a salmon supper, stepped forward and grabbed Munro by the hand.

  ‘I’ve been looking forward to this,’ he said, ‘I appreciate you coming. How have you been James? Charlie?’

  ‘Och, can’t complain, George,’ said Munro, ‘it’s not long now until I can finally put my feet up for good.’

  ‘You’ll be bored in no time, “feet up” is not in your nature, James. How about you Charlie? How’s the flat?’

  ‘Nice, thanks for asking,’ said West, ‘great view but I can’t hang around too long, got stuff to sort, you know: cleaning, unpacking…’

  ‘This’ll not take long,’ said Elliot. ‘Here’s the thing, I’m up to my ears see, trying to organise the roster but it’s awful hard with so few men available. Problem I have is, I can’t put a man on a case and then move him after a day or two, get what I’m saying?’

  ‘Oh aye, right enough,’ said Munro, ‘you’ve got to have continuity.’

  ‘Exactly. So look, Charlie, I know it’s above and beyond the call of duty but we’ve had a missing persons filed. Dougal’s been looking into it but it’s not straightforward, he can fill you in and perhaps you can ponder it while you’re getting yourself settled.’

  ‘Alright,’ said West, ‘I’ll try but no promises. I’ve still got quite a bit to do, including getting my bearings around town.’

  ‘Och, James’ll help you out, I’m sure. Isn’t that right, James?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Munro, shaking his head as he surrendered his hands, ‘that’s me away just now. I’ve a drive ahead of me and hills to climb, plants to plant, and whisky to drink, so best of…’

  ‘A couple of minutes, that’s all,’ said Elliot pleadingly, ‘have a cup of tea while Dougal fills you in, eh? You’re a man of experience, James, you could probably give these two a word of advice so they hit the ground running, so to speak.’

  ‘I’ve a funny feeling the only place I’ll be running to is home,’ said West.

  ‘Och, come then Dougal,’ said Munro, rolling his eyes as he reluctantly unzipped his coat and pulled up a chair, ‘let’s have it, what’s the story?’

  * * *

  Dougal plonked two mugs of tea on the desk as Elliot vacated the office, sat back and ruffled his hair, his cheeks puffing with a protracted, heavy sigh. Munro stared at the mug and the teabag bobbing on the surface.

  ‘Are you okay, Dougal?’ he said. ‘Teabags? What happened to the pot?’

  ‘Sorry, boss, I cannae be arsed. I’m that tired, I havenae the patienc
e nor the energy.’

  ‘You look done in,’ said West, ‘been overdoing it?’

  ‘No choice, miss, I’m here on my own,’ said Dougal. ‘The chief’s got everyone else working on other things. He kept saying DS Cameron’s replacement would be here soon enough but to be honest, I think he’s been holding out for you.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a compliment. Have you had lunch?’

  ‘No. No breakfast either, not unless Irn-Bru counts as one of my five a day.’

  ‘Keep drinking that stuff, laddie, and the only five a day you’ll be worrying about is the amount of teeth of you’ll be losing,’ said Munro. ‘Okay, let’s crack on then you can take yourself off and get something to eat.’

  ‘Aye, okay. So, Angus Buchanan. Sixty-two years old, married to Heather, lives in Crosshill. Retired. Well, good as. Helps his business partner Remo Carducci run that chain of chippies and coffee shops.’

  ‘Carducci’s?’ said Munro. ‘The Italian cafes? Like the one in Irvine?’

  ‘Aye, that’s them. Irvine, Kilmarnock, Prestwick, Troon. There’s one here too, down by the esplanade.’

  ‘I’ve been to that one and I have to say the food was really quite excellent.’

  West turned to face Munro with an inquisitive smirk on her face.

  ‘You went to an Italian café?’ she said. ‘Did you actually have anything Italian to eat? I mean, proper Italian?’

  ‘Aye, of course,’ said Munro, ‘I had 12oz bistecca lombata.’

  ‘Thought so, you had a sirloin steak, with a generous helping of patate fritte no doubt. Go on, Dougal.’

  ‘Miss. So, Angus Buchanan and his missus were having lunch with the Carduccis yesterday, they’re old friends apparently…’

  ‘And where was that?’ said Munro.

  ‘Kirkmichael, it’s a tiny wee village not far from Crosshill and Maybole, bit of a one-horse town. Anyways, after lunch Mr Buchanan nipped out to his car to fetch a bottle of wine and never came back.’