Duplicity Read online

  ‘See here, Charlie, there’s no tyre marks on the road which means it wasnae travelling at speed and it didnae brake hard. The hedge hasnae been damaged either so the chances of it being run off the road are probably zero. Now, look at the grass beneath the wheels, it’s only been flattened where the car’s mounted the verge, there’s been no shilly-shallying in an attempt to park it safely. No, no, that motor car was placed there in a deliberate and precise manner.’

  ‘I could’ve told you that,’ said West, ‘eventually.’

  Munro lowered the window as PC Anderson stubbed out his cigarette with the toe of his boot, straightened his cap and ambled towards them.

  ‘Morning, Sir,’ he said, ‘you can’t stop here I’m afraid, as you can see we’re conducting an investigation.’

  ‘Glad to hear it, laddie,’ said Munro as he flashed his warrant card and stepped from the car, ‘so, what’ve you got? Apart from time on your hands, that is.’

  Anderson smiled and gave a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders.

  ‘Well, the vehicle was dumped here some time in the early hours, I’d say. A fella on his way to the veterinary college reported it this morning.’

  ‘Time?’

  ‘Let me see,’ said Anderson as he pulled a tattered notebook from his breast pocket, ‘5.42am. I got here just after six.’

  ‘Okay. And do we know who the owner is?’

  ‘Oh aye. I called Kestrel Cars, they’ve an office on Smith Street in the town centre. They own the vehicle but the driver on duty was a Mr Tomek Dubrowski, I think that’s Polish. The fella at the cab company says he’s been trying to reach him since last Thursday cos he wants his car back but he’s not answering his phone.’

  ‘And he didn’t think to call the police about it?’ said West.

  ‘I think he thought the better of it, Miss. Seems Mr Dubrowski’s terms of employment weren’t exactly legit.’

  ‘I see,’ said Munro, ‘I’d have a wee word with him about that if I were you. Does he have an address?’

  ‘He rents a room on Souter Place, Sir. The lads are round there now, see if they can’t raise him from his pit.’

  ‘Anything else we should know about?’ said West, pulling on a pair of gloves.

  ‘The car’s not locked and the keys are in the ignition.’

  ‘And I take it nothing’s been touched?’ said Munro.

  ‘No, Sir. Well I mean, I had to open the door to take a wee peek inside but that’s it.’

  ‘Most efficient, Constable…?’

  ‘Anderson, Sir.’

  ‘Tell me, Anderson,’ said Munro as he walked towards the car, ‘would you happen to know why DCI Elliot is so interested in this and not your Super?’

  ‘I reckon it’s probably something to do with what’s in the back, Sir.’

  Munro, one hand on the door handle, regarded Anderson with a curious tilt of the head as he gently eased it open. Having instinctively established that the presence of an ambulance was no coincidence, the sight of the body slumped across the back seat came as no surprise. West squeezed by the hedge and opened the door on the opposite side, her lip curling as she came to face to face with the wide-eyed cadaver.

  ‘Blimey,’ she said, ‘he doesn’t look too happy.’

  ‘Not surprising,’ said Munro, ‘probably wasn’t planning on being dropped off at the Pearly Gates.’

  ‘So what do you think? Heart attack?’

  ‘Possibly, but going by the expression on his face I’d say he’s either bitten into a lemon or he’s suffered a stroke. My money’s on the latter.’

  ‘Really? I didn’t know a stroke could kill you?’

  ‘It could if it’s a side effect of something else. There’s some bruising to his cheeks too. Mild.’

  ‘So he wasn’t punched.’

  ‘No, no, it’s not that severe. It looks as though somebody covered his mouth with their hands, as if they were trying to shut him up. Your turn.’

  ‘Okay,’ said West, ‘off the top of my head a couple of scenarios spring to mind.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well apart from the bruising there’s no sign of a struggle, no footprints or scuff marks on the seats so I reckon he either pegged it here, quite suddenly, or he was already dead and brought here later. Either way the driver wasn’t bothered about calling an ambulance and probably legged it, either intentionally or through fear.’

  ‘Good,’ said Munro, ‘but if this gentleman had already expired, do you not think tossing him in the river with a few bricks for company would’ve been a better way to dispose of him?’

  ‘So you’re saying if he was killed beforehand, if it wasn’t a cardiac, then the killer wanted us to find him?’

  ‘Aye, lassie. It’s certainly a possibility. Why else would he leave it here? Okay, let’s move on, what else?’

  ‘Clothes,’ said West. ‘He’s casually dressed, a bit under-dressed in fact so I’d say he was a local fare, probably… where are you going?’

  Munro, not familiar with the concept of travelling by taxi at two in the morning wearing nothing but shirt-sleeves went to the rear of the car, popped open the boot and smiled knowingly at the expensive-looking leather holdall.

  ‘On you go,’ he said, ‘let’s see what we’ve got.’

  West gave him a sideways glance, slowly unzipped it and pulled the contents from the bag as if conducting an inventory.

  ‘Blouson jacket, cream,’ she said. ‘Socks, five pairs. Underpants, five pairs. Shirts, five of. Why do I get the feeling he was going away for five days?’

  ‘That’ll be your sixth sense, Charlie.’

  ‘Toiletry bag containing… one razor, one toothbrush, one tube of… oh, and a wallet,’ said West, flipping it open, ‘now who would keep their wallet in a toiletry bag?’

  ‘Someone who was hiding it,’ said Munro.

  ‘Can’t think why, it’s empty. I mean no cash, just a couple of cards. Visa debit and a Mastercard. Name’s Lars Gundersen and look, they’ve even got his photo on the back.’

  ‘Well at least we know who he is.’

  ‘DNB Bank. You heard of them?’

  ‘No, I have not,’ said Munro, ‘but with a name like Gundersen he’s no doubt Scandinavian. Bag, Charlie. Side pocket.’

  West eagerly opened it up and retrieved a sheaf of travel documents.

  ‘Spot on,’ she said, opening a passport. ‘He’s Norwegian. Age: sixty-four. Doesn’t show an address though.’

  ‘Look for the personal identification number, you’ll have to contact the authorities and give them that, then you’ll get all the details you need.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘According to this,’ said West, ‘he was booked on a cruise aboard the Boudicca, a tour of the fjords. Inside cabin, single berth, leaving Greenock… yesterday.’

  ‘Well he’s certainly missed that boat.’

  ‘Hold on, it says here the cruise is eight days.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘He’s only got five of everything.’

  ‘Then there’s a reason,’ said Munro, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘Has he an itinerary amongst that lot?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Day five. Would they be at sea or does the boat dock somewhere?’

  ‘Day five… oh clever man. Bergen. It docks in Bergen, late morning.’

  ‘Then I’d wager Charlie, that that’s where Mr Gundersen planned to jump ship.’

  ‘Jump ship? Why would he…?’

  ‘Sshh,’ said Munro raising his hand, ‘listen… if I’m not mistaken, that is the sound of a giant Asian hornet.’

  West looked up and smiled as Dougal, squinting against the breeze in his open-face helmet, came whizzing down the road on his Vespa and parked beside them.

  ‘Got here as quick as I could,’ he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, ‘have I missed much?’

  ‘Nah, not really,’ said West, ‘just a dead Norwegian in the back of a taxi. Seen one, y
ou’ve seen them all.’

  ‘Bit far from home, is he not?’ said Dougal, grinning as he removed his helmet, ‘not exactly the tourist trail round here.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Munro, ‘so you have to ask yourself the question: what was he doing here? Particularly as he’d booked himself a wee cruise which left yesterday.’

  ‘Search me, visiting friends maybe?’

  ‘Maybe. Okay you two, listen up, a few words before I go…’

  ‘Go?’ said West. ‘Go where?’

  ‘Home of course. You forget I’m not a part of your team.’

  ‘Bugger.’

  ‘You need to get SOCOs up here as soon as possible, they need to go over the car and then the lane, from top to bottom. Second, the college is up the way there, go see if they captured anything on their cameras, anyone behaving like a badger in the dead of night. Got that?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Dougal despondently, ‘not much then.’

  ‘Och, I’m not finished yet, laddie,’ said Munro, ‘all the stuff in the boot, forensics. Kestrel cars; find out when our friend booked his ride and where they picked him up from. Oh, and you need to get Mr Gundersen here off for an exploratory at the mortuary before he goes completely stiff.’

  ‘Is that it?’ said West, sarcastically.

  ‘Norwegian authorities,’ said Munro with a wink and a nod, ‘you need an address for our visitor, see if you can trace a next of kin and just for good measure, you may as well check on the state of his finances. I cannae see anyone going on their holidays without some cash in their wallet. Should keep you busy for a day or two.’

  ‘You’re not wrong there,’ said Dougal, sighing as he wandered towards the taxi, ‘I’m just gonna take a wee look, okay?’

  West folded her arms and glanced sheepishly at Munro.

  ‘You’ve got to give me a lift back so I can get my car, right?’ she said, shuffling aimlessly and kicking the dirt beneath her feet. ‘So I was thinking, how about we stop at the shopping centre on the way, pick you up a couple of shirts and then you could…’

  ‘No, no, no, lassie,’ said Munro, laughing as he reached for his car keys, ‘you’re not getting me involved with this one Charlie, I’ve told you several times, you’re more than capable of…’

  ‘Boss!’

  Munro looked up as Dougal frantically beckoned them to the taxi.

  ‘What is it laddie? Can you not see I’m trying my best to wheedle out of this investigation?’

  ‘This fella, Boss, he’s not a Norwegian. He’s Angus Buchanan.’

  Chapter 7

  West, looking as smug as the cat that got the cream, held up two cellophane-wrapped shirts, one dark blue, the other plain white as Munro – reminded of the interminably tedious shopping trips he used to make with his dearly departed wife – sighed in defeat.

  ‘I’ll take the white,’ he said, ‘short sleeves.’

  ‘We’d better get two,’ said West with a smile, ‘and how about a nice jumper, in case it gets chilly?’

  ‘No thank you. I’ve been thinking about that taxi…’

  ‘A cardigan then?’

  ‘No thank you. It’s a Prius…’

  ‘Underwear’s over there. Long socks or short?’

  ‘Short. And a Prius is a…’

  ‘Do you need a hat?’

  ‘Charlie!’ said Munro under his breath. ‘If I had to compile a list of things I hate most in life, shopping for clothes would be at number two, right between garlic and chilli sauce, and number four would be those folk who dinnae pay attention when somebody’s talking to them.’

  ‘Sorry, just trying to help.’

  Munro grabbed a three-pack of socks and shorts, relieved West of the shirts and headed for the till.

  ‘As I was saying…’ he said, tucking the receipt into his wallet.

  ‘You could claim for those,’ said West, ‘on expenses. Sorry.’

  ‘…the taxi’s a Toyota Prius. It’s a hybrid.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning if it was driven in electric mode it could easily have slinked by Carducci’s place and nobody would have heard a thing.’

  ‘Of course! So it was waiting for Buchanan all along and when he popped out to get the wine, they snatched him.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Munro. ‘Angus Buchanan wasnae abducted Charlie. I’m telling you, that taxi was booked to pick him up at a particular time. The bottle of wine was just a ruse to get him out of the house.’

  ‘Okay. But what about the bag in the boot?’ said West. ‘If he had plans to abscond how did he get the bag in the boot? He’d have had to have taken it with him to Carducci’s gaff so surely his wife would’ve known about it?

  Munro paused as they left the department store.

  ‘It’s only a theory,’ he said, ‘but let’s just imagine for a moment it was already there.’

  ‘In the boot? But how?’

  ‘Perhaps he knew the driver. Perhaps he’d given him the bag the day before.’

  ‘Or,’ said West, her face lighting up as she wagged her finger, ‘maybe that bag wasn’t his at all. Maybe it was packed for him, specifically for the trip.’

  ‘At last, Charlie,’ said Munro, smiling as he pulled his wailing phone from his pocket, ‘you’re beginning to think like a detective. I dinnae recognise this number.’

  ‘Just answer it, you never know, it might be a good deal on double-glazing.’

  ‘Munro. Who is this please?’

  ‘Inspector,’ came a sultry but confident voice. ‘Miss McClure. The Clydesdale Bank. I’ve been trying to contact you, are you not in the habit of answering your phone?’

  ‘Not really, it’s always bad news. How can I help you Miss McClure?’

  ‘I’ve some rather important information about that account we were discussing, Remus Trading? Perhaps you’d care to drop by?’

  ‘Aye, okay,’ said Munro. ‘Give me twenty minutes.’

  ‘Not double-glazing then?’ said West as he terminated the call.

  ‘No Charlie, it was that Miss McClure at the…’

  ‘Ooh, get in there, Jimbo. Somebody’s after your…’

  ‘Good grief, Charlie, I never realised you were so in touch with your inner child. Come on, I’ll drop you at the office. If they’ve picked up the taxi driver then I suggest you start questioning him. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

  * * *

  Munro – expecting to find Miss McClure seated behind her desk wearing the same vintage outfit and dour expression he’d familiarised himself with the day before – was taken aback at the sight of her poised by the window clad in a snug-fitting, knee-length pencil skirt and a crisp, burgundy blouse unbuttoned at the neck, looking, to all intents and purposes, like somebody off on a rather expensive lunch date.

  ‘Something wrong, Inspector?’ she said, smiling warmly.

  ‘No, no,’ said Munro, clearing his throat, ‘you look… busy. I hope I’ve not kept you waiting, I had to deal with a Norwegian in a taxi.’

  ‘Sounds intriguing,’ said McClure.

  ‘Aye, are you familiar with the name Edvard Munch?’

  ‘Why of course. You’re not telling me you found Edvard Munch in a taxi, surely?’

  ‘No, no, it was “The Scream”.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Ignore me. So, Miss McClure, you said you had some information for me?’

  ‘That’s right, Inspector. Coffee? It’s only filter from the pot but it’s quite palatable.’

  ‘Aye, very kind,’ said Munro, ‘white, three sugars. Thanking you.’

  McClure handed him a cup and returned to her desk.

  ‘As I mentioned earlier, I sent you an email, or rather, I sent it to your colleague.’

  ‘I’m sure I’ll get around to reading it next time I’m suffering from a bout of terminal boredom. What of it?’

  ‘Here,’ said McClure, handing him a sheet of paper. ‘I’ve printed it off for you. As you can see quite a substantial sum was transferred
from the Remus account late last night and again early this morning.’

  ‘Two payments of twenty-five grand?’ said Munro, aghast. ‘By jiminy, that’s more than I earn in a… what’s with the times? Why just before midnight and just after?’

  ‘There’s a daily limit on the amount that can be transferred, Inspector…’

  ‘Of course there is,’ said Munro. ‘I see there’s no mention in your email of where the money was transferred to? Is there a reason for that?’

  ‘Security, Inspector,’ said McClure, ‘but now that you’re here I can tell you that the money was transferred to an account held with DNB. That’s a bank in Norway.’

  ‘DNB?’ said Munro. ‘This account, wouldnae be a Mr Lars Gundersen by any chance, would it?’

  ‘Indeed it would, Inspector. How clever of you. I can see I’ll have to get up early if I’m to catch you out.’

  ‘Earlier than you think,’ said Munro, muttering under his breath. ‘Listen, Miss McClure, I cannae thank you enough for this, you’ve been most helpful and I appreciate it but I need one more favour from you.’

  McClure, elbows on table, clasped her hands beneath her chin and regarded Munro with a seductive smile.

  ‘I wonder what that could be, Inspector?’ she said softly.

  ‘Remus Trading. I need to know what address you have for them, I mean, where the statements and any correspondence is being sent.’

  ‘Oh I’ve told you before, Inspector, I’m not at liberty to divulge such…’

  ‘Miss McClure,’ said Munro impatiently as he fixed her with an icy stare, ‘no offence, but I’ve a murder on my hands and whoever runs the Remus account might be mixed up in it, and I simply dinnae have the time to jump through hoops just so I can…’

  ‘Okay,’ said McClure holding up her hands, ‘but if anyone asks…’

  ‘I’ll not forget this, I owe you.’

  ‘Quid pro quo, Inspector?’ said McClure as she tapped away on the keyboard.

  ‘Aye, if you like. What is it? Have you a wee parking ticket that needs sorting?’

  McClure sat back and stared at Munro with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

  ‘There’s no parking ticket but you do strike me as the kind of man who’d enjoy a decent Bordeaux and some Schubert, Inspector.’