He got up and gave her a hug. She felt like a pile of bones in his arms.
She gave him a quick squeeze then disengaged herself and stared at him critically, no doubt registering unwelcome changes in him too.
‘Kate, you’re one of the few things worth coming back for. How’s life.’
The strain showed in her smile.
‘Pretty good. The new Super, Crawford Cunningham, is fairly decent. It’s been a lot quieter, obviously. I can’t say I mind that these days. When we caught this case we were all hoping they’d send you guys down.’
‘Even Byers?’
‘With the possible exception of DS Byers.’ She smiled.
‘So, how have you been?’
Her eyes slid away. ‘Getting there. You?’
‘Getting there,’ he replied. He missed their easy camaraderie of old. But what did he expect? He’d fled to Glasgow. She’d chosen to stay and tough it out.
‘This case,’ she said, mask firmly back in place. ‘We’re dealing with lawyers, specializing in criminal law. We’re going to have to do everything by the book.’
‘The Criminal Bar is really small in Dumfries. I have a feeling this investigation is going to go off in their midst like a stick of dynamite,’ Farrell said.
‘As if that wasn’t bad enough, I’ve been doing a bit of digging into the background of our murder victim, Gina Campbell.’
‘And?’ Farrell asked.
‘Her father is Mario Lombardo.’
‘The former Glasgow casino owner who’s rumoured to have links to the Sicilian Mafia?’
‘The very same,’ she replied. ‘He moved down here, ostensibly to retire, five years ago.’
‘If that’s true then maybe this whole thing is some vendetta against the father?’
‘He’s already been on the phone to the Super. I gather it wasn’t a pleasant conversation.’
‘The last thing we need is someone like him blundering about in the midst of the operation,’ said Farrell, feeling the beginnings of a migraine fingering him behind the eyes. His hopes for a swift resolution of the case evaporating like morning mist.
‘Have you seen much of Laura Lind?’ he asked.
DI Moore dropped her gaze and got to her feet.
‘Not much, recently. Anyway, I’d best get on. Lovely to have you back.’
Farrell headed towards the Super’s office. As he passed Lind’s old room, his stomach clenched. Had it too remained unoccupied? Hesitating, he pushed open the door and peered in. It was occupied by a civilian woman in her fifties, her fingers flying over a keyboard while audiotyping. He muttered an apology and carried on, his heart hammering. Business as normal then.
Running lightly up the next flight of stairs he knocked on the door of DSup Crawford Cunningham.
‘Enter’, shouted a voice that sounded as if the person it belonged to was speaking from a throne, and not the porcelain variety.
Farrell opened the door and walked towards the tall, clean-shaven man sporting a regal-bearing and aquiline nose.
‘Crawford Cunningham,’ he said, standing to offer a firm handshake. ‘We’re very glad to have your team on board for this one.’
‘Happy to assist in any way we can, sir,’ said Farrell. ‘There are already some persons of interest.’ He took a seat. ‘It appears that the deceased was having an affair with another solicitor. I gather that her father has been in touch with you direct?’
‘Yes, Mario Lombardo.’
‘I understand that he’s rumoured to have Mob connections?’
‘Yes, but despite countless investigations, our colleagues in Glasgow have never been able to pin even a parking ticket on him. Right now, he’s a victim of crime, a grieving man who has lost his daughter, so tread carefully.’
Chapter 9
Mhairi stuck her head round the door and on seeing Farrell was alone came in and threw herself onto the seat in front of his desk.
‘I didn’t think you’d end up back in here,’ she said, running a critical glance over the neglected room. ‘They’ve cleared a space for me in the Sergeant’s Room right next to bloody Byers’s desk.’
‘Any joy with Max Delaney’s wife?’
‘Yes, as it happens.’
As Mhairi explained what she had learned, Farrell frowned.
‘So the husband is still potentially in the frame then?’
‘It would appear so. I also found out the identity of Gina Campbell’s lover.’
Farrell leaned forward.
‘It’s another defence solicitor, name of Gabriel Ferrante. Chloe Delaney saw them together doing the dirty deed last May. It was in the shed at her house during some party.’
‘Right under the husband’s nose?’
‘Must have a death wish,’ said Mhairi, then clapped her hand to her mouth.
‘I get the picture. If Fergus found out she’d been running around behind his back with another solicitor that would provide a strong motive for murder.’
‘Equally, if Gabriel Ferrante wanted her to leave her husband and she refused that might have sent him over the edge,’ said Mhairi.
‘We’ll take a pop at him tomorrow. See what he has to say for himself. Unless she has more than one lover, she was clearly intending to entertain someone that night.’
‘Unless the person who killed her wanted us to think that,’ Mhairi sighed.
‘We’ve another possible suspect pool to look into as well,’ said Farrell.
Mhairi groaned. ‘Tell me you’re joking. At this rate we’ll be here till I’m old and grey.’
‘It turns out that Gina Campbell is Mario Lombardo’s daughter.’
‘The one who’s always getting organized crime hot and bothered?’
‘The very same. It could be a vendetta against him. I can’t think of a better way to rip a man apart than to murder his daughter.’
The phone rang on Farrell’s desk, startling them both. He snatched it up.
‘Thank you, we’ll be right down.’
‘That’s Fergus Campbell arrived. He’s declined representation.’
‘The confidence of an innocent man?’ said Mhairi.
‘Or the egotism of a cold-blooded murderer,’ said Farrell.
Chapter 10
Fergus Campbell’s face was immobile, as if it was sculpted from marble. His thick black wavy hair had yet to recede and he was immaculately attired in the kind of expensive smart-casual clothes favoured by the landed gentry in these parts. He looked rather too composed for the part of grieving widower, but Farrell knew that he might still be in shock. Settling themselves at the table in the poky interview room, Mhairi switched on the recorder and they identified themselves.
‘Can you take us through your movements from 5 p.m. last night?’ asked Farrell.
His voice was clipped and emotionless with the kind of upper-class intonation that spoke of a different world from the one they inhabited.
‘I came home from work at 5.30. I had a shower and changed.’
‘Were your children still there?’
‘Yes, my wife …’ his voice faltered for the first time, ‘told me Teddy and Amelia were staying the night with our nanny, Jane Pearson. She arrived about half an hour before I left and was getting the children organized.’
‘Did you see your wife?’
His jaw tightened.
‘Yes, she was in bed, with a migraine. I took her a cup of tea. I offered to stay but she said she needed to sleep it off. If I’d known that would be the last time I’d see her …’
The strain was starting to show. Farrell glanced across at Mhairi.
‘We understand that this is painful for you, Mr Campbell,’ said Mhairi. ‘Would you like to take a short break?’
‘No, thank you. Let’s just get this over with. It’s been a long day.’
‘Do you recall what your wife was wearing?’ asked Mhairi.
‘She was in bed in her dressing gown with the duvet pulled up.’
‘Did she mention
that she was expecting anyone?’ asked Farrell.
‘No.’ His jaw tensed.
‘What time did you leave the house?’
‘About quarter to seven.’
‘Had you eaten?’ asked Mhairi.
‘No, we ordered a takeaway about half past eight from the Bombay Palace.’
‘Did someone collect it?’
‘No, we’d had a couple of beers by then. They delivered.’
‘Who answered the door?’
‘Max, I guess. It’s his house.’
‘Did you leave at any time during the night?’ asked Farrell.
‘No, absolutely not. I had no reason to.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I didn’t kill my wife.’
‘Can you tell us what happened after you left Max Delaney’s house in the morning?’ said Mhairi.
‘I got home and let myself in with my key, expecting Gina to be still in bed. I walked through the hall and into the kitchen to make some coffee and then …’
‘Take your time,’ said Farrell.
‘And then … I saw her lying there. She was meant to be in bed, but … the way she was dressed, at that time in the morning, I couldn’t take it in. Then I noticed the blood. I looked into her eyes.’ His hand gripped the table. ‘My brain told me she was gone, but I couldn’t help myself trying to shake her back to life. Then I called the police.’
‘A knife was found lying next to her. Do you recall whether or not you touched it?’
‘I honestly don’t remember – I might have done – I was only focused on my wife.’
‘It appears that your wife may have had company last night. There were two wine glasses on the coffee table. Was one of them yours?’
‘No. Perhaps she had a drink with Jane before she left?’
‘Before driving off with your children?’
‘No, you’re right. Jane wouldn’t do that,’ he sighed.
‘It has been alleged that your wife was having an affair. Was she?’
‘Not to my knowledge. The first time I had an inkling was when I found her dressed like that …’
‘You weren’t at all suspicious?’
‘No, she gave me no reason to be. We were happy. Or I thought we were.’
‘What would you have done if you had known?’ asked Farrell.
‘I wouldn’t have killed her, if that’s what you’re driving at.’ He gave Farrell a hard stare. ‘You’ve found out who it is, haven’t you?’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Campbell,’ said Farrell. ‘I’m afraid we’re not at liberty to say anything about that at the present time.’
‘I’ll tear the bastard limb from limb,’ he muttered.
Farrell decided to change tack.
‘Have you spoken to your father-in-law yet?’
A fleeting expression of fear flitted across the man’s face.
‘No.’
‘Someone like Mario Lombardo is bound to have made enemies over the years. Anyone spring to mind?’
Campbell looked startled but more or less immediately shook his head.
‘He’s never shared much about his business interests with me and I prefer to keep it that way. You’d best ask him that yourselves,’ Campbell said. Then after a moment he leaned forward. ‘Look, I’ve told you everything I know. I need to be with my children. They’re too young to understand what’s happened to their mother.’
‘Interview terminated at 18.06,’ said Farrell, switching off the machine.
Chapter 11
As they escorted Fergus Campbell out through the reception area, a man in his fifties with close-cropped hair sprang to his feet and approached them. He looked like a heavyweight fighter constrained against his wishes in a suit. Fergus Campbell stopped dead, taking Farrell by surprise. He looked terrified but stood his ground.
‘My father-in-law,’ he muttered.
‘Mario, it wasn’t me,’ he said, staring straight into his father-in-law’s bloodshot eyes.
Mario Lombardo returned his stare for a long moment.
‘I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. For now.’
Farrell decided it was time to take control before they both kicked off and stuck out his hand.
‘DI Farrell, Senior Investigating Officer,’ he said as Lombardo slowly shook the offered hand, his intense gaze subjecting him to forensic scrutiny.
He handed a piece of paper to Farrell. ‘I came over to hand in my address and contact details. I expect to be kept appraised of any developments.’
‘Of course, sir. I’m very sorry for your loss. DI Moore will be in touch with you tomorrow to arrange a convenient time to take your statement.’
‘Thank you, DI Farrell. I hope that you find the person who did this.’
And hopefully before Lombardo finds them, thought Farrell, and exacts his own terrible vengeance.
Mario Lombardo gave Fergus Campbell a last penetrating look, before turning on his heel and exiting the station. Campbell waited a few moments and slipped out after him, turning in the opposite direction.
It was already after eight and Farrell felt a sudden wave of fatigue. Mhairi was looking shattered as well. It had been a long day and they’d done all they could for now.
‘What do you think?’ asked Mhairi as they walked to the car park after checking in with DC Thomson in the MCA room.
‘Hard to say. I would guess that Campbell’s been brought up to mask or repress his emotions. In any event, we’ve still got to break the alibi if we like him for this.’
‘Weird that the three of them are so tight,’ mused Mhairi. ‘They all seem so different and their wives clearly don’t get on. Chloe Delaney put it down to them having bonded over the loss of a colleague years ago in tragic circumstances. The girl was Peter Swift’s fiancée at the time.’
‘We can speak to Jack Kerr’s wife tomorrow, see what we can get out of her,’ said Farrell, as he reached his car and opened the door.
Exhausted, he sat for a moment trying to rearrange all the jumbled images from the day into some semblance of order. Something told him that this case was going to be far from straightforward. Pulling out of the car park he drove through the deserted streets of the quiet market town, so different from the hustle and bustle of Glasgow which would still be heaving at this time of night. Driving over Buccleuch Street bridge, he shuddered as he glanced to the left and saw the eerie shape of the convent looking down on the town with a brooding intensity. He still had nightmares about what had happened there that would cause him to jolt awake soaked in sweat and with his heart pounding. He made a conscious effort to drag his thoughts out of this downward spiral.
Pulling up beside his mother’s neat bungalow, he got out and let himself in to the house with the key she had given him. Hearing the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen, he went to investigate. To his surprise, his mother was washing up alongside an elderly gentleman. She blushed as he came in, looking as skittish as a woman half her age.
‘Frank, this is my good friend, Dermot Reilly. He goes to St Margaret’s.’
Farrell stepped forward and looked deep into the man’s eyes as he shook his hand warmly. He liked what he saw there.
‘Nice to meet you, Dermot.’
‘Dermot’s an accountant,’ said his mother, sounding pleased with herself.
‘I’m sure the lad won’t hold that against me,’ Dermot said with a smile.
There was an awkward silence. Farrell had no script for this situation. Henry saved the day by springing out from under the kitchen table and wrapping himself round Farrell’s legs, demanding a fuss be made.
‘Mhairi has already collected Oscar. She’s looking well. Such a lovely girl.’ She gave him a piercing look. ‘Be a catch for some lucky man. Now that you’re back, you’ll have to pop in on Father Murray. He asks after you all the time.’
Farrell made his excuses and left them to it.
As he lay on the bed in his old room he realized that he’d only been back there five minutes and already he was feeling h
emmed in. One of the things he did like about Glasgow was the anonymity. He could wander the streets for days and never meet anyone he knew. In Dumfries, he felt as if every person he met knew his business. He wished he’d had the foresight to grab a bottle of whisky from the supermarket on the way home. No doubt his mother had a bottle tucked away somewhere, but he couldn’t face her knowing the extent to which he’d come to rely on alcohol to quieten his demons. The craving gnawed away at his insides and he hated himself for having become so weak. He wasn’t physically dependent on alcohol yet, but he used it to numb him. Somehow, he had to try and find a way back to the man he was two years ago. Feeling increasingly agitated as his mind persecuted him with unwanted thoughts, he leapt to his feet and began to pace up and down the room. He had to get out of here. The walls were closing in on him.
He pulled out some old running gear from the mahogany drawers, then grabbed the trainers he had stuck in his bag at the last minute. After limbering up with a few stretches, he slipped out the back door and ran through the town until he reached the river, his stride lengthening as the muscle memory kicked in. It was still light and the air felt fresher than the city fumes. He ran through Dock Park and along the River Nith to Kingholm Quay. The salty tang of the mud was stronger here as the tidal river drew closer to the mouth of the Solway estuary. Exhausted but calmer now, he sank onto a bench to recover. He was finally back in Dumfries, for good or ill. He knew he had to make his peace with what had happened here or it would destroy him.
He pulled out his phone. Before he could change his mind, he called Father Jim Murray.
‘Frank? I was hoping you’d call,’ said his friend. ‘It’s been a while.’
‘Sorry about that. I had some stuff to figure out.’
‘No worries, why don’t you pop round? We can have a couple of beers in the garden.’
‘You sure it’s not too late?’
Avenge the Dead Page 4
