‘After that business a while back I felt like a change.’ She shrugged. ‘I like the fact that there’s a secure entrance and CCTV. I don’t have any need of a garden, really. Not when I have this magnificent view.’
‘I see what you mean,’ said Farrell with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, though, in truth, he felt sad for her, entombed in her safe room.
‘Does Clare Yates still live in the building?’
‘Yes, although I doubt she will for much longer. She’s engaged now, to a local GP. They’re looking for a new house, I believe, with a view to starting a family.’
She looked bleak once more. Ever since she was shot in the line of duty in her twenties, she had known she would be unable to have children. It was a private sorrow she bore with fortitude. Her massive payout, small consolation.
As she went through to the kitchen to make some coffee, Farrell looked around him, trying to obtain some clues as to her state of mind. The interior was immaculate with a quiet understated elegance.
She came back through and placed a tray on the coffee table and sat beside him.
‘Byers told me you know that he’s living with Laura Lind now. It must have been a hard thing for you to accept,’ she said.
‘It seems like a terrible betrayal,’ said Farrell. ‘I don’t know how either of them could do that to John.’
‘If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think it was intentional. Due to the timing, with Police Scotland coming into being, you, Mhairi and Dave Thomson headed for Glasgow within weeks of Lind being struck down, I was all over the place and barely able to look after myself. The Super and Ronnie Stirling retired more or less right away. I think Byers felt we owed it to Lind to support his wife and kids and he was the only one capable of doing so at the time.’
That did put a somewhat different complexion on things, Farrell admitted to himself, feeling ashamed of his recent outburst. The shock of seeing Byers installed in John’s house had blinded him to reason at the time.
‘Byers used to go there on his day off to be with the kids so that Laura could spend time with Lind. Eventually, as the news coming back from the hospital grew less and less hopeful for a recovery, they became closer. It was a gradual thing. Lind wouldn’t want Laura to struggle on alone with four kids to raise.’
It was hard to hear but she was right. He felt the truth of it now that he’d had the opportunity to reflect. He had been consumed with anger for so long, but the reality was that Farrell had abandoned them. He had also abandoned God. Had he been wrong about that too?
He reached across and squeezed her hand.
‘I’ve missed you, Kate.’
‘I thought Mhairi McLeod would have been keeping you in order.’
‘She does her best but subtlety isn’t exactly her strong suit.’
‘More wrecking ball than diplomacy.’ She grinned.
‘What do you think is going on with these murders?’ he asked, keen to steer the conversation back to safer waters.
‘I wish I knew. The points of intersection seem to be as follows:
‘Both victims were stabbed and related to a member of a small friend group.
‘Both victims are connected to Mario Lombardo. One is his daughter and one may have been embroiled in one of his criminal enterprises.’
‘There’s a third possibility,’ said Farrell. ‘It may relate in some way to the death of that girl who burned to death ten years ago in Jedburgh.’
‘It certainly explains how tight they are,’ said DI Moore. ‘But what are you suggesting? That they murdered her?’
‘I’m not sure, yet,’ said Farrell. ‘It’s odd that the first victim was murdered on the tenth anniversary of the fire in Jedburgh. The fire was ruled an accidental death. But was it? I think there’s a strong possibility that those three men are harbouring a guilty secret about that night.’
‘And someone might want to avenge the dead,’ said DI Moore.
Chapter 38
It was gone ten but Farrell didn’t feel like heading back to the house yet. He felt lighter as though something hard and brittle inside him had been released. Sometimes all that was needed was to view an issue from a different perspective. Something slid into the periphery of his mind. Before he went back with Kate, he had been concerned that Max Delaney’s family might be targeted next. He could swing by there on the way home and check that all was as it should be.
Sliding the car into gear he headed over to Max Delaney’s house. He parked a couple of streets away. His senses heightened as he walked quietly along the deserted streets, inhaling the scent of heavy-headed roses in the warm summer air. Closer to the Delaney house he melted into the hedgerows and paused. There was a single light on upstairs, presumably in the master bedroom. As he watched, the silhouette of a woman appeared and drew the curtains. Farrell relaxed, about to retrace his footsteps. Everything seemed to be in order.
Suddenly, he heard a muffled cough nearby and his heart skipped a beat. He froze, scarcely daring to breathe, trying to ascertain where the sound had come from. Was someone else watching the house? He couldn’t call for backup or he’d scare them off. He would have to handle this himself. Slowly he crept forward, the lengthening shadows as the light diminished helping to conceal him. Could someone be waiting with a knife, watching him advance? Farrell delicately probed his pockets, but found only a biro. He halted as he saw the red tip of a cigarette. The watcher was behind a tree at the foot of the next garden. Hopefully, he’d caught him unawares. Farrell crept forward inch by inch until he was almost upon the watcher.
Breaking cover at the last moment, he launched himself forward.
‘Police, stay where you are,’ he yelled, vaulting over the wall and bringing the suspect to the ground.
He grappled with the man, determined not to let him get away. A vicious punch connected with his ear, as the man fought to wriggle out from under him. Light spilled into the garden as the door to the property swung back to reveal an elderly couple in their dressing gowns.
‘Call the police!’ yelled Farrell. ‘And get inside.’
He rolled around the ground expecting to feel the hot piercing stab of a knife wound at any moment. A sudden searing pain caused Farrell to yell. The bastard had sunk his teeth into the fleshy part of his hand. A red mist descended and he stopped fighting clean and fought to win, landing several hard punches of his own. When he heard the crunch of broken cartilage from a punch to the nose, he knew he had gained the upper hand. By the time he heard the screech of the sirens, he had the guy cuffed, searched and subdued. There was no sign of a knife, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t thrown it down in the scuffle. It was too dark now to enable a thorough search. Still shaking, he felt the energy drain from his body. He had no idea who the man was that he’d arrested but he’d clearly been targeting Max Delaney’s house.
DS Byers and DC Thomson piled out of the first car and took the prisoner into custody.
‘He hasn’t said a word to me,’ said Farrell, as Byers walked back to him. ‘He’s been in this garden watching the Delaneys’ house. I don’t know for how long. I don’t know if he’s a sole operator or working for someone else. I’ve done a cursory search and found no weapon, but you’ll need to instruct someone to search the garden and bins here, just in case.’
‘You all right?’ asked Byers, taking in his filthy clothes, ripped shirt, scratched face and split lip.
‘I’m fine. I’ll drive my own car back to the station. It’s parked not too far from here. I’m going to speak to Chloe Delaney now, and I’d like the officers in the second car to remain here for the night as a very visible presence.’
‘Do you reckon we should release Delaney on police bail till the procurator fiscal decides what to do with them?’ asked Byers.
‘Yes, and release Jack Kerr too. The last thing I want is for something to happen to their wife or kid while they’re in custody. That could be what emboldened this guy tonight. I’ll take full responsibility.’
> ‘What about the fiscal, Peter Swift?’
‘I suppose we have to let him out too,’ said Farrell.
‘I’m still a bit unclear about what’s going on with Beth Roberts. Hopefully, we’ll be able to track her down first thing in the morning.’
Farrell stood up and his head swam. This really had been one hellish day.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to go and speak to Chloe Delaney? No offence, boss, but you look like shit.’
‘None taken. I need to do it myself. She’s the only spouse I’ve not met yet. If Rosie Green can get here in the next ten minutes she can come with me. It might be best to have another woman there rather than me turn up alone at this time of night looking like this, when she doesn’t know me.’
Byers reached into the glove compartment of his car and brought out baby wipes. He handed the pouch to Farrell.
‘Here, these should help take the worst off. I’ll get the duty police surgeon to give you the once-over at the station.’
‘There’s no need,’ snapped Farrell, wiping away what dirt and blood he could from his face and hands.
‘Look, don’t be an ass. I have to call him for this custody anyway. It’s protocol,’ sighed Byers.
‘Fine,’ said Farrell. ‘The bastard bit me. I might need a rabies shot.’
He turned to PC Green who had just arrived and come running across to them.
‘Right, Rosie. Will I do?’
She looked doubtful but nodded.
Five minutes later, they rang the doorbell.
Chloe Delaney swung back the door, looking alarmed.
‘I heard all the commotion. What’s happened?’ she asked.
‘DI Frank Farrell, Mrs Delaney. May we come in?’
‘At this time of night?’ she asked, confused, then sighed and stood back to let them enter.
‘I still can’t believe that you arrested Max,’ she said.
‘He and his colleagues didn’t leave us a whole lot of choice.’
‘Is that why you’re here? Couldn’t this have waited until the morning?’ she asked, once they were all seated in the pristine lounge.
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Farrell. ‘I caught somebody watching your house not long ago.’
‘The sirens?’
‘Yes, he’s been arrested and taken to the station for questioning.’
Chloe Delaney went pale.
‘Is he the one who killed Gina Campbell and Jack and Sarah’s boy?’
‘Impossible to say at the moment,’ replied Farrell. ‘We’ve arranged for Max to be released on bail, and I’ve stationed an officer outside your home. PC Rosie Green here will remain with you tonight for added protection, assuming you have no objection.’
‘No, none at all.’
At that moment a little girl came running through the door and made a beeline for her mother. She came in holding a soft pink blanket to her cheek, her long hair tousled and blonde, just like her mother. Farrell frowned slightly. Instead of being dressed in cartoon stuff like most little kids her age, she was wearing dusky pink silk PJs and a dressing gown that were a perfect replica of those worn by her mother. He glanced across at PC Green and noticed a look of concern there too.
‘Mia and I like to dress alike. We’ve got a huge following on Instagram,’ said Chloe. ‘It’s perfectly harmless and she loves dressing up like mummy, don’t you darling?’ she said giving her daughter a gentle squeeze.
‘Would you mind showing me the account, please?’ asked Farrell.
Chloe looked surprised but lifted her iPad off the coffee table and pulled up the account.
Farrell leaned over so that PC Green could see the images too as he scrolled through.
‘We’re in the process of getting Mia her own YouTube channel,’ said Chloe, her eyes flashing with excitement. ‘Isn’t that right, darling?’
The little girl snuggled further into her comforter and nodded her head.
‘These posts have hundreds of thousands of likes,’ said PC Green.
‘Yes, I’m what they call a social-media influencer. Mia is a big part of mummy’s success, aren’t you, darling?’
The little girl was no longer listening. She looked tired and withdrawn.
There were so many pictures that Farrell wondered that Mia had time for any kind of life at all other than posing for the camera. They showed no tantrums or mess to mar the perfection. As Farrell continued to scroll down there were also swimwear shots of them at the beach building sandcastles and frolicking in the waves. He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Although they were innocent enough, he could imagine they could excite a lot of interest from predatory paedophiles. Perhaps the lurker outside was nothing to do with these cases at all but some obsessed stalker.
‘Have you had any unsavoury interest expressed in any pics in relation to this account? Any dubious messages or indication that your followers might have tracked down where you live?’ he asked.
‘Well of course, I have lots of fans. That’s the whole idea. Once you become an influencer, companies basically pay you to promote their products online. To be honest, my little “hobby” brings us in more money than Max does. There are so many messages I couldn’t possibly go through them all myself. I pay someone to do that for me. They filter them out and forward a number for me to react to every month.’
‘And what about your daughter?’ asked PC Green, clearly struggling not to show her disapproval. ‘Does she interact with the fans too?’
‘Sometimes, but only with my help. It’s usually little girls asking about where she gets a particular top or toy or hairband. It’s all very harmless,’ she said, starting to sound annoyed.
‘I’m going to need the name of the person who filters your messages, to ensure that things are monitored a bit more closely for the next few weeks.’
‘You think this could have put us in harm’s way?’ asked Chloe.
‘I hope not,’ he replied, ‘but I suggest that you close it down for a while until we’ve looked into this further.’
‘It’s not as easy to do that as you think, DI Farrell.’
Farrell looked at her adorable little girl and thought that, if she was his, he would find it the easiest thing in the world.
Chapter 39
Walking away from the Delaneys and their life lived through the prism of a lens, Farrell had to force himself back to the station. He was exhausted beyond all reason, but he had to keep pushing. The fear that little Mia might be on some hit list spurred him on. Two punch-ups in one day? That was a record even for him. His muscles were already stiffening and his split lip had swollen. His suit was filthy and one of the buttons was hanging on by a thread. At this rate he’d be injecting the drycleaners in Dumfries with enough capital to expand.
He headed straight for the locker room and had a brisk shower. As he towelled himself dry he flinched as the towel passed over the welts he had inflicted on his back. Twisting round, he noticed signs of infection. He needed to stop this before things went too far. He knew he could no longer tell himself that his guilty little secret was all about religious observance.
He broke out a new shirt from its cellophane. His mother had restocked his drawers since he’d returned, as if she was belatedly trying to make up for her historical coldness towards him.
Walking into the MCA room, he helped himself to the fresh pot of coffee that Dave Thomson had thoughtfully made.
‘Cheers, Dave,’ he said, greedily slurping the strong brew and feeling his nerve endings perk up to the stimulus.
‘I reckon if they cut you, coffee rather than blood would leak out, boss.’ Dave grinned.
‘You could be right about that,’ said Farrell, draining his coffee and pouring another one. ‘Right then, let’s head down to the cells and see if we’ve netted ourselves a murderer.’
As it was now after eleven, the cells were heaving with the usual assortment of drunks and human driftwood that came in on the tide of having a good time. Farrell leapt
aside to avoid projectile vomit from a drunk man in a shiny suit. DS Byers, who was filling out some paperwork, was not so lucky and stormed off cursing. Farrell tried not to laugh, but he was only human.
‘That’s your perp been processed,’ said DS Donald Sloan, shouting above the ruckus. ‘Refused to give his name or any details. His solicitor is on her way.’
DI Moore appeared, trailed by Jack Kerr, and the fiscal depute, Peter Swift. The latter was tight-lipped with anger.
‘I’ll remember this next time you lot are looking for a favour,’ he snapped, to jeering from one of the drunks who was laughing and pointing him out to his buddies.
‘Look,’ said Farrell, exasperated, ‘we didn’t want to do this, but you left us very little choice. Sheriff Granger was spitting nails. You’re being released on police bail pending appearance in court tomorrow.’
‘Before Sheriff Granger?’ asked Jack Kerr, looking worried.
‘No. They’re sending another sheriff from Glasgow,’ said DI Moore. She glanced at Peter Swift. ‘Your boss has also arranged another fiscal from Edinburgh. The case will be called in Court 3 at 8.30, which should ensure you don’t have an audience, at least.’
‘That’s something I suppose,’ said Swift.
At that moment, in walked Beth Roberts.
‘What took you so long?’ snapped Peter Swift.
‘I’m not here for you, I’ve been called out to another case,’ she said, looking embarrassed and sliding her eyes from his.
‘Of course, you have,’ Swift said. ‘Never you mind about me.’
‘Take it easy, mate,’ said Jack Kerr.
‘If I wanted your opinion I’d have asked for it,’ Swift said.
This was getting ugly again. Farrell raised his eyes at Donald Sloan who nodded back and bent his head with some urgency to the paperwork. A few minutes later, they were sent grumbling on their way.
‘He’s just embarrassed,’ said Beth Roberts to Farrell.
‘I can understand that,’ he replied with a quick grin, though he hadn’t liked the way the man had spoken to her. ‘I’ll pop you in to an interview room and we’ll be along with your client shortly. After that, I’d like to interview you about the carry on in court today. I need you to clear something up for us.’
Avenge the Dead Page 14
