Avenge the Dead

by Jackie Baldwin

  The Super saw her thunderstruck expression and leaned across.

  ‘Kate? Are you all right?’

  ‘That man!’ she spluttered. ‘He’s a bloody nightmare. I’ve never met a more arrogant misogynistic bully. Sorry, I know that he’s a friend of yours.’

  Crawford Cunningham gave her a long look.

  ‘He’s no friend of mine, I can assure you. I hide my dislike of him because it doesn’t do to make an enemy of the sheriff in my type of work. If he’s really stepped out of line, I have no qualms about telling him where to get off.’

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ She smiled. ‘Didn’t Frank say you and Sheriff Granger were at the same school together?’

  ‘That’s right, Morrington Academy. Bloody awful place. Granger was a vicious bully then and he’s not much better now.’

  ‘I can handle him but that young solicitor, Beth Roberts, was very upset.’

  ‘Thankfully, not too long to go now. Here come the speeches.’

  Just before the Dean of Faculty stood up and rang a bell, DI Moore excused herself.

  ***

  As she left the room, the wave of sound behind her died down. Her body slackened and she realized how much strain she’d been under. The killer may well have been present but he’d done nothing to draw attention to himself.

  Unsure whether to simply call it a night or go back in to mingle after the speeches she headed for the ladies. As she slipped through the heavy wood-panelled door, she heard muffled sobbing coming from a locked cubicle. She tapped lightly on the door. Immediately the sobbing stopped. There was silence.

  ‘Beth, is that you? It’s Kate here. Open the door. We can go somewhere quiet to talk.’

  A bolt slid across and the tear-stained young solicitor stood there, her eyes red and puffy.

  ‘I hate him,’ she burst out. ‘I wish that he was dead! Or, that I was. I can’t go on like this. He’s making my life a living Hell.’

  As she turned away to get some more tissues, her wrap slipped down from her neck. DI Moore froze as she saw the livid red marks.

  ‘Beth? Who did that to you?’ she asked.

  Beth spun around, pulling the wrap back up in place, her face flushed. She couldn’t look DI Moore in the eye.

  ‘It’s nothing, really,’ she protested. ‘I’ve very sensitive skin. It gets blotchy sometimes.’

  ‘If you tell me who it was, I can do something about it.’

  DI Moore remembered Sheriff Granger squeezing her knee hard when he thought no one could see him.

  ‘Nobody is above the law, Beth. No matter how powerful they might seem. Did Sheriff Granger do this to you?’

  ‘Look, you don’t understand,’ she shouted. ‘Just leave me alone. I’ve got nothing to say to you.’

  Pushing past DI Moore, she ran out of the room. Her fiancé, Peter Swift, put out his hand to stop her but she pushed him away and sped off.

  He spotted DI Moore and ran up to her, looking concerned.

  ‘What’s up with Beth? Did you say anything to upset her?’

  ‘It wasn’t me, I can assure you,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Of course it wasn’t. I can guess who it was. Same person it always is.’

  ‘If she decides to take things further, have her come and see me. I’ll deal with it personally.’

  ‘I’d best go after her. She won’t get far in those heels. Thank you, DI Moore, you’ve been very kind. I won’t forget it.’

  She glanced at her watch. It was already after ten and she was exhausted. She slipped into a seat in the foyer and gratefully accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

  ***

  Once the speeches were done, she slipped back in. Everyone was on the move now flitting from table to table, the formal part of the evening at an end. She spied Farrell sitting slumped at a table with a large whisky in front of him. There was no sign of Mhairi or Byers. She sank into the empty seat beside him before realizing that he was very drunk.

  ‘Did you know too?’ he said, his voice slurred.

  ‘Know what?’ she snapped, her patience at an end.

  ‘That John is waking up and Laura decided to keep it from me,’ he said.

  Her heart sank.

  ‘No, I didn’t know,’ she said. ‘Is that why Byers and Laura have already left?’

  Miserably, he nodded.

  ‘I need to get up there and see him. He can’t think we’ve all abandoned him. He doesn’t deserve that.’

  ‘Whatever you said, you need to apologize to both of them. I’m sure Laura will relent if you promise not to do anything foolish.’

  ‘What? Like tell him she’s shacked up with a junior colleague?’

  She shook her head at him.

  ‘Frank, this drinking has got to stop.’

  Farrell felt a wave of irritation wash over him.

  ‘At least I’m not trying to starve myself to death,’ he snapped.

  ‘What the hell?’ she jumped to her feet. ‘Where did that come from?’

  As he looked at her hurt expression, he was tempted to backtrack, but he knew it was a conversation they needed to have, even if she hated him for it.

  He reached up for her hand and pulled her gently back down on to the seat.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that, but I’m worried about you and so is Mhairi.’

  ‘Frank, there’s no need. I’m fine, honestly! In fact I’ve never felt better. I’ve been on a bit of a health kick, that’s all. I may have dropped a few pounds but that wasn’t my goal.’

  ‘Kate, you can’t weigh more than seven stones. It’s as if you’re disappearing in front of our eyes. Please, listen to me. It’s turning into an eating disorder. Promise me you’ll see a doctor this week.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, her cheeks flushed. ‘But only if you promise to speak to Father Murray at St Margaret’s about the Lind situation and not drink any alcohol for the next two weeks.’

  ‘Two for the price of one? You drive a hard bargain.’

  Chapter 49

  It was nearly 3 a.m. when Farrell arrived back at the house. He’d tried to redeem himself for becoming distracted earlier by circulating round the lawyers and their guests until the bitter end, trying to sniff out the slightest morsel of gossip or innuendo that might inform the investigation. To his frustration he learned nothing of value. Mhairi had left some time before him with Sandy’s hand protectively placed in the small of her back. Part of him had wanted to charge up and smack it away for reasons he wasn’t yet quite prepared to admit to himself. She had looked stunning tonight.

  He collapsed onto the wooden bench in the front garden and inhaled the scent of the honeysuckle and moist earth. Dawn was already breaking in the sky and a few birds were starting to cheep and stir in their nests. He had always liked being there as a brand new day was unveiled, one that had yet to be stained with the taint of human interaction. He glanced at Mhairi’s window and had an insane urge to throw stones at it in the hope she would come down and join him. The thought that she might be scooped up in Sandy’s arms stopped him. He was getting maudlin. It was the drink talking, that’s all, he told himself firmly, slipping inside. After downing a pint of water he was asleep in seconds.

  The sound of his alarm clock jolted him from sleep with a groan. His tongue felt glued to the top of his mouth and his head pounded. DI Moore was right. The booze was doing him no favours. There was no sound of anyone else stirring yet. He showered and changed in record time and left the house twenty minutes later. It was still before seven. Almost despite himself, he found himself driving towards St Margaret’s. It had been nearly two years since he had set foot inside a church. That connection he felt with the divine had helped him subdue his wilder side, his propensity to self-destruct. What happened to Lind had severed that ethereal link and he didn’t like who he had become without it: smaller, meaner, more self-indulgent. Maybe it was time to dip a toe back in the water, to see if he could recapt
ure that elusive feeling.

  Mass was starting as he genuflected, made the sign of the cross, and slipped into an empty pew at the back of the church. He felt stilted, awkward, as though it had been so long since he last made his devotions that he’d lost the muscle memory. His friend, Jim Murray, was taking the Mass and his eyes reached out across the divide, as if trying to pull him back into the fold. Farrell gave him a small nod. It was a start. Awkwardly, he began to pray for forgiveness and that his friend John might in time make a full recovery.

  Not being in a state of grace, he didn’t go up for communion but felt an acute pang of loss as he watched the others shuffle forward one by one. As the Mass wound to a conclusion he realized that the words of the prayers were falling from his lips like well-worn pebbles. A sense of peace settled upon him, all the more precious because of the chaos and tension he knew was waiting for him back at the station.

  He slipped out during the last hymn, feeling, if not fully restored, at least hopeful that it remained a possibility.

  Chapter 50

  Farrell walked in to the MCA room to find the investigative team already assembled and drinking mugs of freshly brewed coffee. He poured one for himself and joined Byers, Dave and Mhairi at the table. Stirling and DI Moore walked in just after him and did likewise.

  ‘Right,’ said Farrell, ‘let’s all share what we learned last night, if anything.’

  ‘I’ll go first,’ said Mhairi. ‘Max Delaney is hiding something about what happened to that young lawyer, Colette Currie. He became really agitated when I brought it up.’

  ‘You didn’t get anything out of him?’ asked Farrell.

  ‘He was a bit paranoid about being overheard at the time. Maybe that had something to do with it.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Farrell. ‘I took a shot at Fergus Campbell. He stated that he’s the one with the secret, one he hasn’t even shared with his closest friends.’

  ‘Spit it out,’ said Mhairi leaning forward in her seat.

  ‘He maintains he’s the reason Colette Currie burned to death.’

  ‘He told you that?’ said Byers, sounding sceptical. ‘How much had he had to drink?’

  ‘A bucketful. He claims he found the key to the cottage in his pocket, though he can’t remember how it got there. Apparently, the door was locked and she couldn’t get out. He blamed himself but kept quiet about it all these years.’

  ‘We need to get all the original case work and try and have a meeting with the lead investigator,’ said Mhairi. ‘I’ll run it past DCI Buchanan and, hopefully, she’ll agree that this strand of investigation should be pushed up the agenda. Dave can you arrange to get access to the files?’

  ‘Will do,’ said DC Thomson.

  ‘Any other information to share from last night?’ asked Farrell, painfully aware that DS Byers hadn’t yet been able to bring himself to look him squarely in the eye.

  ‘Jane Pearson seems obsessed with Fergus Campbell,’ said Byers. ‘I sat beside her and piled on the charm.’

  Mhairi snorted and he glared at her.

  ‘Anyway, she acted like they’re already a couple. She seemed very proprietary over him.’

  ‘She’s been darkening her hair,’ said Mhairi, ‘even adapting her make-up to reflect the style of his dead wife. It’s a bit creepy. The weird thing is that I don’t think he’s even noticed.’

  ‘Like a lamb to the slaughter,’ said Byers.

  ‘Unless he’s the one who murdered his wife,’ said Farrell. ‘Stay sharp everyone, don’t let any of this lot get under your skin.’

  ‘I didn’t make much headway last night,’ said DI Moore. ‘That vile sheriff was having a go at Beth Roberts. I thought Peter Swift was going to deck him. Apparently the Super and Granger went to the same boarding school. I thought they were friends at first but the Super said he was a bully back then too.’

  ‘Gabriel Ferrante said the same thing,’ said Mhairi. ‘Granger bullied someone he was friends with who went to Morrington Academy.’

  ‘Ferrante didn’t take another pop at you then, Mhairi?’ asked DC Thomson.

  ‘No, he apologized again, actually,’ said Mhairi. ‘I get the feeling hitting a woman isn’t his style.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ cautioned Farrell, ‘but be careful, Mhairi. That man has a vicious temper and he’s handy with his fists.’

  Suddenly, the door crashed back on its hinges startling them. PC Joanne Burns rushed up to them.

  ‘I’ve to tell you to get down to the Sheriff Court right away,’ she said, her eyes wide with shock. ‘There’s been another murder.’

  Chapter 51

  It was nearly nine and the court wasn’t open to the public yet. They parked round the back. Instructions had been given to those attending not to run sirens, so that it would simply look like business as normal. The SOCO van was the giveaway, but hopefully no one had noticed it turn in off Buccleuch Street. No sign of the ubiquitous Sophie Richardson, either, for which Farrell was grateful.

  As they ran up the stairs from the basement they found a pale and trembling Bob waiting on a chair outside Court One on the ground floor. The sheriff clerk came along with a glass of water for him but he was shaking so much he could hardly hold it. The police surgeon, Rory McAllister, ran along the corridor towards them, breathless in his haste.

  Farrell crouched beside the elderly man.

  ‘Bob, can you tell us what’s in there?’

  He opened his mouth as though to speak but no words came out. His head dropped and his pallor increased. Farrell squeezed his shoulder and left him with the sheriff clerk.

  He beckoned to the police surgeon and they quickly gloved up and entered the court. Standing in the entrance, they stared at the Bench, where there was a robed figure swaying eerily from a noose. It was Sheriff Robert Granger and there was no mistaking the fact that he was dead.

  There was a black tricorn hat on the head of the deceased and the words ‘Pronounced for doom’ had been painted on the wall at the back of the court in red.

  Farrell felt a chill deep within his soul. This murder was a cold-blooded premeditated execution. It had most likely been a long time in the planning.

  He retreated back into the corridor where the rest of his team were waiting for instruction. Already he could hear members of the public banging on the door at the front of the building. There was no way they could open today. Peter Swift, the fiscal depute, came running along the corridor towards him.

  ‘The procurator fiscal is out of the country. I’m the senior fiscal in his absence,’ he said. ‘What do you need me to do?’

  ‘Get someone out front to tell everyone that today’s court business will take place in the Municipal Chambers across the road instead, commencing, say, at 11.30 a.m. A temporary sheriff needs to be located as soon as possible to handle today’s business.’

  ‘Will do,’ Swift replied, walking off to confer with the sheriff clerk on how to resume the business of the court. Farrell appreciated his level-headed approach in such trying circumstances.

  ‘DS McLeod and DC Thomson, interview everyone who’s had access to the court this morning. I want to know where every key to the building is housed specifically and who has access along with details of all key holders. Find out if there’s a burglar alarm and if so whether it was set last night or subsequently disabled.’

  ‘Mhairi, ask DI Moore to keep DCI Buchanan and the Super in the loop as well. DI Moore can coordinate all the intel flooding in from this point with Stirling’s help. Get her to brief Andy Moran as soon as possible in relation to the inevitable press enquiries as well. We need to get ahead of this thing,’ he said, aware that he was sounding tense and his pulse was racing.

  ‘DC Thomson, get Stirling to gain access to all CCTV footage of the court and the whole street. Dispatch uniforms to interview staff from all the local businesses. This section of town needs to be flooded with as many bodies as possible. Pull in from the surrounding areas if you have to.’

  ‘Byers
, I need you as crime scene manager on this one,’ he said. ‘I’m going to be relying on your experience.’

  Byers nodded and immediately gave instruction to secure the scene and delineated the inner and outer cordons.

  ‘The preliminaries having been attended to, Farrell and Byers suited up and entered the court behind the two SOCOs, Phil and Janet. Inscrutable as ever, Janet immediately whipped out her camera and took photos of the bloated corpse from a variety of angles. Never had Farrell seen such a disturbing sight as the macabre gowned figure hanging before him. Sheriff Granger’s face was mottled and swollen. It looked angry, even in death. The three men worked together. Farrell and Byers lifted the body up to relieve the strain on the rope while Phil Tait managed to cut the body down, taking care to preserve the knot. They lowered the body on to a plastic sheet on the raised area behind the Bench to avoid prying eyes. For a brief moment Farrell was tempted to examine the body to see whether it too had a Panopticon tattoo. It was unlikely but it would be good to know for sure. However, he couldn’t take the risk of losing valuable trace evidence from disturbing the clothing. Farrell motioned to the police surgeon who was suited up in readiness and waiting behind the closed court doors for his signal.

  Dr Rory McAllister walked forward looking rather unnerved, as well he might. Dropping behind the Bench he immediately felt for a pulse and pronounced life extinct. Once he was done with his observations, he left the way he had come, carefully retracing his steps.

  It was going to take the SOCO team some time to process the scene. After a while, Farrell left DS Byers in the court and went to find the sheriff clerk, who had sent Bob home in a taxi after Mhairi had coaxed a brief statement from him.

  ‘The press has arrived,’ the clerk announced, jerking his head to the heavy wooden doors which remained locked. There was a concerted banging on the front door.

  ‘They’ve been broadcasting live from outside the court for the last thirty minutes. A crowd is building up out front.’

  ‘Sophie Richardson and her henchmen, I’ll bet,’ muttered Farrell. Dumfries was a small town and news spread like wildfire on social media. Someone from the court or the police station must have blabbed. They could now hear a news helicopter circling overhead.