‘DI Farrell and DC McLeod,’ said Farrell stepping forward to shake his hand.
‘How can I be of assistance, officers? But first, where are my manners? Can I offer you some tea?’ he asked, gesturing to a rich brown leather couch, which made Mhairi want to kick off her shoes as soon as she sat down.
‘Thank you, no,’ said Farrell.
Mhairi resisted the urge to glare at him. Her stomach was starting to rumble. Farrell had no conception of what low blood sugar could do to a girl.
‘I understand that you’ve recently been assisting DI Moore with an art fraud investigation,’ Farrell said.
‘Yes, a challenging case from what I can gather.’
His interest sounded purely professional. No warmth towards DI Moore that she could detect. She gave herself a mental shake. Concentrate! This was what happened when she got hungry. Her mind lurched all over the place like a drunken sailor.
‘As someone who is very well connected to the art world we were wondering if you could give us some additional information about a number of local artists?’ asked Farrell.
‘In relation to the fraud case?’ Forbes asked, looking puzzled.
‘No. In relation to the death of Monro Stevenson,’ said Farrell.
‘But I thought that was suicide? That’s what everyone is saying.’
‘At this stage we must consider all possible avenues of enquiry,’ said Farrell.
Was hunger causing paranoia to set in or did Forbes look a little startled, wondered Mhairi, detecting the aroma of something delicious seeping under the door.
‘What do you want to know?’ Forbes asked, settling back on the couch opposite.
‘What can you tell me about The Collective?’
Forbes grimaced.
‘A bunch of dilettantes. They live in that crumbling mansion, Ivy House, heading out towards Dundrennan.’
‘One of them has been shortlisted for the Lomax Prize,’ said Farrell.
‘Hugo Mortimer. I was rather surprised when I heard. Don’t get me wrong. His early work showed great promise. Twenty years ago, he was the latest rising star in the art world. Instead of knuckling down and cementing his reputation, however, he succumbed to the wildest excesses and fetched up here. A broken down dissolute has-been.’
His colour had risen as he spoke.
‘A bit harsh?’ ventured Mhairi.
Forbes gave her a charming smile.
‘Perhaps. I simply hate to see real talent squandered. He could have been one of the best artists of his generation. I shall view his work with interest once it is released for public consumption.’
‘Are you aware of any particular connection between him and the deceased?’ asked Farrell.
‘Other than the fact that they were both artists, you mean? Well, Monro used to be in cahoots with that lot. He lived with them for over a year. Fortunately, he came to his senses and finally saw them for what they were.’
‘How many of them are there up there?’ asked Farrell.
‘Currently three, although the place used to be stuffed with hippie types. Looked like most of them needed a good wash,’ Forbes said, wrinkling his nose.
‘So, Hugo Mortimer and who else?’ asked Farrell.
‘Penelope Spence and Patrick Rafferty.’
‘All artists, I take it?’
‘Yes, all talented in their own way, particularly Penelope, but broken. They live in their own squalid bubble and have a rather inflated sense of their own importance.’
A lot of that going around, thought Mhairi.
‘How familiar are you with their work?’ asked Farrell.
‘I used to be, until around three years ago when that young Irish girl ran away. After that, they rather dropped off the radar. Mine and anyone else who matters.’
‘Until now,’ said Farrell.
‘Yes, I have to admit my curiosity has been rather piqued as to the nature of the work that so impressed the judges.’
‘What about the other shortlisted candidate?’ asked Farrell.
‘Paul Moretti?’
‘Yes. What can you tell us about him?’
‘Bit of an enigma. He keeps himself to himself. I’ve never even seen his work. Rumour has it that it is rather out there, even by Turner Prize standards.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I believe he is sought after by private collectors who are looking for something a little more exotic. Of course, that’s only a rumour. Nobody knows for sure.’
‘Did you know him prior to his allergies developing?’
‘No. He moved here from elsewhere. I had never heard of him. It could all be a cunning marketing ploy of course, creating an aura of mystery.’
‘And the deceased, Monro Stevenson?’
‘Very talented. Tragic to see an emerging artist cut off in his prime like that.’ Forbes sighed with what seemed to be genuine regret.
‘When was the last time you saw him, sir?’ asked Mhairi.
‘Let me think … It would be two days before the body was found. I walked past him down by the harbour sitting on a bench and staring out to the sea. He looked rather wretched, which I thought was odd given recent events. I didn’t wish to intrude, so I bade him good morning and continued on my way. I believe he may have suffered from depression in the past?’
Farrell didn’t answer the question, rising instead to his feet, followed by Mhairi.
‘Thank you so much for your time, Mr Forbes. May we contact you, if we have any further questions at a later stage?’
‘Certainly,’ Forbes said, standing to usher them out. ‘Happy to help in any way that I can.’
‘Could I possibly use your bathroom before I leave?’ asked Mhairi.
Forbes paused a fraction too long, then smiled.
‘Yes, of course, let me show you. These old houses are a bit of a maze.’
‘Thank you,’ said Mhairi, and walked with him upstairs.
‘In here,’ he smiled, opening a door into the most lavish bathroom, Mhairi had ever seen. She took her time, applying the expensive hand lotion once she had finished. So this was how the other half lived?
She was a little disconcerted to see him standing outside the door waiting for her and wished she hadn’t been quite so free with the scented toiletries on display.
‘I could have found my own way down,’ she said.
‘Nonsense, I like to take good care of my guests,’ he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Jerk, she thought. Probably thought I’d run off with his fancy aftershave. They walked back downstairs in silence.
‘Thank you for your time, sir,’ she said formally as he opened the front door. Farrell was already in the car with the engine running.
‘Goodbye, DC McLeod,’ he replied. ‘I’m sure we’ll meet again.’
***
‘Not if I can help it,’ she added silently, as she jumped into the passenger seat.
‘What did you think of him?’ she asked.
‘He seemed all right,’ said Farrell. ‘Bit full of himself but probably an occupational hazard for an art critic.’
‘I thought he was a pretentious poser, but DI Moore certainly seems to rate him,’ said Mhairi.
Farrell visibly relaxed.
‘Oh well then, he must be fairly sound. I trust her judgement,’ said Farrell.
Honestly, for a smart bloke he could be so dense at times, thought Mhairi. Well she wasn’t going to spell it out for him. He’d only take her head off. DI Moore could take care of herself.
‘Are we going to see The Collective now?’ she asked.
‘No, I reckon we’ll hold that over until tomorrow. I want to check back in with the team. These artists. Quite an intense lot, aren’t they?’
‘You can say that again! When all’s said and done, it’s only splashing a bit of paint around, isn’t it?’
‘I’d keep that view to yourself in Kirkcudbright or they’ll run you out of town,’ said Farrell.
The
radio crackled into life. The remains of a body had been discovered on Dundrennan Firing Range just a few miles from Kirkcudbright. They were to attend the scene and secure it at once.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Farrell muttered as, glancing at his mirror, he swung the car around in a U turn.
Chapter Fifteen
Back in Dumfries, Lind sighed and, with a heavy heart, picked up the phone. The remains might not be those of Ailish, but he knew that her sister Maureen would want to be told of the grisly find at the earliest opportunity.
‘Hello, can I speak to Maureen Kerrigan, please?’
‘Detective Lind, is that you?’ asked the soft lilting voice. ‘Dear God, have they found her? Is she …?’
‘We’ve found the remains of a body. There’s nothing to say it’s your sister yet, but I wanted you to hear it from me first.’
‘I see,’ she said with a catch in her voice. ‘You’ll keep me in the loop?’
‘Always,’ he said and heard the tears start to come as she replaced the receiver.
He had been the officer in charge of the investigation into her disappearance over three years ago. Given the kind of life she had been living back then, the most likely explanation was that she had simply run off after a tiff with her boyfriend. However, when her elder sister, Maureen, had come over from Ireland to report her missing, he had thought that theory did not sit very well with the text Ailish had sent the morning she disappeared. He had persuaded the Super to let him launch an investigation that had turned up precisely nothing. As with all missing person cases, there had been a number of alleged sightings, but none had turned out to be concrete. He had been left with a niggling feeling of failure. Beyond the bare fact of her disappearance, there had been no evidence then or since to suggest that she had come to any harm. Of course, it might not even be her.
His mobile rang. It was Laura. There was a time not so long ago when unexpectedly hearing her voice lifted his spirits. These days, he was so perplexed and unsettled by her behaviour that his stomach would flip with dread. He accepted the call and frowned as Laura’s voice announced that she was unable to collect the children from school as something had come up. He could hear laughter and music in the background. Her speech was slurred.
‘Laura, I can’t simply drop everything.’
‘But you expect me to?’ she snapped.
‘A body has been found,’ he said, attempting to remonstrate with her.
‘So? If it’s dead, what’s the hurry?’
‘Have you been drinking?’
‘And what if I have?’
He could tell this was an argument he wasn’t going to win. Someone was egging her on in the background. Probably that new so-called friend of hers.
‘Fine. I’ll pick them up,’ he said and terminated the call, feeling the first opening salvo of a killer headache.
At least he knew that Farrell was en route to the new crime scene. He could rely on him not to stuff things up. It wasn’t the first time recently that Laura had phoned him out of the blue to collect the kids from school and nursery. He had a feeling she was pushing the self-destruct button. Ever since she had lost the baby last year, she had been various versions of the person he married, but never the same one. He had hoped that the worst was behind them but since she had met that woman at her support group things had deteriorated.
He glanced at his watch. There was a scheduled briefing for the Monro Stevenson case at 4 p.m. He would need to take that in Farrell’s absence, which would still give him time to collect the kids and deposit them somewhere. But where? They were too young to come into the station.
As if in answer to his prayers, DI Moore popped her head around his door. There were deep shadows under her eyes. She looked exhausted.
‘Kate! Shouldn’t you have been away hours ago?’
‘I’m just heading off, John. Been going through the forgery case files forwarded by Glasgow with a fine-tooth comb, but we have so little to go on. I’m still trying to get hold of the CCTV footage from Broughton House. DC Thomson’s idea. Smart lad.’
‘Yes, he’s shaping up nicely. Actually, Kate, I don’t suppose? No forget it. You get along.’
‘John, if you need me to do something, get to the point. I can always say no,’ she said.
‘It’s more in the nature of a personal favour,’ he said.
‘Go on,’ she said.
‘Could you possibly pick up the kids from school and nursery?’
‘I would LOVE to!’ She beamed, looking suddenly less tired.
‘Really? You honestly don’t mind?’
‘Your kids are adorable, John. It’s hardly a hardship.’
Only to their mother, thought Lind.
‘Brilliant! I owe you one, Kate. I’ll give the nursery a ring to let them know you’ll be collecting them.’
‘What about car seats and whatnot?’ she asked.
‘Both Laura and I have them, and I’m insured for any driver,’ he said, handing her his car keys. ‘I’ll get back as soon as I can.’
‘Take your time. I’m not due on until the morning.’
‘I need to cover the briefing at 4 p.m. then I should be able to relieve you and work from home for a bit.’
‘Is Laura all right? She’s not unwell, is she?’
‘No,’ said Lind. ‘Maybe … to be honest I don’t really know,’ he sighed.
‘Give it time, she’s been through a lot.’
‘You’re right. I need to try harder.’
‘If you ever want a weekend away, I’d be happy to look after them. I could rope Frank in. They love running him ragged.’
‘Thanks, Kate. I might take you up on that!’
‘I hear they’ve found some remains out at Dundrennan?’
‘Frank and Mhairi are down there now, to secure the scene with SOCO. Given where the remains are located, I suspect foul play has been involved. It’s on MoD property, the firing range. They’ll no doubt be sending a couple of officers to breathe down our necks.’
‘Another body, though, in that general area? Could be pertinent to the forgery ring?’
‘Could also be that missing girl from three years ago, Ailish Kerrigan. I had to phone her sister and warn her of the possibility.’
‘That can’t have been an easy call.’
‘No. Her family have been to Hell and back. Anyway, no point in speculating until the pathologist has had a chance to inspect the remains. What with Monro Stevenson and now this? We’re keeping him busy.’
‘I’ll get off then,’ she said. ‘Take as long as you need.’
Chapter Sixteen
Farrell sat in the car fuming beside an equally twitchy McLeod, with her mobile clamped to one ear. In front of them was a barrier with the words:
No entry by order of Ministry of Defence. Danger. Unexploded Ordnance.
Behind them was a car containing a couple of officers from Kirkcudbright.
‘This is ridiculous. We need to get in there now and secure that scene. How long are these jokers going to be?’ said Farrell.
‘You’re not going to like it,’ she said, ending the call.
‘Tell me anyway.’
‘The MoD are sending someone down from Glasgow. It’s going to be around two and a half hours.’
‘Well, there’s no point hanging about here for that length of time. Did you get the details of who discovered the remains?’
‘Yes,’ she said, scrolling through her phone. ‘Ted Jarvis, tenant farmer. Lives down a track beside the range. As such, he’s authorized to go on the land at his own risk for farming purposes.’
‘Right, that settles it. We’ll head off there first.’
Farrell got out and approached the car behind. It was being driven by the officer who had attended the death in Kirkcudbright, PC Calum McGhie.
‘I’m sorry but we can’t advance any further until the MoD arrive, which won’t be for another couple of hours. I’m going to need you guys to wait here until then.’
/> ‘Yes, sir,’ PC McGhie responded, looking glum.
They made a U turn for the second time that day and headed back out to the main road, with Farrell keeping one eye on the satnav. It was so incredibly remote out here that it was nothing short of a miracle the remains had been discovered at all. It was a vast area and ran right alongside the rugged coastline. A thought occurred to him.
‘That forgery case you’re working on with DI Moore, Mhairi, if they’ve disappeared off the radar they may be using this land to smuggle the forged pieces out. It’s so desolate they would have virtually no chance of detection.’
‘It’s possible. Look, there’s the turning there!’
The road was so narrow, Farrell had almost missed it. Little more than a dirt track winding down to a whitewashed farmhouse that had seen better days. A sheepdog ran out barking followed by a wizened old man clad in so many layers he could have passed for a scarecrow. He bade the dog come to heel and stood waiting for them while they parked in his yard, taking care to avoid the clucking disapproval of the hens. A cockerel that reminded Farrell of DS Byers strutted in front of them.
‘Mr Jarvis?’ Farrell said, taking the old farmer’s wrinkled hand in his own. The man’s grip was strong. He wasn’t as frail as he looked.
‘Aye, that’s me, lad. Gave me a fair turn, seeing what I did. Best come in. I’ll stick the kettle on. You too, lass.’
Once they were settled at the kitchen table with mugs of hot sweet tea, he began.
‘I was out with Jess,’ nodding at the dog lying by his feet, ‘looking for a stray sheep, when she raced up that yonder hill into a bit of woodland and stood there barking. I shouted at her, but she wasn’t for budging, so I hauled myself to the top to see what she’d found, thinking it was a dead deer or a fox.’
He paused, relishing the telling of it. This told Farrell that the remains weren’t much more than bones, or he would have been more upset. He figured the old man was lonely, didn’t get the chance to talk often, so let him continue at his own pace instead of trying to hurry him up. He could see Mhairi’s foot jiggling impatiently on the worn tiles, but she too bit her lip.
Perfect Dead Page 6
