She was unable to hide a flicker of distaste.
‘Don’t get me wrong. I was as appalled as you by the apparent suffering of that poor creature, but art has a way of transcending such considerations,’ he said.
‘Anyway, I’ll just pop in the shower so I don’t hold you back any longer,’ she said, forcing herself to smile.
He reached for her, but she nimbly evaded him. As she closed the bathroom door she saw anger tighten his jawline. She needed to get out of here, and fast.
Chapter Sixty-Two
Farrell and Lind were breakfasting at the cottage in Kelton. They stared at each other morosely over their cereal and coffee. Lind had spent another night sleeping on Farrell’s couch. He had been sitting in the garden waiting for him when he returned from Mhairi’s flat. Laura had lost her rag in marriage guidance and stormed off. Lind had gone after her and they’d had a massive row. She’d asked him to move out and was threatening to change the locks. He had never seen Lind looking so down. It was like he had no fight left in him, and he was going to need plenty if he was going to turn this around, thought Farrell.
No wonder there was such a high rate of attrition with marriages in the force. That said, he still thought Laura was behaving irrationally. It’s not as if Lind was running around on her. All he was guilty of was trying to do his job and make the world a safer place for their kids to grow up in.
‘Right,’ said Lind. ‘Let’s get this show on the road. Kirkcudbright here we come.’
Farrell’s mobile rang as he stood up.
‘Hey, Kate, we’re just heading out now … are you sure?… How did you?… OK … park yourself at the local nick until we get there …’
‘Tell me,’ said Lind, who had been fidgeting with impatience throughout.
‘Basically, Kate has discovered that Lionel Forbes is implicated in the murders of Monro Stevenson and Poppy Black. He’s almost definitely our missing link in the forging case.’
‘But how did she …?’
‘She was staying the night at his place and couldn’t sleep.’ He felt a lurch of anger at the thought of Kate with that creep. ‘She went for a poke around and discovered a sheet of cream paper in a drawer that matched the suicide note, some red wax and the seal stamp used for the forged paintings. There was also a packet of bulbs with one missing, most likely the one we found in Poppy Black’s flat. She took digital images of it all, but she didn’t dare remove it and bag it up to avoid compromising the op today.’
‘You mean she and him?’
Farrell nodded.
‘Is she all right? Did he twig she was on to him?’
‘Yes, she’s fine. She thinks she pulled it off.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Lind. He thought for a moment, once more the capable officer and man that Farrell knew him to be. Thank God his focus was back, thought Farrell. They would all need to pull together as a team today.
‘Right, Frank, you head off to the station and brief Byers on these latest developments. I see no reason to mention that Kate was staying the night, for the time being. She was simply at his for dinner to discuss something pertaining to the case, when she inadvertently noticed the paper poking out the drawer, which aroused her suspicions and further investigations. Got it?’
‘Loud and clear,’ replied Farrell.
Lind’s phone rang. Laura’s name flashed on the screen.
‘Aren’t you going to get that?’ asked Farrell.
‘It will have to wait. In the meantime, I’ll head off down to Kirkcudbright and liaise with DI Moore. I want to make sure DC Thomson has all he needs to wrap up this operation today. I have a feeling we won’t get another bite at this particular cherry.’
Farrell locked up. The cold damp fog made the early morning darkness even more impenetrable. Hopefully, it would lift later. Lind’s engine was already running, his window down.
‘See you later,’ said Farrell, as he walked by and slid into the Citroen.
He followed Lind to St Michael’s Bridge then waved him off to the left as he continued straight on. His stomach churned, and he had a feeling of foreboding he couldn’t shake off. He wished he was heading straight to Kirkcudbright like Lind. If they got really lucky they might wrap up both the murder of Monro Stevenson and the forgery ring today.
Once he entered the station he swiped through the door and took the stairs up to the MCA room two at a time. DS Byers looked like he had been in there most of the night and clearly hadn’t even had time to shave.
‘Thank Christ one of you is here,’ he exploded, when Farrell walked into the room. ‘There’s a limit to what I can get done on my own.’
‘Sorry, Mike. I know you’ve been run off your feet in here. With the investigations overlapping like they have, you’ve been doing the work of three men, and I reckon you’re the only one among us that could have kept all the plates spinning.’
Byers looked mollified.
‘DI Moore and DC McLeod were working their socks off last night,’ said Farrell. ‘Have you got the stuff they sent you yet?’
‘Regular Cagney and bloody Lacey, that pair,’ grumbled Byers.
‘I need you to get a search warrant for Lionel Forbes’s place, but we won’t execute it until we see how the chips fall today. I don’t want to alert any of them prematurely that we’re closing in.’
‘That background you requested on Nancy Quinn? Turns out she was adopted. She’s estranged from her adoptive parents. Broke off all contact with them when she went to Glasgow School of Art. Her adoptive parents have no clue as to the identity of her natural parents but said she had become obsessed with tracing them before she left. Social services have confirmed that her birth parents are Hugo Mortimer and Penelope Spence.’
‘Did you see the picture Mhairi found in Hugo Mortimer’s studio?’
Byers grimaced.
‘Do you think he knows? I mean he’s a bit of a lech, but to paint his own daughter like that? Turns my stomach, it does.’
‘He might,’ said Farrell. ‘Equally he might not. It could all be part of some twisted revenge plan she has for him. Time will tell.’
‘This bloody lot should have their own reality TV show.’
‘Can you bring the Super up to speed?’ asked Farrell. ‘I’m about to head off to join the others in Kirkcudbright.’
Byers looked distinctly unhappy at the prospect, but he nodded reluctantly.
‘What do you want me to do about the whole Penelope Spence/Paul Moretti issue?’ he asked.
Farrell thought for a moment.
‘Nothing right now. I’m as sure as I can be she’s not implicated in any of the four crimes that we’re investigating. As far as I can figure, the whole disguise was simply a ruse to hide from Hugo the fact that she was getting her hands dirty as a successful commercial artist.’
‘And yet, it would be her money keeping the whole sordid set up afloat,’ said Byers shaking his head in disgust.
‘Depending on how today shakes down, I’m going to get her in, tell her we’ve figured out her little game and see what she knows about the origin of those paintings in Janet Campbell’s rented studio. If she didn’t paint them, then she might have an inkling of who did,’ said Farrell.
Chapter Sixty-Three
‘You ready, lad?’ said Stirling, pacing around the farm kitchen. The cold and damp seemed to have permeated their very bones.
‘As ready as I’ll ever be,’ said DC Thomson.
‘Now, remember, I’ll be at the Farmers’ market in Kirkcudbright and then drift off to The Smuggler’s for the afternoon. That way I’ll be close by the pick-up point at the harbour. We’ve flooded the market with plain-clothes officers, dressed to blend in with the tourists and locals. DCI Lind, DI Moore, and DI Farrell will all be centrally located and in constant touch with everybody.’
‘I still can’t believe that Lionel Forbes is involved in all of this. We’re going to look like a right bunch of wallies when it gets out he was consulting on the case,’ said
DC Thomson.
‘His credentials were impeccable, and expertise of that kind isn’t easy to come by down this neck of the woods. Plus, he was no doubt keen to insert himself into the investigation.’
‘Weren’t he and DI Moore …?’
‘At the end of the day, she was the one who cottoned on to him and was able to get us the vital evidence we needed to bring down the whole operation. Took guts, that did.’
‘I’m just glad she’s okay.’
‘Let’s hope so, lad. Right, are you ready to get going?’
‘Locked and loaded,’ Thomson replied, with an attempt at levity.
‘Now remember, we have trackers on the tractor and inside the tube containing the painting. Sergeant Forsyth and the firearms team are also in the local nick on standby, just in case. In so far as it’s ever possible to say, we’ve got your back.’
DC Thomson nodded.
‘Right, Sarge. I’ll be off then.’
‘If all goes according to plan, we should be out of this bloody hellhole for good, tonight,’ said Stirling. ‘Can’t wait to sample the wife’s cooking again.’
‘It’s got to be better than yours, Sarge,’ said DC Thomson. ‘Reckon I’d die of malnutrition if we have to keep this cover going much longer.’
‘Cheeky bugger,’ replied DS Stirling. ‘I’d like to see you try.’
They fell silent once more.
‘Right, off you go, lad. I’ll wait ten minutes then drive my car in. Be over before you know it.’
DC Thomson nodded and left the kitchen. Minutes later, the tractor roared into life. Stirling immediately texted DI Moore that Thomson was in transit, then stood motionless until the sound diminished to nothing. He was getting far too old for this bloody lark. His nerves couldn’t take it. He was already on diazepam and beta blockers from the doctor, following on from the case last year.
Sighing, he locked the door behind him, walked over to his car and turned on the ignition.
DC Thomson trundled along until he reached the centre of Kirkcudbright. As it was the Farmers’ market, there were tractors and trailers everywhere, which was good camouflage. He parked up at the harbour and strolled to the pick-up point in the disabled toilet near the Tourist Office. Locking the door behind him, he removed the grille from the ventilation shaft and reached up to pull the tube out, placing it inside his rucksack. He returned to the tractor and fired up the engine. Although it was still freezing, his checked shirt was welded to his back with sweat and he was struggling to control his breathing. Over the shirt was a bulletproof vest and on top of that a sweatshirt and a baggy hoody. Easy, Davey boy. Screw this one up and you’ll never hear the end of it. He consciously deepened his breathing until the anxiety receded, then indicated and pulled out. All he had to do now was keep his cool until he reached the rendezvous point in Stranraer.
The package would be exchanged for the money in the car park at Morrisons. He would then get the hell out of Dodge and those above his pay grade could deal with it.
Relaxing now that he was leaving the town behind and heading out into the open countryside, he settled further down in the uncomfortable seat. He had a fair drive in front of him. Suddenly his phone pinged. He snatched it from the seat beside him and broke out in a sweat once more.
‘Change of Plan. Proceed to M74 Services Johnstonebridge. Await further instructions there.’
Shit, this wasn’t good. The whole surveillance op was geared to an intercept at Stranraer. Most of the Dumfries manpower was holed up in Kirkcudbright and beyond. There was bugger all left in Dumfries, never mind the tiny station of Lockerbie, which was the closest to his new destination. He grabbed his other phone and quickly texted DI Moore. Oh well, it was out of his hands in any event. Just go with the flow, Davey boy, he muttered. Just go with the flow.
Chapter Sixty-Four
‘Dammit!’ shouted DI Moore.
Farrell, Lind, and McLeod glanced at her in alarm. Moore was not one for losing her cool. All four of them were holed up in a tiny office in Kirkcudbright nick, laptops and phones in front of them. DS Stirling was still in the town maintaining his cover, just in case.
‘They’ve only gone and changed the rendezvous point to Johnstonebridge Services. The majority of our resources are committed in the wrong place, leaving DC Thomson without adequate backup. We don’t even know if they’re ultimately headed to Glasgow, Edinburgh or down the M6 to bloody England,’ she said, throwing her chair back to pace around the room.
Lind was already on the phone to Byers, relaying the new intel.
‘We need to think about this,’ said Farrell. ‘Is it even possible that DC Thomson is simply a decoy and that the real painting has been, or is about to be, picked up by someone else? We need to maintain some officers in this area to cover all eventualities.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said DI Moore, calmer now.
‘Lionel Forbes told me this morning that he was headed up to Glasgow to speak to an editor about doing a new arts column for their paper. Perhaps he’s handling the exchange himself?’ she said.
DI Moore texted DC Thomson immediately.
‘Lionel Forbes may be handling exchange himself. Await further instructions.’
‘We’ve got the warrants in place,’ said Lind. ‘DI Moore and I will nip round to Lionel Forbes’s house. Fiona Murray can let us in with her key. I doubt very much that he’s there, but we may garner some clue as to his intentions and obtain evidence in relation to the murder and forging ring that he’s yet to destroy. Kate, did you happen to get his licence plate before you left?’
‘Yes, he drives a silver Mercedes, registration number, LF1 ART.’
Lind keyed in the details to Byers, asking for the car to be traced and discreetly tailed.
‘Frank, you and Mhairi head to Dumfries at the double. DC Thomson’s tracker should keep you informed of his whereabouts. He’ll be much slower than you in the tractor. I’m going to send half the firearms team back as well, but retain the other half here, in case we’re being led on a wild goose chase,’ said Lind.
Farrell and Mhairi swiftly packed up their stuff and left the room.
A few minutes later, Lind and Moore were standing outside Lionel Forbes’s handsome townhouse. They knocked on the door. It immediately swung open and Fiona Murray let them in. Her face was expressionless as usual.
‘He’s not here. I’ve no idea when he’ll be back,’ she said.
‘Where are you meant to be today, Fiona?’ asked DI Moore.
‘Working at Ivy House. I told them I was popping out to get some supplies.’
‘Well, I suggest you pick them up and get back there,’ said DI Moore.
Murray nodded, her skin pulled tight as a drum over her cheekbones. The strain was starting to tell on her.
‘Not long to go until this nightmare is over for you, Fiona,’ said Lind. ‘We need you to keep it together for another few hours. Can you do that?’
She nodded and walked towards the door.
‘I’ll leave you the key. I doubt I’ll be needing it again.’
Once she had left, Moore and Lind got to work. The wax seal, paper and bulbs were no longer in the study desk. Neither was the silencer. Lind glanced at his watch and ran to the back door. Rolling up his sleeves he emptied the wheelie bin. They discovered the missing items double-bagged and taped right at the bottom. There was something else in the bag. A heavy torch with traces of dried blood on it.
They had just retrieved them when they heard the unmistakable sound of the bin lorry approaching.
Lind straightened up, mopping the sweat off his face with a hanky.
‘Bloody hell, that was cutting it fine.’
Abruptly, DI Moore turned on her heel and headed back into the house and up the stairs, with Lind following. She entered the bedroom, her face flaming as she noticed the unmade bed she had just left a few hours ago. Lind said nothing as she flung open the wardrobe and stared around wildly, then dashed into the en suite.
‘
What is it?’ asked Lind. ‘Speak to me, Kate.’
‘He’s not coming back,’ she said.
‘What? Are you sure? You said he was meant to be heading to Glasgow. Perhaps he’s intending to stay a few days?’
‘No, he’s taken too much for that. I think he’s going to collect the painting himself and flee abroad with it. I’ve been all through his desk and there’s no sign of a passport anywhere. He must have been waiting to pull off this last big job before running.’
‘Think, Kate. Apart from the silencer in the drawer, did you see any evidence that he owned a gun?’
She thought hard but eventually shook her head.
‘No evidence that I saw, but he would hardly tell me. He may well have access to a gun. There was no record of Monro Stevenson ever having a firearm. Lionel Forbes must have shot him with his own gun, then left it there in the hope it would be passed off as suicide. He could have another.’
She gnawed her bottom lip.
‘This means that DC Thomson is in far more danger than we realized, if he’s tying up loose ends before running,’ said Lind. ‘If Forbes is doing the exchange himself, he might twig that we swapped the real deal back with the forgery. He’s bound to open the package. It means the difference between a life of luxury and a life of penury.’
‘I’m not worried about that,’ said Moore. ‘According to the experts, the forgery was so skilful that it required scientific analysis to reveal it. Even Forbes wouldn’t be able to tell.’
‘What if he finds the tracking device?’ asked Lind.
‘That’s a bigger problem,’ she said, looking worried. ‘The package is sealed shut but if he opens it and roots around he’ll find the tracker. It’s small but visible.’
Lind got on the phone to DS Byers and imparted the latest information. He then rang Farrell.
‘You’re going to have to run point on this, Frank. I can’t get down there in time. I need you to get to Johnstonebridge Services ASAP. Uniforms know to give you a free pass. DS Forsyth is already en route with half the firearms team. We’ve got back up converging from Lockerbie and Moffat stations. Thomson is about fifty minutes out. He’s waiting to hear that you guys are in position. Hurry!’
Perfect Dead Page 26
