Perfect Dead

by Jackie Baldwin

  ‘Will do,’ replied Farrell, his knuckles white on the wheel as he pushed his clapped-out Citroen to the max.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Lind pulled his phone out once more.

  ‘Fiona? We need one more favour. We’ll be at Ivy House in five minutes. Can you unlock the front and back doors for us and then get the hell out of there? We won’t come in until you are down the drive. We’ll make sure your cooperation today is included in our report to the procurator fiscal.’

  ‘Will I pull DS Stirling in as well, sir?’ asked DI Moore.

  ‘Yes, and draft in two squad cars to take Hugo Mortimer and Penelope Spence separately into custody. I don’t want them to have any opportunity to communicate with each other, once we’ve arrested them.’

  They met DS Stirling and the uniformed officers outside the driveway to Ivy House, the squad cars having been parked out of sight. Within five minutes, Fiona Murray left the building carrying her shopping bag. She sailed past them with her head held high and carried on down the hill, as though they didn’t exist.

  ‘She’s one tough cookie,’ whispered DI Moore to Lind.

  ‘She’s had to be,’ he replied.

  Stirling and DI Moore each crept round the back of Ivy House, while Lind and two uniforms headed for the front door.

  They didn’t give the usual warnings because the element of surprise was crucial. The last thing they wanted was for Hugo Mortimer to alert Lionel Forbes that their cover had been blown. All of them were already familiar with the layout of the large Victorian house due to the floorplan prepared by Mhairi.

  Stealthily, Lind and Moore crept up the stairs. The house was silent apart from the sonorous tick of the grandfather clock in the hall. As they got closer to Mortimer’s room, they could hear the sound of laughter, one male and one female. They paused outside and listened. Then Lind pulled out his baton and gently turned the handle. Fortunately, it wasn’t locked and the three of them advanced rapidly into the room.

  ‘Police, put your hands in the air. Stand up and face the wall!’ Lind yelled, throwing a dressing gown over to the scantily clad young woman in the bed.

  ‘That’s Nancy Quinn,’ Moore said to him.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ shouted Mortimer, scrambling to his feet.

  Quinn did as she was told, saying nothing.

  ‘Hugo Mortimer and Nancy Quinn, you are both being placed under arrest for forgery and conspiracy to commit murder. You are not obliged to say anything, but anything you do say will be noted down and can be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand?’

  ‘What? Conspiracy to commit murder? You can’t be serious. Take me in by all means, if you must, but this young woman has nothing to do with any of this,’ said Mortimer.

  ‘I think we’ll be the judge of that, sir,’ said Lind, fastening handcuffs on the pair of them, after they’d been allowed to throw on some clothes.

  They marched Mortimer and Quinn downstairs, where they met DS Stirling and PC McGhie walking out with Penelope Spence, also cuffed.

  ‘Why on earth have you arrested Penelope?’ asked Mortimer, looking baffled.

  Spence glared at both him and Quinn as she passed.

  ‘You old fool. She’s young enough to be your daughter,’ she hissed.

  Quinn smirked.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ muttered Mortimer.

  It’s not what you think either, thought Lind.

  As they were leaving, Patrick Rafferty emerged from the kitchen, coffee mug in hand.

  ‘Er, what about me?’

  ‘What about you?’ replied Lind.

  ‘Aren’t you taking me in too?’

  ‘Have you committed a crime?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

  ‘Then, enjoy your coffee,’ said Lind, walking past him.

  ‘I’ll head back to Dumfries with this lot, if that’s okay, sir,’ said Moore.

  ‘I’ve just got one or two loose ends to tie up here, then I’ll be right behind you,’ said Lind.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Farrell and Mhairi pulled into the car park at Johnstonebridge Services. They both had standard-issue vests on, which would afford them some limited protection. Farrell was armed with a Taser and he told Mhairi to keep to his rear. They could see the tractor and trailer across the huge car park, but there was no sign yet of Lionel Forbes. Perhaps he wasn’t going to do the handover himself after all. Glancing around, his practised eyes soon spotted members of the firearms team strategically placed. DC Thomson looked vulnerable perched high in his tractor. As he’d been instructed by Farrell, he climbed down, looking bored and lit up a fag. He had a folded copy of the Daily Record with him and glanced at the headlines. Good lad.

  ‘Here he comes,’ muttered Mhairi, shrinking down in her seat. As instructed, DC Thomson didn’t react to the sight of the silver Mercedes pulling up beside the tractor. After all, he wasn’t meant to know what Lionel Forbes looked like.

  Farrell and Mhairi crept out of their car and, using the cars between them for cover, slowly moved towards Forbes. They could see Sergeant Forsyth and three of his officers also advancing stealthily.

  Forbes wound down the window of the Mercedes and spoke to DC Thomson, who looked suitably startled. Thomson climbed up into the cab and, looking furtive, jumped back down and handed over the package through the window in exchange for a brown envelope. He then casually hauled himself into the tractor.

  Farrell breathed a sigh of relief and instructed the officers to hold their positions. He ideally didn’t want to make a move until DC Thomson was out of harm’s way.

  Forbes then opened the tube in the car and examined the contents.

  This was exactly what he hadn’t wanted to happen. Farrell held his breath as he waited to see what Forbes would do. A muzzle poked out of the window of the car and a shot was fired, DC Thomson toppled to the ground and rolled under the tractor.

  Mhairi contacted the nearby ambulance.

  ‘Officer down, possible GSW. Await instructions to approach.’

  Sergeant Forsyth shot out the tyres of Forbes’s vehicle as he gunned the engine. The car slewed at an angle then came to a halt. There were a few screams from distant members of the public, who were diverted away from the action.

  Mhairi reached the tractor and dived underneath. She found DC Thomson, white as a sheet and clutching his chest, but the vest had taken most of the impact of the bullet.

  ‘Bloody hell, Davey, you gave us a right bloody scare,’ she muttered, mussing his hair. ‘Stay put for now. Help’s on its way.’

  The car was now surrounded on all sides by heavily armed officers. Farrell was passed the megaphone by one of the armed-response team.

  ‘Give it up, Forbes. You’re completely surrounded. Exit the car with your hands up,’ he shouted.

  There was no movement. The car was now surrounded by DS Forsyth and his firearms team. Suddenly, the car door opened and a leg appeared, followed by another. Forbes slowly stood up and turned to face them, his hands raised, still holding the gun in his right hand. The urbane mask had slid from his face to be replaced by one of feral savagery.

  ‘Place the gun on the ground, slowly, then come back up to a standing position with your hands raised in the air,’ said Farrell.

  Forbes bent forward in slow motion as if to comply but at the last second the gun swung up fast.

  ‘Go to Hell!’ yelled Forbes, as he was taken out in a hail of bullets.

  Farrell ran over to the tractor and reassured himself that DC Thomson, though badly bruised and shaken up, wasn’t seriously hurt. He waved over the paramedics.

  Mhairi was still by his side.

  ‘Mind if I go with him in the ambulance, sir?’ she asked.

  ‘As if the poor lad hasn’t suffered enough,’ he said.

  DC Thomson managed a weak grin. He looked like he was slipping into shock as the reality of what happened started to sink in. A dose of DC McLeod was ju
st what he needed.

  Farrell waited until SOCO arrived and the crime scene had been processed. He felt a wave of fatigue move through his body, as the adrenalin left his system. He was grateful that Lind had managed to keep DI Moore in Kirkcudbright while they took Forbes down. Even so, she didn’t let people into her life very readily and he knew that this miscalculation on her part would cause her anguish for some time.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  At the harbour in Kirkcudbright, Lind slumped back in his car with relief. All officers safe and accounted for. Although Lionel Forbes had been killed, no blame could possibly be attached to the officers under his command in the circumstances. He had been given every opportunity to surrender but had chosen instead to aim his weapon. DC Thomson was being kept in for a few hours’ observation, no doubt being driven mad by Mhairi clucking over him.

  Laura suddenly popped into his mind. He thought of his four kids and felt a hard lump in his throat. He had to get through to her. Farrell and Moore could take up some slack for a bit. He got out his phone.

  ‘I’m sorry. Home early tonight. Can we talk? I’ve never stopped loving you. Not for one single minute all these years. X’

  Feeling a sense of peace settle within him, he suddenly remembered he had meant to stop by the gallery and have another word with Janet Campbell on the subject of the canvasses. The other cases might be all wrapped up, but he still had to catch Ailish’s killer. They now knew that Penelope Spence was Paul Moretti but, although she had obstructed the police investigation by her actions, her motives had been personal rather than criminal in intent.

  He stooped as he entered the gallery, the bell tinkling to announce his arrival. Janet rushed to greet him, her homely face split wide by a smile.

  ‘DCI Lind. This is a lovely surprise! What can I help you with today?’ she asked.

  He smiled back at her.

  ‘If every member of the public was as helpful as you,’ he said, ‘our jobs would be an awful lot easier.’

  ‘What about a cuppa?’ she asked.

  ‘Thanks, but I’m afraid I have to be getting back to Dumfries, nice though that sounds. The reason I popped by is that we’ve discovered that Paul Moretti didn’t paint those canvasses that Mike Halliday found in the cupboard.’

  ‘And you’re sure about that, are you?’ she asked, her face clouding.

  ‘Yes, completely. What I need to know is whether you personally looked in that cupboard before Mike Halliday took entry as a tenant?’

  ‘Well, no, I didn’t. I pay a cleaner to go in at the end of every tenancy. They throw out any rubbish left and give it a deep clean. You know what these artist types can be like. The cupboard has a lock, so I suppose it’s possible it was overlooked. The paintings could have been in there for quite some time. I don’t think anyone ever asked me for the key, until Mike moved in.’

  ‘Was the cleaner somebody local?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I’m afraid it’s one of those companies from Dumfries. It’s somebody different every time they come. I’ll look through my files and forward the details, just in case.’

  ‘Who was the tenant before Paul Moretti?’ asked Lind.

  ‘Let me see, that would be Elizabeth Morley. Lovely lady. Makes beautiful jewellery. Very refined.’

  In other words, a dead end, thought Lind. He thanked her and left.

  He was walking by the tail end of the building, when he glimpsed Mike Halliday sitting on his usual bench. He remembered that the last time he was here he had admired some of Mike’s paintings. There had been one in particular that stood out, a painting of Caerlaverock Castle where he and Laura had their wedding photos taken. On impulse he decided to see if it had been sold.

  ‘Hey Mike,’ he said. ‘Just wandered by on the off-chance you still had that painting of Caerlaverock Castle for sale? It might earn me some brownie points with the wife.’

  Halliday leapt up, a friendly grin on his face.

  ‘DCI Lind. I hear you boys have been busy today. Care to share?’

  ‘No can do, I’m afraid. Anyway, you know what small towns are like. Janet will probably be able to give you chapter and verse before I’ve even got back to Dumfries.’

  He laughed and disappeared inside to re-emerge with the painting five minutes later.

  ‘This the one you’re after?’

  ‘Perfect,’ Lind replied. He paid the modest price happily.

  As Halliday was wrapping it for him, Lind felt his spirits rise. Laura was going to love it. It would remind her of happier times.

  ‘Now this is what I call art,’ he said appreciatively, as he took the parcel. ‘Not like that sick crap that came out from your cupboard. Even I could do better than that and I’m all but colour blind.’

  Halliday laughed.

  ‘Best stick to the day job then.’

  ‘You’re not wrong there,’ replied Lind walking away in the direction of his car. As he opened his wallet to put away the change, he noticed that Halliday had given him an extra tenner by mistake. He swung round but the door was already closed. If he didn’t give it back to him now he would forget all about it. There was no answer to his knock. He tried the door and found it unlocked. He would leave the money on a table inside.

  Entering, he walked into the sitting room. The interior was larger than it had looked from the outside. Maybe Mike had gone to take a nap upstairs. Best not to disturb him. Putting the money on the coffee table, he turned to leave. He stopped. Maybe he should leave a note? He pulled out a pen and cast around for a scrap of paper. His eyes widened as he saw a pair of ankles poking out from behind the couch. Leaning over, he saw Maureen Kerrigan’s terrified eyes staring up at him. She was bound and gagged.

  Suddenly, he felt a huge thump to the back of his head. As he sank to his knees, he caught a glimpse of the furious face of his attacker. Everything faded to black.

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  As soon as he got back to the station, Farrell went in search of DI Moore. He knew she would have been informed of the shooting by now and he was worried about how she might be coping.

  Tapping lightly on her door, he walked straight in.

  ‘I come bearing caffeine,’ he said, waving the plastic cartons at her.

  She gave a small smile, though he could see from the pallor of her face that she was struggling to keep herself together.

  ‘Frank, come in, just what I needed.’

  He closed the door behind him and sat opposite her.

  ‘I’m sorry how things turned out with Forbes,’ he said. ‘For what it’s worth I wasn’t crazy about him, but I didn’t have him pegged for a murderer or some kind of criminal mastermind either.’

  ‘Thanks, Frank, kind of you to say. My instincts are usually pretty spot on. Guess I only saw what I wanted to see.’

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it. Only myself, Lind, and Mhairi knew there was anything between you, other than police business, and that’s the way it’s going to stay,’ he said.

  ‘Mhairi knew?’ She groaned.

  ‘Yep. It was hate at first sight,’ he grinned. ‘Full McLeod heckles.’

  ‘She’s going to make a bloody good detective, that one.’

  ‘I can cover if you want to get off home. I’m sure Lind will be back any minute.’

  ‘Thanks, Frank, but I prefer not to be alone with my thoughts. Not yet anyway. I’d rather keep busy.’

  ‘Right then. I’ve fixed the last briefing for 8 p.m. That hopefully gives us enough time to mop up what forensics can be processed in-house and interview Hugo Mortimer, Penelope Spence, and Nancy Quinn.’

  ‘How about I take the two women with DS Stirling?’

  ‘Fine by me. I’ll tackle Mortimer with Mhairi. Have you seen her? Or perhaps I should ask if you’ve heard her?’

  Moore pointed to the left.

  ‘The noise and commotion proceeded that way,’ she smiled.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Farrell, turning to leave.

  Sure enough, he hadn’t
taken more than a few steps when he heard Mhairi’s voice coming from the sergeant’s room, regaling them all with the events of the day.

  ‘DC Thomson was incredibly brave,’ she continued, as he stood in the open doorway. ‘He maintained his cover until the bitter end. I’m taking up a collection for him.’ She shook a biscuit tin. ‘Dig deep, it’s not every day one of our lot gets shot in the line of duty.’

  Everyone in the room crowded round her, eager to contribute.

  Farrell coughed, causing her to jump.

  ‘In your own time, Mhairi.’

  ‘Coming, sir,’ she said, shutting the tin which was now stuffed with notes.

  Once they were walking along the corridor, he handed her a twenty.

  ‘Stick that in your tin.’

  ‘Thanks, sir! Where are we going?’

  ‘To interview Hugo Mortimer. DI Moore and DS Stirling are handling the other two.’

  ‘He’s off the hook for murder at least,’ said Mhairi.

  ‘He’ll still do significant jail time for the forgery, though,’ said Farrell.

  ‘He won’t have heard that Lionel Forbes is dead yet, will he, sir?’

  ‘No, he’s had no access to communications of any sort. Everyone in the custody suite has been told to zip it.’

  A text pinged and Farrell glanced at his phone and frowned. It was from Laura.

  ‘Heard there’s been a shooting on the news. Is John OK? He’s not picking up. Worried sick.’

  That’s odd, he thought. He knew they’d been having difficulties, but John didn’t have a vindictive bone in his body and wouldn’t want her to worry. He texted.

  ‘Nothing to worry about. He wasn’t there. Still in Kirkcudbright.’

  The reply pinged back in an instant.

  ‘Thank God. Tell him to come home when you see him.’

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  By the time they reached the custody suite, Mortimer was already sitting in one of the interview rooms, flanked by two burly uniforms.