Dead Man's Prayer

by Jackie Baldwin

  ‘You mustn’t blame yourself. This man is clever. Everything is planned down to the finest detail. He leaves nothing to chance. What alerted you to the fact that the twins had been abducted?’

  ‘The mother phoned in not long after they’d gone to say she would be picking them up earlier than usual as they had dental appointments. The way she reacted when I told her I knew immediately that something was terribly wrong. She told me there had been no Children’s Panel.’

  ‘Had you ever had reason to believe that the children were at risk within the family?’

  Mrs Mitchell hesitated.

  ‘The mother … she’s very young, fragile, I suppose you might say. And well, you’ve met the father …’

  ‘Go on,’ said Farrell.

  ‘I might be speaking totally out of turn but the mother, Kerry … I’ve seen bruises on a number of occasions. I tried to talk to her but she insisted everything was fine.’

  ‘And the boys?’

  ‘Never a mark on them,’ she replied. ‘Or at least, nothing out of the ordinary for two active toddlers.’

  ‘We’ll place a Family Liaison Officer with the family. I’ll make sure she keeps a watchful eye out for the mother meantime.’

  ‘Those little boys, Paul and Andy, do you think …?’ she broke off, too choked to continue.

  ‘There’s no way of knowing at this stage,’ said Farrell.

  Farrell produced an identikit photo of the man believed to have been behind the abduction of the first twins.

  ‘Is that the man?’

  The woman scrutinized it carefully.

  ‘I don’t know. It could be. He had a moustache though, not a beard, and he was wearing different glasses. His hair was shorter, though the colour’s the same.’

  ‘What about his height?’ asked Farrell. ‘Was he taller or shorter than me?’

  ‘About the same, I would say.’

  She gazed at Farrell, a strange expression on her face, then shook her head as though she were punch drunk and tried to refocus.

  ‘Did you notice the colour of his eyes?’

  ‘Brown,’ she said.

  ‘Is there anything else you can remember about him?’

  ‘He had a tattoo on his right forearm; I saw it when he lifted up Paul.’

  ‘Can you describe it?’

  ‘I can, as it happens. It was a sign of the zodiac.’

  ‘Which sign?’ asked Farrell

  ‘Gemini.’

  ‘Would you be willing to come down to the station and work with a sketch artist?’

  ‘Of course, I’ll come as soon as the last child leaves.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Farrell. ‘You’ve been most helpful.’

  He spun on his heel and raced out to speak to McLeod, who was seeing off the father in a uniformed police car.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I got a full description of the boys that has gone out to all units.’

  She handed over a snapshot of two dark-haired little boys in identical navy shorts and striped T-shirts smiling happily for the camera.

  ‘No known enemies, crank calls, or anything suspicious before today. Guy’s loaded, but no ransom note, as of yet.’

  ‘The abductor has a tattoo,’ Farrell said. ‘Gemini, a zodiac sign.’

  ‘The twins, Sir?’

  ‘So it would seem. I want you to nip back and see the woman at the first nursery, see if she can remember anything about a tattoo. He’s also changed his appearance but I’m fairly sure we’re dealing with the same guy. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. What did you make of the father?’

  ‘He’s frustrated as Hell; the type that’s used to solving problems by throwing money around. He’s desperate for a ransom note, ready to write a cheque to buy back his kids.’

  ‘If only it were that simple,’ said Farrell. ‘Any information about the mother?’

  ‘He wasn’t very forthcoming on that score, Sir. We’ll know more when we hear from DI Moore.’

  ‘Phone DI Moore and tell her to tread carefully. This guy’s got a temper and might be in the habit of taking it out on his wife.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Back in his office at Loreburn Street, having ascertained that there were no new developments in the Boyd case, Farrell buried himself in the files relating to the missing kids. They were severely understaffed in Dumfries compared to the manpower and resources available in the Central Belt. It was going to be all hands to the pump until further notice if these kids were to stand a chance. It might even be already too late. Patterns were starting to emerge. It was also clear that the abductor had an accomplice. Mrs Mitchell from Head Start had phoned and spoken to someone who confirmed the man’s identity while he was there. It had transpired that there was someone at the social work department who went by the name of Brian Scott but he was currently sunning himself in Ibiza.

  Farrell compared the fake child protection order with the genuine article from last year. The only discrepancy was the phone number. He tried it, not expecting an answer. Someone picked up after the third ring. Farrell froze. What had he done?

  ‘Inspector Farrell here, who am I speaking to?’

  ‘Well, hello, Inspector Farrell, this is a surprise,’ said the voice on the phone.

  ‘What should I call you?’ asked Farrell, trying to keep his voice as even as his pounding heart would allow.

  ‘What’s in a name? Names are just accidents of birth; don’t you agree?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Farrell neutrally. ‘The little boys, Mark, Paul, and Andy, are they still alive?’

  ‘So many questions. It’s really not polite, Frank.’

  ‘What do you want to talk about then?’

  ‘Are you a gambling man, Frank?’

  ‘Can’t say that I am,’ answered Farrell, keen to keep him on the phone for as long as possible.

  ‘Well if I were you I wouldn’t bet on Andy coming back home. Two aren’t always better than one. You’ve got until midnight on Friday to save me from myself, Frank.’

  ‘Turn yourself in,’ urged Farrell. ‘We can do a deal. Anything is possible if you let those little boys walk out of this unharmed.’

  ‘Be great, wouldn’t it, Frank? Life isn’t like that.’

  ‘Make it like that,’ urged Farrell. ‘You’re the one holding all the cards.’

  ‘And Andy just drew the two of clubs. Life’s a bitch.’

  ‘It’s not too late to turn back. Tell me where those boys are.’

  ‘Do you believe in a bountiful God, Father Frank?’

  Farrell stiffened. ‘Why did you kill Boyd? It was you, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Now why did you have to go and ruin the ambience, Frank? I was just starting to enjoy our little chat.’

  ‘Wait! We can talk about something else.’

  ‘Bye Frank. Give my regards to Clare.’

  ‘How do you …’

  The phone went dead.

  ‘Dammit!’ Farrell yelled and sent his chair crashing backwards as he leapt up and tore down the corridor to the MCA room. He flung the door back against its hinges, startling the occupants.

  ‘The abductor. I’ve just spoken to him. Get technical support in my room to set up a trace in case he calls me back.’

  Lind walked over to him, looking worried.

  ‘What, you mean he called the station?’

  ‘No,’ said Farrell, grimly. ‘I called him.’

  ‘From your room?’ asked Lind.

  ‘Yes, from my room,’ snapped Farrell, already aware that he’d blown it big time.

  If he’d only had the sense to call from the MCA room, they could have maybe traced the call, got a lead on where he was keeping the kids.

  ‘Jesus, Frank. Wait until the super hears about this,’ murmured Lind, worriedly.

  ‘Hears about what exactly,’ boomed a voice from the open doorway.

  Everyone except Lind and Farrell became totally engrossed in what they were doing.

  ‘Well, Sir �
��’ began Lind.

  Farrell stepped in front of the super and eyeballed him. Better to go out with a bang than a whimper.

  ‘I’ve just spoken to the abductor, Sir.’

  ‘Get a trace?’ barked the super.

  ‘No, Sir. I dialled the number on the place of safety order. Never thought I’d get through to anyone.’

  ‘Well, isn’t this just fine and dandy,’ hissed the super, so angry he looked on the verge of stroking out.

  ‘Sorry, Sir,’ said Farrell, uncomfortably aware that this time he deserved the wrath of the man in front of him.

  ‘We have a deranged kidnapper loose on our patch and you didn’t think to start a trace before you phoned him for a little chat?’

  ‘No, Sir,’ said Farrell.

  Walker suddenly slumped as though the fight had gone out of him. In a more reasonable tone of voice he asked, ‘did he say anything about the kids, anything to help us find them?’

  ‘Just that Andy had drawn the two of clubs, and we have until midnight on Friday to save him from himself.’

  ‘That gives us four days to nail the bastard,’ yelled the super to the room at large. ‘I want every available body on this investigation and I want RESULTS!’

  As he was walking out the door he stuck his face right in Farrell’s, so close Farrell could smell the stale odour of his last fag.

  ‘No more cock-ups, Farrell?’

  ‘No, Sir.’

  Once the super had left there was a collective exhalation of air by all those present. Farrell quickly briefed them on the details of his conversation, this time holding nothing back. Lind looked worried.

  ‘This guy seems to know a helluva lot about you, Frank. I don’t like it.’

  ‘It’s not uncommon for a perpetrator to fixate on one of the main investigating officers. Everything he said about me is a matter of public record,’ said Farrell.

  ‘Then who’s Clare?’ piped up the irrepressible Byers, earning a frown from Lind.

  ‘A forensic psychiatrist who’s been helping me with the Boyd case,’ replied Farrell, not batting an eyelid.

  Byers looked disappointed.

  ‘Right folks, listen up,’ said Lind. ‘We have several new lines of enquiry. The abductor obviously has an accomplice. He waltzed into that nursery this morning with paperwork he knew would be subject to scrutiny. While he was there, Mrs Mitchell phoned a number purporting to be social services and spoke to someone who verified the documents were genuine. The name he gave was Brian Scott, duty social worker, but we’ve already established the real Brian Scott is out of the country therefore couldn’t have made the call. Our accomplice may work in social services or for Dumfries and Galloway Council in some capacity. We need to get onto BT and get a location for the phone number and officers out there right away. The abductor is targeting identical twin boys. Find out who has information on their database about twins living in this area. I want all empty churches and church halls within a thirty-mile radius of Dumfries identified and searched. Given the fact that the first boys were found in an abandoned church he may have picked a hideaway again, either for some as yet undisclosed religious significance or simply for convenience. There are three scared toddlers out there relying on us to find some answers. Let’s get to it.’

  Farrell turned on his heel to leave.

  ‘Frank, what about Clare?’ asked Lind. ‘The killer mentioned her by name. You’d better warn her to be careful.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ replied Farrell. ‘I’ve already thought of that.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Clare looked up from her notes and stretched her arms above her head to relieve the tension in her neck. To her surprise she noticed that it was already getting dark and her room was pooled with shadows from the light thrown by her desk lamp. She had a cheek to moan about Frank being wedded to his job when she was just as bad. No one in her Department knew that he used to be a patient here all those years ago. She knew that some of her colleagues might disapprove and consider she was being unethical if they got wind of the fact she had once had a fleeting involvement in his treatment. It had been a while since she had been in a serious relationship. Her career was demanding and most men still seemed ill-equipped to deal with that. She packed up her briefcase with a file for a case conference tomorrow and a few journal articles she still had to read. There really weren’t enough hours in the day.

  Her steps quickened as she headed for the main hospital car park. She glanced round nervously as a slight breeze rustled through the bushes bordering the lush landscaped gardens. Hadn’t there been some gossip in the canteen about a prowler having been spotted lurking in the grounds? Her heels wobbled and made a clacking sound over the slightly uneven surface. She wrapped her scarf around her tightly to ward off the evening chill. As her thoughts turned to the lonely evening ahead she wished that Frank had been free this evening.

  Suddenly she was enveloped in an embrace from behind. Frank! She leaned her head back against his broad chest. He’d managed to get away after all. She smelled the familiar tang of his aftershave as he nuzzled her ear. She tried to wriggle round to face him but was being held too tightly to manoeuvre. His hands started to roam over her body, his tongue in her ear. She squirmed awkwardly.

  ‘Frank, don’t! Someone might see.’

  The mauling continued. She became annoyed.

  ‘Frank, knock it off. I’m not kidding.’

  Suddenly, he shoved her violently, sending her flying forward onto her knees, ripping her tights in the process. By the time she scrambled to her feet, ready to give him a bollocking, he was a distant figure, running away from her, his head down.

  Hurt and confused she made her way to her car, her knees stinging. What on earth had got into him? Was he ill? Having some kind of breakdown? Whatever was going on the one thing she knew for certain was that she wanted no part of it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Farrell woke up with a pounding headache and the sour taste of whisky at the back of his throat. Then he realized that the sound of banging wasn’t entirely in his head but was being reinforced by an insistent knocking at the front door. Groaning, he threw back the covers and lurched to his feet. He was stunned to see that he was still wearing his suit from yesterday. What on earth was going on?

  With unsteady legs he staggered down the stairs and flung open the front door, wincing at the bright sunlight. There in front of him stood DC McLeod with her arms folded.

  ‘DCI Lind sent me out to check you were OK as he couldn’t get through on your landline and you weren’t answering your mobile.’

  She looked him up and down with disdain.

  ‘Heavy night, Sir?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ he answered.

  McLeod looked at him through narrowed eyes.

  ‘No offence, Sir, but you look like shit. What happened?’

  Farrell rubbed his eyes and swallowed. His tongue felt thick and rubbery and his mouth was dry and tacky. He was still feeling disorientated and confused.

  ‘It’s the weirdest thing. I can remember coming home quite late, pouring myself a nightcap, then nothing. The next thing I remember is hearing you knocking on the door.’

  Farrell threw the door open and McLeod followed him in. He lurched upstairs to the lounge, still unsteady on his feet. Walking across the room he threw open the door to a cupboard and produced an almost full bottle of Macallan.

  ‘I knew it!’ he expostulated.

  ‘What are you saying, Sir?’

  ‘I’ve been drugged. Somebody’s been in here and slipped something in my whisky.’

  ‘Are you sure, Sir?’ asked McLeod, eyes darting around in alarm. ‘Could whoever it is still be here?’

  Farrell snorted. ‘Not if they know what’s good for them.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you see someone, Sir, get checked out?’

  ‘There are three wee boys missing. Anything else will have to wait,’ Farrell muttered. ‘Stick a pot of strong coffee on, there’s a good
lass. It’s nothing a hot shower won’t cure. I’ll be down in a tick.’

  Mhairi waited until he was out of sight, zoomed downstairs to stick the coffee on, then carefully bagged up the bottle of whisky to take it to the lab for analysis. She slipped out and stashed it in the boot of her car. Had Farrell really been drugged or had he been on a bender and blacked out and was now trying to cover his tracks? Either way it might be important. The way this investigation was going she wasn’t inclined to take chances.

  Hearing the sound of the shower being turned on she crept back up the stairs and poked her head round Farrell’s bedroom door, taking in the single bed with raised eyebrows. Her eyes were drawn to the small crucifix above the bed and a well-thumbed leather bible beside it. Scarcely daring to breathe, she tiptoed over to the wardrobe and gently tugged the door open. Hanging in one corner in a transparent bag was a black suit with a white clerical collar. On the bottom, beneath the hanging rail, was an old intricately carved wooden box. Nervously McLeod glanced towards the door leading to the shower room. The shower was still running. She reached over and opened the box and drew in her breath sharply at the contents. That might explain the old scars on his back. And yet, he didn’t come over like some religious fanatic. Maybe it was some kind of self-harming thing? There were definitely some things it was better not to know. Shit. The shower had stopped. With the speed borne of true panic Mhairi leapt to the door and managed to appear to be popping her head round it as Farrell emerged in a cloud of steam from the shower room. Although clad in a dressing gown he still looked embarrassed to see her standing there.

  ‘Coffee’s ready,’ she blurted, still out of breath.

  ‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ he replied.

  Mhairi charged downstairs and along the hall to the kitchen, where she poured out the coffee and rustled up some toast. As she was opening cupboards looking for some marmalade she saw a box of tablets pushed to the back of the shelf. Conscious that she had invaded her boss’s privacy enough for one morning she still couldn’t resist sliding them out to have a look. Lithium.

  ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ thundered a voice behind her.