‘My father died when I was a baby,’ he said. ‘He was a fireman and suffered smoke inhalation after rescuing a family from a burning tenement in Glasgow.’
‘It can be tough having a parent die so heroically. People around you place them on a pedestal. It makes it harder to gain a realistic sense of who they were, warts and all.’
‘I’m pretty sure my father was wart free judging by the way my mother used to go on about him when I was growing up.’
‘Wait a minute, I thought you grew up in Dumfries?’
‘We moved not long after the funeral. Too many memories, my mother said. Maybe I had a twin that was adopted?’
‘That wouldn’t make any sense,’ said Clare.
‘Nothing about this makes sense. A twin brother makes a lot more sense to me than that I assaulted you the other night. That just couldn’t have happened, mad or not.’
‘If you were ill, your normal parameters of behaviour wouldn’t apply. You might have been disinhibited, in an altered state. I know that’s hard to accept.’
‘What? It’s more likely that I’m off my rocker than had a brother that was adopted?’
Clare said nothing, which in itself spoke volumes.
Farrell stood up to leave.
‘Look, why don’t you have a word with your mother, broach the subject, solely to put your mind at rest?’
‘Not an option,’ said Farrell. ‘We’re not on the best of terms right now. Maybe I got it wrong anyway. When I came face to face with the abductor I was close to passing out from the stabbing. Maybe my brain got a bit scrambled in the process.’
There was an awkward pause.
Farrell stood up to go. Best to get it over with.
‘I guess, given the circumstances, you and I probably shouldn’t continue seeing each other?’
‘If you think that’s best,’ she replied with composure.
Farrell scanned her expression and was dismayed to see a flicker of relief. What had he expected? That she would collapse into hysterics and beg him to reconsider? At least he could exit her life with dignity. He owed her that at least.
‘Frank, wait. Don’t go!’
Farrell turned round, scarcely daring to hope.
Clare walked towards him and took both his hands in hers.
‘I don’t want us to stop seeing each other but I need you to promise me that you’ll keep taking your medication. I’m worried about you.’
‘I promise,’ Farrell said. ‘I won’t let you down.’
‘The reason I became a psychiatrist was that my mother was mentally ill. She ended up killing herself.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Farrell, squeezing her hands. ‘I had no idea.’
‘I was driven to help others like her but it gave me a fear of ever being tangled up with something like that in my personal life. If I didn’t like you so much things would never even have got this far.’
‘Let’s just take things one day at a time,’ said Farrell.
‘There’s something else,’ said Clare. ‘A condition, if you like.’
‘Go on.’
‘I want you to see a psychiatrist, just to be on the safe side. I assume you have someone you see in Edinburgh?’
‘I do. And I will,’ said Farrell. ‘I promise. But in the meantime, I’m still signed off sick so at least it gives me a bit of free time to start digging around.’
‘Be careful,’ Clare said.
As Farrell drove back to Kelton his thoughts whirled like an erratic fairground ride, trying to make sense of all the information whizzing by. Could he really have a twin? How could that be possible? With a jolt he remembered the first crime scene. His DNA had been found there. He’d put it down to the shock, kicked himself for being sloppy. Suppose it hadn’t been his after all? A bark of mirth squeezed from his lips as he imagined how the super would take it if it turned out he had a twin running amok. He had to keep even the remote possibility to himself for the time being. The only person who would know for sure was his mother and she’d cut out her tongue rather than tell him any—
That’s it! Suddenly Farrell knew what he had to do. You can always rely on the Bible to point the way. Time for a visit from the prodigal son. He needed help; someone else in the loop. Someone who could reel him in if he really was going off his rocker. Who to trust?
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Fresh from the gym, DS Byers walked into the MCA room with a smile on his face. While Farrell was off sick, Lind had put him in charge of the investigation into Boyd’s murder and he was determined to crack open the case before he got back. Showing him up would be the icing on the cake. He didn’t understand why the guy was so popular. He for one thought he was completely overrated. Probably only slumming it down here because he couldn’t hack it in Edinburgh.
The Boyd case had started to stagnate as Farrell had become more and more distracted by the missing kids. Not that there had been much to follow by way of leads.
PC Thomson came up to him at once, looking eager.
‘Sarge, I’ve been going through Boyd’s phone records. They took their time getting here. It looks as though he called the police station the day that he was murdered.’
‘Who did he speak to?’ asked Byers.
‘There’s no record of that. All I know is that he called Town Office.’
‘Go and speak to Marjorie downstairs; she’ll be able to show you where they log all the calls. Report back to me as soon as you pin it down.’
‘Right away, Sarge.’
PC Thomson left the room, and Byers pondered, why hadn’t this come up before? Surely someone at the station would have piped up by now if they’d spoken to the murder victim the day before he was killed? He still felt that more weight should have been given to the statement of the old biddy, Agnes Brown. They ought to be looking at Farrell, given he may have had a long-standing grudge against Boyd. If she’d said that about him, he thought bitterly, Lind would have had the team all over his ass for weeks until he was satisfied he was in the clear. It was like a poor man’s version of the old school tie system. From what he could gather, Farrell and Lind hadn’t seen each other for years. People change, and Lind had been bang out of order to dismiss a potential line of enquiry like that. Maybe he could chase it down himself?
Another thing, hadn’t Mhairi said the mother seemed like she was hiding something? Farrell should never have gone along with McLeod to question her. Totally unprofessional. She was another one that seemed blind to reason where Farrell was concerned. For all she knew Farrell could have been trying to intimidate his mother to prevent her revealing the extent of the bad blood between him and the dead priest. Either way, she should be questioned again. He would take along PC Thomson. The lad was proving himself to be useful and wasn’t likely to blab if he told him to zip it. And as for the housekeeper? There was obviously no love lost between her and Farrell. She would probably be happy to stick the boot in if she knew the source of any ill feeling between the two men. Farrell hadn’t even mentioned to the team that he had known her previously. Nor, for that matter, had he volunteered that when he had been a priest he had lived with the deceased. Individually, it was all neither here nor there, but taken as a whole it was starting to look incriminating.
He was heading downstairs to intercept PC Thomson when he saw him walking towards him, looking serious.
‘Well?’ he said. ‘Spit it out. Who was he put through to?’
‘No one, Sarge. He asked for DI Farrell by name and left a message for him to call back. He didn’t start work until the next day but the message was definitely left on his desk. Didn’t DI Farrell mention it, Sir?’
‘It would seem not,’ said Byers. ‘Come on, we’ve got work to do. We need to re-interview Yvonne Farrell and Mary Flannigan.’
CHAPTER FORTY
DCI Lind gestured for Clare to take a seat opposite him. He noticed that she was very pale, with dark shadows under her eyes. No wonder in her line of work. And he thought his job was hard.
‘Clare, come away in and have a seat. I’ve heard great things about you from Frank. In fact, I was hoping you would agree to formally consult with us on the abduction cases?’
She swallowed hard.
‘About that. I don’t know if you are aware but Frank and I have been seeing each other.’
‘Oh,’ said Lind. ‘I see.’
‘The thing is … I’m not entirely sure how well he is.’
‘Well, he has been stabbed, of course.’
Claire closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
‘I wasn’t talking about his physical health. The things he’s been saying …’
‘Such as?’
‘Don’t get me wrong. Most of the time he seems completely fine, but lately …’
‘He’s certainly been under a lot of stress.’
‘Last Wednesday, I was assaulted on my way home from work. A man of Frank’s build and height put his hands round me from behind. He was wearing the same aftershave. He started groping me from behind and when I told him to stop he pushed me over and fled.’
‘You think Frank did this? It doesn’t sound like him.’
‘When I got to my feet I noticed a mobile phone on the ground. It was Frank’s.’
‘I see.’
‘I confronted him about it and he denied it was him. He said his phone and aftershave had gone missing.’
‘I do vaguely remember him complaining about his mobile going missing. Are you here to make a formal complaint?’
‘No, that’s not what this is about.’
Lind looked puzzled.
‘There’s more. He told me he saw the abductor’s eyes looking back at him out of the mirror.’
‘He said what? When was this?’
‘Yesterday. He came to see me yesterday.’
‘Bloody Hell! Is he having some kind of a breakdown?’
‘Honestly? I don’t know. He’s recently been stabbed. Maybe his mind is bending under the stress? He was going on and on about how the only explanation is that he has a twin brother, like he was developing some kind of paranoid fantasy.’
‘And what do you think? Was it Farrell who assaulted you? Could it have been someone trying to frame him?’
‘I wish I knew. If it was him, he must have been in an altered state.’
‘I have no right to ask, but would you consider keeping this quiet for the time being? He’s off recovering for a few days. It’ll give me time to make a few discreet enquiries and see if there’s any cause for concern in relation to his work, which might provide some insight into how he’s coping.’
Clare stood up to go.
‘I only want what’s best for him.’
‘You and me both. Leave it with me.’
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
It had been a long day. Mhairi peered at her haggard reflection in the staff toilets and reckoned it was going to take more than make-up to make that face fit for human consumption. The last few weeks had been gruelling. She was still haunted by the sight of those two little boys in the church. It could all have gone so terribly wrong. If it hadn’t been for Farrell who knows what might have happened? He might have his foibles but when push came to shove she could think of no one else she would rather have in her corner.
She should probably have agreed to take a few days off afterwards but Mark was still missing and she felt she owed it to the parents to keep going. When she’d been round at the house this afternoon, Elspeth had just sat listlessly in a chair while Barry talked to her. Her eyes looked like nobody was home. Jamie had seemed very subdued, which was hardly surprising, given that the room conveyed all the joy of a funeral parlour. Not a healthy atmosphere for the youngster.
Mhairi looked in on DI Moore to see if she could help her with anything else and noticed that even her well-groomed boss was looking somewhat wispy and dishevelled. How long could they keep this up?
‘Any further developments, Ma’am?’
DI Moore shook her head, closing her eyes in frustration.
‘Nothing so far. The only meaningful DNA recovered was that of the two boys and Farrell himself. His blood was all over the place. The abductor was canny enough to wear gloves, so no prints either. Not even on that damned Mickey Mouse mask. We didn’t find any DNA in relation to young Mark so he’s almost certainly never been held at that location. That’s if he’s still alive, poor mite,’ she said with a sigh.
‘I’ve been through the data so many times but I still can’t work out how he is selecting his victims. There are no points of intersection, apart from St Aidan’s, and that congregation is huge,’ said Mhairi with a sigh.
‘If only DI Farrell hadn’t rung that number before we had a chance to set up a trace. I still can’t believe he did that. With his years of experience to boot!’
‘Are Paul and Andy able to be questioned, Ma’am?’
‘No, given their age and the danger of re-traumatizing them the child psychologist felt it would be too risky; same with Jamie.’
‘Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do before knocking off for the night, Ma’am?’
‘Away home, Mhairi, get some rest.’
On her way out she popped into the MCA room to pick up her briefcase. Byers, DS Stirling, and PC Thomson were huddled together talking in low voices. They stopped as soon as she opened the door, looking unaccountably furtive.
What was all that about, she wondered?
The tension still hovered in the air as the three men split apart and went their separate ways.
Casually, she sauntered after PC Thomson, then picked up speed once she was through the door. She caught up with him at the end of the corridor and dragged him into a nearby interview room.
‘OK, Dave, spill! What the hell is going on?’
‘Mhairi, it’s more than my job’s worth. I’m not allowed to say anything. They said the consequences would be dire.’
Mhairi thought for a minute, her body blocking the door. Whatever it was they were deliberately leaving her out of the loop. Suddenly she had it.
‘This is about DI Farrell, isn’t it?’
His guilty expression told her all she needed to know.
‘At first I didn’t believe it, but now I’m not so sure,’ he muttered.
‘They’re fingering him for something, aren’t they? Well?’
He knew her well enough to know she wasn’t going to let it go.
‘DS Byers and DS Stirling reckon he might have murdered Boyd. They’ve been gathering evidence to present to DCI Lind.’
Mhairi was stunned into silence. This couldn’t be happening.
‘Promise you won’t tip him off, Mhairi. If this gets out they’ll blame me and bang goes any chance of making detective.’
‘Relax, I won’t let on. And don’t you blab that you told me. It won’t do either of us any good.’
Mhairi left the room and walked to her car. Her head felt like it was buzzing with bees. Just how far was she prepared to stick her neck out for Farrell? And what about DCI Lind? Surely she owed him some loyalty too? If she tipped off Farrell she could be compromising a murder investigation.
She would sleep on it, she decided.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Mhairi settled down on the couch with Oscar purring on her knee, his sides going in and out like bagpipes. Reaching for her glass of chardonnay, she snuggled deeper into her fluffy dressing gown. She had eschewed the temptations of the pub in favour of a TV dinner and an early night. Flicking the remote, she relaxed as the opening strains of EastEnders were heard.
A persistent knocking interrupted. Damn! She slid Oscar to the floor and padded to the door with a scowl on her face. As she flung it open her jaw dropped in surprise. What the Hell?
‘Hello, Mhairi,’ said Farrell.
‘Sir, er, what are you doing here?’
‘Call me Frank, we’re both off duty.’
‘You look …’
‘Different? That’s the whole idea. Let me in and I’ll explain.’<
br />
Wordlessly, she opened the door and followed him in, affronted to have been caught in her old dressing gown without a scrap of make-up on. And also more than a little wary, given what she had just heard at work today. She gestured to a chair and sank back down onto the couch. Oscar returned to her knee looking peeved. The man who sat in front of her looked nothing like the Farrell she knew, who was a bit of a neat freak. His hair was spiked up with gel and he had a scruffy beard. He was wearing baggy jeans, cool trainers, and a leather jacket. Chunky gold jewellery hung from his neck and wrists.
‘Jesus, Frank, you look like a pimp,’ Mhairi blurted out. ‘Tell me you’re working undercover or something?’
‘I suppose I am in a manner of speaking,’ he said.
Mhairi felt a further prickle of unease.
‘Frank what’s going on?’
He spoke quickly, sounding almost feverish.
‘I’ve been working on the abduction case while I’ve been off. What I’ve got to tell you may seem a bit strange but hear me out.’
‘Go on,’ said Mhairi.
‘That day when I collapsed at work I was looking in the mirror when I saw him.’
‘The abductor? He was in the station? Why didn’t you …?’
‘He has my eyes.’
‘Frank, this is crazy talk. You’re not making any sense.’
‘You didn’t see him at the convent. He’s my height and build and has got the same blue eyes. It didn’t hit me at the time; too much was going on. It was only at work when I glanced in the mirror … when for a split second I saw him looking back at me … that I knew.’
‘Knew what?’
‘That he’s connected to me. We’re twins.’
‘Maybe I should call someone, a medical someone. You’ve been under a lot of strain.’
‘You thought there was something familiar about his voice. Did he sound like me?’
‘No of course he didn’t. He had a strong Glasgow twang. You sound nothing like him.’
Farrell grabbed today’s paper from the coffee table and started reading from it, borrowing heavily from the accent of one of his old informants in Edinburgh who hailed from Glasgow.
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