Dead Man's Prayer

by Jackie Baldwin

  Mhairi felt a flicker of doubt. Maybe he had something after all. The voice. It did sound quite familiar, so familiar in fact it sent a shiver up her spine. Her brain raced as she thought it through until the realization hit her like an express train. Either it was like Farrell said and he had a twin, or … else … he was the abductor and she was in terrible danger. Not to mention the fact that Byers clearly thought he was a murderer to boot. Shit! Meet rock and a hard place.

  Farrell looked up. She froze, trying to act natural. All of a sudden she seemed to have a golf ball lodged in her throat. He ran his hands through his hair and glared at her.

  ‘Tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking,’ he sighed.

  Mhairi considered him carefully. He looked mad, but normal mad, not psycho mad. She sighed wearily. So much for a relaxing night.

  ‘For what it’s worth, Frank, I don’t have you pegged as a child abductor or a murderer …’

  ‘Whoa, a murderer, where did that come from? Has Mark been found?’

  ‘No, never mind that for now. What if you were … you know … sick … and didn’t know what you’d done?’

  ‘Might as well accuse me of being possessed by the devil and have done with it.’

  ‘SO not helping!’ fired back Mhairi.

  ‘You’re right, I’m sorry. We can’t discount it as a possibility. I shouldn’t be churlish about you considering that I might be insane … not in the circumstances anyway.’

  ‘Now you’re making me feel bad,’ she chided.

  ‘Mission accomplished,’ he said.

  They grinned at each other and the atmosphere lightened.

  ‘We can hopefully prove it’s not me,’ said Farrell.

  ‘How?’ asked Mhairi.

  ‘By cross-referencing the abductor’s known movements with mine. No one can be in two places at once. With a bit of luck, I’ll have an alibi for some or all of the times he was known to be interacting with others.’

  ‘Like at the nursery,’ Mhairi chipped in.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Farrell.

  ‘I’ll get cracking on that tomorrow,’ said Mhairi.

  ‘Now what was that about murder?’

  Mhairi waged war within herself for a few seconds then decided to tell him.

  ‘Byers and Stirling have been gathering evidence to implicate you in Boyd’s murder.’

  ‘Does Lind know about this?’

  ‘No, not yet, but I think they’re going to try and get him on board soon.’

  Farrell’s jaw tightened.

  She stood up, expecting him to leave.

  ‘There’s something else,’ he said.

  Mhairi sank back onto the cushions with a groan.

  ‘Now what? Do the words off duty not mean anything to you?’

  ‘I need to pay my mother a surprise visit, encourage her to take a trip down memory lane.’

  ‘You’re going to pretend to be him, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’ll need a witness; in case she makes an admission.’

  ‘I don’t believe this. You want me to go and get dressed NOW?’

  ‘For all we know he could be planning another abduction. It’s vital we leave no stone unturned. It may be my last shot anyway given what you’ve just told me.’

  Mhairi got to her feet and held up her hands in surrender.

  ‘All right, I’ll come! Enough with the guilt trip.’

  ‘What do you expect? I’m Catholic.’

  ‘I take it from your get-up I should be going for the gangster’s moll look?’

  ‘Something like that. We don’t want her to recognize you so the more make-up and whatnot the better.’

  Mhairi sloped off to get ready and Farrell was left on his own with Oscar, who treated him to a disdainful look. Curious, he browsed round the small sitting room that was furnished with a comfy sofa, a couple of chairs, and lots of scatter cushions. There were a number of photos and knick-knacks dotted round. One was of a handsome young man in an army uniform. He could see the family resemblance. Tucked away in a corner he found an old school photo of a shy self-conscious Mhairi trying to hide her braces from the camera and peering out from under a curtain of hair. He turned round guiltily as he heard her coming back into the room.

  ‘This isn’t Through the Keyhole,’ she said crossly as she marched over and stuck her childhood self in the cupboard.

  Farrell looked at her and immediately slid his eyes away. The short leather skirt and plunging neckline showed off Mhairi’s hourglass figure to devastating effect. The red stilettos were so high she was almost as tall as he was.

  ‘Too conservative?’ she said impishly, sensing his embarrassment.

  ‘Hardly, but perfect for the job in hand. Let’s hope vice aren’t out on patrol or we’ll have some explaining to do,’ said Farrell.

  ‘That’s not very gentlemanly,’ she sniffed.

  ‘Come on, let’s go before I dig myself an even deeper hole.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  They parked the car round the corner and approached his mother’s house on foot, Mhairi’s heels clacking on the pavement. The neighbourhood was mainly composed of retirement bungalows, and curtains were drawn to ward off the chill of the night. Lawns were trimmed to perfection although the flaking paint on a few of the exteriors disclosed that some of the elderly residents had already begun an inexorable descent into poverty.

  Farrell’s steps slowed as they neared his mother’s house, an involuntary shiver rustling though his body. They paused. The curtains were drawn here too, though the flicker of a television could be detected behind them.

  ‘Are you sure you want to go through with this?’ asked Mhairi.

  ‘Too much at stake not to,’ replied Farrell as he opened the gate and marched up to the front door. He rang the bell. Getting into character, Mhairi popped a stick of gum in her mouth and lounged against the doorjamb looking bored.

  The door finally opened, and his mother stood there erect and unyielding, until he spoke in the Glasgow twang he had practised earlier.

  ‘Hello, Mother. Aren’t you going to invite your son in?’

  His mother sagged against the door; her mouth opening and closing soundlessly; her breath tearing from her chest in gulps.

  Farrell smoothly passed through and propelled her into the lounge, followed by Mhairi, who stifled her natural urge to console and flung herself sulkily into an armchair instead. Farrell’s mother sank into the other chair as though her legs could no longer support her weight. He remained standing, assuming a position of dominance.

  ‘How did you find me?’ his mother quavered.

  Farrell turned his face to Mhairi and she saw the jubilance flare in his eyes.

  ‘How do you think?’ he snarled at her.

  ‘But they promised,’ she said, her voice getting stronger, struggling for mastery over the situation.

  Farrell considered her with narrowed eyes. She was a tough old bird, he’d give her that. He was going to have to keep pulling the rug from under her to get the information he was looking for. Hardening his heart, he pressed on.

  ‘Think closer to home,’ he said, his voice harsh and tinged with menace.

  ‘Father Boyd wouldn’t. He told me he’d take it to the grave with him.’

  Farrell didn’t really know what he was digging for but he pressed on.

  ‘Father Boyd, eh? You’re getting warmer.’

  The colour drained from his mother’s face and she collapsed back against the cushions, her breath coming in short gasps.

  ‘No, it couldn’t have been him,’ she cried.

  Mhairi shot him a warning look, as though she was itching to call the whole thing off. Farrell shored up his own resolve. Just one more push, Mother dearest, he said to himself.

  ‘Not your father?’ she asked, her voice cracked with anguish.

  Farrell straightened up and spoke in his normal voice.

  ‘Most illuminating.’

  Realizing that she’d been tri
cked, his mother sprang at him, thin arms flailing against his chest like the wings of an angry sparrow.

  When her rage was spent, Mhairi led her gently back to her chair and pressed a glass of water into her trembling hands.

  Farrell struggled to control his own anger as he spoke.

  ‘You told me my father was dead. That he was killed in a fire when I was a baby.’

  ‘I did you a favour,’ she replied.

  ‘Are you telling me he’s still alive?’

  ‘He’s dead to me,’ snapped his mother.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Barlinnie, last I heard.’

  ‘What’s he in for?’

  His mother looked away, determined not to yield.

  ‘Tell me,’ he shouted.

  Mhairi put a restraining hand on his arm. Angrily he shrugged her off. Suddenly, his mother stood up and gazed into his eyes defiantly. Farrell realized he was holding his breath.

  ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Have it your way, Mr Big Shot Detective. Your father was a rapist. You and your brother are the devil’s spawn.’

  Farrell felt his stomach contents rise up and swallowed hard. Whatever he had expected it hadn’t been this.

  ‘Me and my brother?’

  His mother sighed and leaned back in the chair, her lips chalk white.

  ‘I was coming home from work. It was dark. I was tired. I’d been on my feet all day. I decided to take a shortcut. He was in there … waiting …’

  Farrell couldn’t bear to think about it but he had to get the information he needed. Lives depended on it.

  ‘Why did you give him away and keep me?’

  ‘I hadn’t realized I was expecting twins until I gave birth. Things were different then. There were no fancy scans like you have nowadays. It was a shock. Especially given the circumstances.’

  ‘So you gave your son away as ruthlessly as you cut me out your life years later?’

  ‘Don’t you dare presume to judge me,’ snapped his mother, colour storming into her cheeks again. ‘I was a single mother with no support. My own parents disowned me. If it hadn’t been for Father Boyd—’

  ‘What does he have to do with any of this?’

  ‘He was my parish priest in Glasgow and arranged a private adoption to a good Catholic family. He even helped us move down to Dumfries and start a new life here. I owed him everything. We both do.’

  ‘Tell me my father’s name,’ demanded Farrell.

  ‘I have no intention of saying another word on the subject,’ said his mother. ‘I’d like you to leave now.’

  A red mist descended. Farrell grabbed a glass ornament from the table and pulled back his arm to throw it against the wall. The anger he was feeling was too strong to be contained. Dimly he heard Mhairi screaming at him.

  ‘Frank, stop it! It’s not worth it, come on!’

  With trembling hands he put the vase back down. He felt Mhairi dragging him out the house. The last thing he saw was the fear in his mother’s eyes.

  Farrell tore up the road as though the flames of Hell were already licking at his heels.

  Mhairi clacked after him, losing ground rapidly in her ridiculous shoes. Sod it, she thought. Reaching down, she pulled them off and tore after him in her bare feet, grimacing in pain as she sped over the uneven ground. As she drew level with him she grabbed his sleeve, forcing him to spin round and face her. The naked savagery in his eyes made her quail, but she stood her ground.

  ‘I want to be alone,’ he shouted.

  ‘NO, you DON’T!’ she yelled.

  For an insane moment she thought he was going to hit her but he got himself under control, and when he turned to face her again the terrifying stranger was gone.

  ‘Sorry, Mhairi. I’m being a right headbanger.’

  ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve had a shock.’

  They drove back to her place in silence. As the car drew up to her flat, Mhairi made a snap decision.

  ‘Look, you shouldn’t be on your own tonight. Can I call Clare, get her to come over?’

  Farrell grimaced.

  ‘No, she’s already worried I’m a basket case. No point gift wrapping it for her.’

  ‘Well, stay the night with me then.’

  Farrell’s eyebrows shot up to greet his hair.

  Mhairi sighed.

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Frank Farrell.’

  She hustled him inside and in a voice that brooked no argument she told him to have a bath while she fixed them an omelette. She thrust denim jeans and a cotton chambray shirt at him.

  ‘These should fit you.’

  Farrell took them from her.

  ‘Old boyfriend’s?’ he queried.

  Mhairi turned away and glanced at the photograph he’d seen before of the soldier but not before he saw tears well up.

  ‘They belonged to my brother,’ she said.

  Farrell cursed himself for being an insensitive fool but decided not to go there. They’d had enough upset for one night.

  Lying in the bath, he began to discern some patterns in his swirling thoughts. This whole miserable chain of events had been triggered by one event: the moment of his conception. The thought of some monster defiling his mother made him bare his teeth in anger and punch the water in impotent fury. A mini tsunami sloshed over the side, drenching the fluffy pink bath mat. He glared at his reflection in the mirror beside the bath and felt like he beheld a stranger. Had his mother given him away instead of his twin would he be the psycho running about hurting people and his twin be about to share supper with Mhairi? Did he really have the same capacity for evil at his core?

  Farrell erupted from the bath determined to push away the feelings that threatened to overwhelm him. He surveyed the cheerful clutter around him. As he was towelling himself dry, he shuddered at what he thought was a rather large spider but turned out to be a pair of false eyelashes.

  He consciously tried to empty his mind as he opened the door onto the tiny hall and moved into the small kitchen where Mhairi was dishing up their omelettes. A green salad was on the table along with an open bottle of red wine. Mhairi had ditched the revealing outfit in favour of trackie bottoms and a T-shirt. Her face was scrubbed of make-up and her hair caught up in a ponytail. She looked younger and more vulnerable somehow.

  He squeezed into the tiny space at the table and Mhairi sat across from him. Their knees bumped awkwardly and the tension heightened until suddenly Mhairi burst out laughing.

  ‘You smell of roses.’

  ‘Well it was either that or honeysuckle. Talk about Hobson’s choice,’ Farrell replied.

  He suddenly realized he was starving and tucked in with gusto.

  After they’d eaten he helped Mhairi clear up in companionable silence and then they plonked themselves down with some coffee. It was nearly midnight.

  ‘I’ll need to brief DCI Lind first thing. He’s going to think I’ve taken leave of my senses,’ said Farrell.

  ‘You’d better try and get to him before DS Byers does.’

  ‘I need to get all this squared away so it doesn’t divert resources from finding that wee boy. Nothing matters more than that.’

  ‘Try not to think about it till the morning,’ replied Mhairi.

  She left the room and came back with a duvet and a couple of pillows, stifling a yawn.

  ‘Time to hit the sack. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be yet another long day,’ she said.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Farrell got up early and slipped out without disturbing Mhairi. Driving home to the cottage the dawn chorus was deafening and the world smelled brand new. He inhaled great lungfuls of air through the open window, trying to cleanse himself of the stench of human nature. The new knowledge of where he had come from settled like a brick in his psyche, and he knew that things would never be the same again.

  Once home he showered and shaved then selected his usual sober work attire. He checked his messages in the hope there would be one from Clare. Nothing
. After a light breakfast and his medication, he locked the door behind him. It was still only 6 a.m.

  He turned towards his car and froze. Leaning against it were DS Stirling and DS Byers. He was too late. They had already got to Lind. He remembered to act surprised so that Mhairi wouldn’t get in trouble for tipping him off.

  ‘What brings you two out here?’

  ‘DI Farrell, we’d like you to accompany us voluntarily to the station to answer some questions in relation to the murder of Ignatius Boyd.’

  ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Well, I was heading there anyway. You can follow me in. I’m sure your car can outgun mine if you think I’ve got any funny business in mind.’

  Byers and Stirling looked at each other and looked at his car. Stirling nodded imperceptibly. Byers looked annoyed.

  They drove in convoy with Farrell further winding Byers up by driving slowly and with exaggerated care. Part of him was raging and humiliated but he knew that he had brought it on himself by playing his cards too close to his chest.

  There was no small talk. Minutes after they reached the station Farrell found himself seated across the table from Byers and Stirling, having been cautioned and declined representation. He was fairly sure that Lind was on the other side of the one-way mirror but had no way of knowing for sure.

  ‘Why did you not reveal that you had a message from the victim waiting for you when you started work?’

  ‘I threw it away,’ said Farrell. ‘I had no intention of phoning him back and, at that stage, I hadn’t realized anything was amiss. I didn’t mention it because it couldn’t add anything to the weight of the investigation.’

  ‘How do you account for the fact that your DNA was recovered at the scene?’

  ‘Two possibilities,’ said Farrell. ‘Either I was sloppy or it belonged to my identical twin.’

  ‘Your what?’ spluttered Byers, leaning forward in his seat. ‘Are you taking the piss?’

  ‘My mother admitted to his existence last night in the presence of DC McLeod. And for the record, I ordered her to come with me.’

  ‘Name? Address?’ asked Stirling, taking over the questioning and warning Byers to pipe down with a look.

  ‘She doesn’t know. He was adopted shortly after birth.’