After a few tense minutes Farrell heard the sound of a police siren, followed by the crunch of gravel and the sound of slamming doors.
‘Up here,’ he yelled as two burly uniforms rushed past him and cuffed Baxter, reading him his rights.
As the sound of the siren receded into the distance, Farrell felt the reaction set in. He sunk into the chair opposite where Baxter had sat and allowed his head to flop back. The thought that that psychopath had invaded his personal space, the place he had come to think of as home, made him feel sick to the stomach. Had the accomplice been his brother? For a moment Farrell closed his eyes as he imagined gaining on the fleeing hooded figure, then grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him around only to gaze upon a mirror image of himself. Would he feel any reluctant affinity with this man made in his likeness or simply repelled by the outward manifestation of a darker alter ego? Time would tell. The confrontation was coming. Farrell could feel it building like an electric current through his body.
He needed an antidote to push away the blackness. Before he got cold feet he pulled out his mobile and arranged to meet Clare for dinner that evening. Just the sound of her voice lifted his spirits. It was time he evicted Laura from the space she had always occupied in his heart. Clare was gorgeous, intelligent, and available. She had everything going for her apart from the slightly dubious fact that she seemed to like him. He was done with messing around. Maybe the time had come to put matters in hand to release him from his vows. He boarded up the kitchen window as best as he could and then set off for the station.
His first port of call was Mhairi’s desk. She jumped to her feet when she saw him, looking worried.
‘Are you all right, Sir?’
‘Never better,’ he said. ‘Any joy with the prison service?’
‘They confirmed your er … I mean Gerald McWhirter and Baxter were cellmates for a number of years. They also checked the visitor logs and discovered Baxter has been visiting McWhirter on and off since his release. I passed the information to DI Moore who’s conducting the interview along with DS Stirling.’
‘Has the report on the brick come back from the lab yet?’
‘Not yet, Sir.’
‘I’ll go and chivvy them along,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, I want the old identity suite set up for an aural ID test. Get Mrs Mitchell in from Head Start Nursery and round up as many men as you can of around Baxter’s age. Time spent in Glasgow would be an advantage. To make it stick we have to be seen to make it as fair as possible.’
Without waiting for a reply, Farrell spun round on his heels and left the room. To get to the tiny lab he had to enter a device affectionately known as the TARDIS in the fine tradition of Doctor Who. Being mildly claustrophobic Farrell hated the darned thing. It was covered by a black curtain and he had to stoop to enter. He then flicked a switch and was spun round to emerge into a rabbit warren of small labs with different purposes. Donning his most ingratiating smile he entered the door with a picture of a skull and crossbones and a snarling Rottweiler. He knew that what was waiting inside for him would be far worse.
A fierce pair of grey eyes glared at him out of a thin wrinkled face. Irene MacTaggart did not like being interrupted and ruled her small kingdom with an iron fist. It was rumoured even Walker, the big man himself, was scared to come down here and face her ire. She drew herself up to her full height of five foot nothing and Farrell could feel the smile slipping off his face like ice cream melting on a sunny day.
‘You needn’t think flashing those white teeth at me is going to buy you preferential treatment, DI Farrell.’
‘No, er, of course not,’ said Farrell, feeling like he was fifteen again and getting a roasting from the headmistress. ‘It’s just that it’s really important, Irene. I’m desperate to catch this man before he snatches any more little boys.’
Wordlessly she pulled up some films, put them in an envelope with a sheet of paper, and handed it to him.
‘Don’t presume again, DI Farrell,’ she scowled.
He thanked her profusely. As he entered the TARDIS again he risked a quick glance over his shoulder and saw the amused smirk on her face. So the Rottweiler had a sense of humour?
Once in his room he tore open the envelope. The prints were similar but not identical to his. He’d been incredibly careful not to touch the brick at all and it hadn’t come from his garden. So he’d been right. It had been his brother working with Baxter.
What had they been after though? It didn’t make any sense. Why risk everything just for a snoop round his home. What had they been looking for?
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Farrell couldn’t contain himself any longer. He charged down the stairs to the custody suite only to meet a pained-looking DI Moore emerging from the interview room. The reason for her lack of exuberance soon became apparent. Behind him, accompanying Baxter, was Sergio Bertucci: the most feared defence attorney in Glasgow. He was getting on in years now, silver hair thinning on top, but he still had the kind of presence that hushed a room when he entered. Farrell had often thought he could have been a star of the big screen. He’d seen him in action in trials a number of times and the jury had been putty in his hands. Farrell tried to carry on past them as though he had urgent business elsewhere but Bertucci didn’t buy it for a minute. He paused, blocking his way; a man mountain.
‘DI Farrell, it’s been a while.’
‘Feels like only yesterday.’
‘I see you’re still harassing my unfortunate client.’
‘He broke into my house,’ said Farrell. ‘What would you have me do? Offer to fill his swag bag?’
‘The door was open. My client was merely paying a social call. There’s really no need for all this … hysteria.’
Farrell clenched his fist then swiftly unclenched it. The small movement did not go undetected, and the corners of Bertucci’s mouth turned up slightly.
‘Always a pleasure, DI Farrell,’ he said, holding out his hand.
Farrell looked at him with loathing, reluctant to shake hands with the man but, given that DI Moore was staring at him, he felt he had no choice.
A few minutes later he swung by DI Moore’s office. Without waiting for an invitation he sat down opposite her. She regarded him coolly and waited for him to speak.
‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Did you get anything out of him?’
‘Sorry, Frank. Bertucci arrived before the interview even started.’
‘But he’s based in Glasgow. How did he get here in time?’
‘That’s down to bad luck, I’m afraid. He was already here for another client: someone vice brought in last night.’
‘Did he admit to having an accomplice?’
‘No, he stuck to his story. We’ve still got enough to charge him though.’
‘I suppose that’s something.’
‘I’m hoping to get a voice ID set up during the six-hour window before I have to charge and release him on bail. Would you mind overseeing that for me?’
‘No problem. Anything else I can help you with, Kate?’
‘While you’re here you may as well look over that bogus article we’re going to place in the local paper,’ said DI Moore, pushing a piece of paper across the desk.
Farrell scanned it, sucking in his breath.
‘This is going to get a reaction.’
‘That’s the idea,’ she said. ‘Clare Yates supplied some of the material, though we’ve given the name of a fictitious expert to avoid her becoming a target. I’ll need to show her the finished article so it can go in for the end of the week.’
‘Actually, I’m going to be seeing her tonight,’ said Farrell. ‘I’ll give it to her then.’
‘Oh, are you and she …?’
‘Sort of … early days yet,’ said Farrell. ‘Anyway, stick the article on my desk when you’re done,’ he said as he walked out the door.
He swung by Mhairi’s desk.
‘How’s that voice ID coming along?’ he asked. ‘Can we do
it while he’s still in custody?’
‘All organized,’ she said. ‘Two uniforms are picking up Mrs Mitchell at the moment. We should be good to go in half an hour or so, Sir.’
‘Remember, make sure it’s conducted by a uniform sergeant who has had no prior involvement with either of the investigations.’
‘That’ll take some doing, Sir. I reckon I might need to scare up someone from the mobile support unit at this rate.’
‘Just do it. If we get a positive ID, I don’t want Bertucci getting it ruled as inadmissible on a technicality.’
Mhairi nodded acquiescence.
‘Give me a shout when you’re ready to proceed.’
‘Will do, Sir.’
His next stop was the HOLMES room.
‘Any points of commonality between the abducted children yet?’ he asked the Duty Sergeant.
‘Nothing, as of yet. Different doctors, dentists, nurseries, health visitors.’
‘Were they all born in the local hospital?’ asked Farrell.
‘Them and every other kid in Dumfries. There’s still only one maternity hospital. We’ve interviewed everyone in the hospital records department. They all check out,’ said the sergeant.
‘Have you checked the social work employee records for the last year for the name Michael Black?’ asked Farrell.
‘No, Sir, I’ll get right on it,’ he said.
‘Both sets of twins were abducted using the names of real social workers and credible paperwork,’ said Farrell. ‘It would make sense if he has a connection there. Check casual workers and cleaners as well. Look for something that would let him snoop about the building when no one else is there.’
‘Makes sense,’ said the sergeant, fingers tapping fast on the screen. Farrell turned to go. He stopped in his tracks.
‘So far, the only point of commonality is the fact they are identical male twins. Neither family had any previous social work involvement. Check into whether there are any associations in the town that provide support to parents with twins. The local health visitors should know.’
‘Is that it, Sir?’ asked the sergeant with an expression on his face that said it was going to be a long night.
‘One more thing,’ said Farrell. ‘What were the names of the two sets of twins again?’
‘Mark and Jamie were the first twins taken and Paul and Andy were the second set,’ replied the sergeant after consulting a sheaf of papers.
‘Mark, James, Paul, and Andrew … all names of the apostles,’ said Farrell, feeling his stomach lurch.
‘There’s been other religious symbolism in this case. It would make perfect sense for the killer to select his victims based on such a criterion.’
Farrell grabbed a pad and paper and scribbled down the names of the twelve apostles.
‘Feed this into the twin database you’ve built up. It may help us predict where he’s likely to strike again. Surely there can’t be that many pre-school sets of twin boys in a town this size who both have names of an apostle?’
‘It’s worth a try, Sir,’ said the sergeant, settling down in front of the screen.
Farrell glanced at his watch, then, after grabbing a cup of coffee from the canteen, made his way down to the aural ID suite. He slipped into an interview room nearby when he saw a uniform sergeant, whose name escaped him, heading down the corridor with the woman from Head Start Nursery. She looked sick with anxiety and appeared even thinner than when he had last clapped eyes on her.
The sergeant escorted the woman into the viewing gallery, although she would not be able to see the twelve men below. Each of them would have to read words from a card that reflected what Mrs Mitchell could remember of the brief phone conversation when she had phoned to check the authenticity of the paperwork. Farrell was joined by Mhairi ten minutes later and they waited in silence for the result.
After around twenty minutes they heard the door to the identity suite open, and Mhairi popped out to escort the witness from the station and ensure she had no contact with Baxter. Farrell waited until they had passed and popped his head round the door to catch the sergeant.
‘Well?’ he demanded.
‘We got a result, Sir. No hesitation. As soon as he read from the card she knew it was the voice she had heard.’
Farrell punched the air in triumph. Finally, some good news.
‘Is he going to be charged, Sir?’
‘No, he’ll be processed for release. There isn’t enough evidence to charge him as an accomplice to abduction yet. The attempted burglary is just a summary matter so he’ll be released on police bail pending an appearance at the sheriff court in the morning.’
Farrell thanked the man for helping him out and went upstairs. The idea of Baxter waltzing out of here made his blood boil, but he knew he had no option if he wished to ever see him brought successfully to trial. Baxter wasn’t going to worm his way out of this one.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Laura barely recognized the face that stared back at her from the bathroom mirror. Her once sparkling brown eyes looked empty, as though the woman she used to be had gone on vacation, leaving behind an empty shell. Standing there, without a hint of make-up, she looked old and worn out. Greasy hair hung down in lank strips to her shoulders. This was the woman her husband came home to every night after a hard day’s work. This was the face of the mother that held her children. God, she was even starting to think of herself in the third person. She had to get a grip. Maybe if she could force herself to look normal on the outside she would come back to life on the inside.
She had an hour to herself while the kids watched the Disney video she had put on for them. Still moving slowly, as though she had to conserve enough energy to get through the remainder of the day, she picked up some expensive shower gel and blew the dust off it. A single step, she told herself, a single step to get back onto the path that was her life. Then she turned on the shower and stepped into the steam.
The fresh fragrance of the shower gel lifted her in the manner of someone getting a whiff of bougainvillea and being transported back to their holiday villa. She caressed her empty belly, allowing healing tears to flow. The agony was less sharp now and she wept for the knowledge that her sorrow had swelled to its peak and was starting to recede.
As she sat at her dressing table applying tinted moisturiser, mascara, and a slick of lipstick she felt that she at least looked more in control of herself now. She swept her hair up into a loose knot the way her husband liked it and slipped into a peasant blouse and skirt. Transformation complete.
Exhausted now, she went downstairs to the children. The DVD must have finished as she could hear the twins starting to bounce off the walls again. She glanced at her watch. It was gone six o’clock. The kids should have had their tea an hour ago. She could feel her new resolve start to melt under the onslaught of the baby yelling and the twins starting to knock lumps out of each other. She became aware of the implacable glare of her small daughter, standing to one side with her arms folded.
‘Mummy, do something!’
‘I will in a minute, pet,’ Laura said, feeling her heart start to race as tears threatened to spill over.
Abruptly she turned her back on the family life imploding before her and rushed into the kitchen. With trembling hands she opened a bottle of white wine and, only using a glass for propriety’s sake, drank deeply until she thought she would never come up for air.
Momentarily fortified by the alcohol Laura managed to dish up pizza, sweetcorn, and chips within thirty minutes. Sitting on the squashy sofa, catastrophe averted for the time being, she closed her eyes and let her mind wander. An image of Frank Farrell swam into focus. Usually she pushed him resolutely away, but tonight she didn’t fight it. His deep blue eyes looked into hers with such warmth and compassion that she could feel tears squeeze out from under her eyelids. Hating herself but unable to stop she watched in slow motion as his lips bent to hers and felt her treacherous body begin to respond …
The d
oorbell rang, jolting her out of her reverie. Guilt washed through her like a tidal wave. What had she been thinking? She loved John, didn’t she? As she opened the door her legs nearly went from under her. Frank Farrell stood on the threshold.
Rain was running down in rivulets from the hood of his waterproof jacket. As she stood staring at him he blew noisily into a large white handkerchief and sneezed.
‘Frank, what are you doing here?’
‘John sent me. The children are in danger. Can I come in?’
Laura swung the door wide.
‘Yes of course, but I don’t understand. What do you mean?’
Laura looked into his eyes but was startled to see they were hard and cold. His voice sounded strange …
‘Are you all right, Frank? You don’t seem yourself.’
He drew the white handkerchief out his pocket again and coughed into it.
‘Sorry, I’ve got a bit of a cold. We’re so overstretched with this case I can’t take time off.’
‘You said the children are in danger. What did you mean?’
‘Your kids are called Luke and Matthew, right?’
‘Yes?’
‘Well the man we’re looking for is abducting identical twin boys with the names of the twelve apostles.’
‘Oh my God,’ whispered Laura, her face draining of colour.
‘John sent me to remove the kids to a safe location. They’re closing in on him now. It won’t be for long.’
‘But why didn’t John come himself?’
‘He was too busy. You want him to catch this guy, don’t you?’
‘Well of course I do. I’ll just go pack their things.’
‘There’s no time. I need to take them right now. John was most insistent. He can bring their things along later.’
Laura felt tired and confused. She zipped the twins into their anoraks and gave them each a toy car to take with them. As she hugged their hot little bodies to her she silently prayed that they would be safe.
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