Avenge the Dead

by Jackie Baldwin

‘Get yourself over here, Frank.’

  ***

  Half an hour later, Farrell was sitting in the garden behind the priest’s house, drinking a bottle of ice-cold lager. His friend hadn’t changed in the time he’d been away. He exuded quiet contentment.

  ‘How do you do it?’ Frank asked.

  ‘Do what?’ asked Father Murray, sipping his beer and swatting ineffectually at the midges.

  ‘Stay so constant, I suppose. Do you never have doubts? About God? Your purpose? Any of it?’

  Father Murray laughed.

  ‘Of course, I do. I’m no different to anyone else. My faith waxes and wanes. Some days, I feel filled with the presence of God. Other days, I don’t. At times like that I just go through the motions and trust that God will light the way back to Him. There’s no guarantees, Frank. You can’t lock down faith. It’s an elusive creature. All you can do is create the right soil for faith to flourish.’

  ‘I’ve been so bloody angry. About what happened to John. My rage has been eating me alive. I can’t make it stop. Sometimes I feel it’s the only thing gluing me together.’

  ‘You’ll find your way back to us. I’m sure of it. Now stop stressing and drink your bloody beer.’

  ‘Amen, to that,’ said Farrell with a grin as the sun slid below the horizon.

  Chapter 12

  Mhairi pushed away her empty plate and wished she’d had the sense to wear an elasticated waist. Oscar was lying upside down in his basket, looking like his belly was about to explode.

  ‘Thanks, Vera,’ Mhairi said. ‘That was to die for. Ronnie’s a lucky man.’

  ‘And don’t I know it,’ he said, sending the indomitable Vera a fond glance.

  ‘You’re welcome, love. You can go through to the comfy chairs with Ronnie while I clear up in here.’

  ‘Let me give you a hand,’ said Mhairi, getting to her feet.

  ‘Och away with you, I’m fine in here with the radio on.’

  Mhairi and Ronnie settled down in the comfortably furnished lounge. Retirement from the force seemed to be agreeing with him. He’d put on a few pounds since they last worked together but looked the picture of health and contentment.

  ‘How’s the B&B going?’ she asked.

  ‘Keeps me out of mischief.’ He grinned.

  ‘You never miss the job?’

  ‘Never. I got out at the right time. How’s Frank doing? His mother says she hardly sees him these days.’

  Mhairi bit her lip.

  ‘He could be better. I’m hoping being back here will do him some good.’

  ‘How’s young Davey adapting to life in the big bad city?’

  Mhairi rolled her eyes.

  ‘He’s turned into an unreconstructed party animal. A different girl on his arm every week. You’d have to see it to believe it.’

  Ronnie laughed.

  The next morning she arrived at work in a much better fettle and a tight waistband from Vera’s cooked breakfast. She dumped her jacket in the Sergeant’s Room then headed off to the 8 a.m. briefing.

  As she entered the room she caught a glimpse of DI Moore’s skeletal appearance. What on earth had happened to her? Was she ill? Before she had a chance to go over and speak to her she was joined by Dave Thomson who looked so excited he could hardly contain himself. It was like being accosted by a puppy. All he needed was a tail to wag.

  Farrell was at the front along with DS Byers. Suddenly, she felt a presence by her side.

  ‘DSup Crawford Cunningham,’ the man said.

  She glanced up, startled, and stood to shake his hand. ‘DS Mhairi McLeod, sir.’

  He sat down beside her and Mhairi felt her posture stiffen to the point her muscles ached.

  ‘I’ve heard good things about you from DCI Buchanan.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Farrell held up his hand for silence and the room quietened. Mhairi frowned as she scrutinized him closely. He too had lost weight. He obviously hadn’t had that suit on for a while because it was hanging off his tall frame. No danger of her losing weight through stress. It made her eat like a pig at a trough.

  ‘Hopefully, we’ll be able to pinpoint the time of death a bit more accurately after DS McLeod and I attend this morning’s post-mortem. Then we’ll interview Gabriel Ferrante, the alleged lover of the deceased.’

  ‘Does Fergus Campbell know his identity yet, sir?’ asked PC Rosie Green.

  ‘Not as far as we’re aware, but I’m sure it won’t take him long to find out.’

  ‘For those of you who don’t already know, Gina Campbell’s father is Mario Lombardo.’

  There were one or two low whistles.

  ‘We need to get the nanny, Jane Pearson, in for questioning. She should be able to give us the lowdown on the Campbell household. We also need to speak to Jack Kerr’s wife. I’ll tackle her with DS McLeod.’

  ‘What about the knife, sir? said DC Thomson. ‘Did it come from the house? Were there any prints on it apart from the husband’s?’

  ‘It came from the house and the only set of prints on it was the husband’s. The killer could have worn gloves, though.’

  ‘As well as being a crime of passion by either the lover or the husband, there’s another angle we need to explore. It’s possible that this murder relates to Mario Lombardo’s business interests, either legitimate or illegitimate. However, he’s also a grieving father so we need to be subtle. That’s why I’ve arranged for DI Moore to interview him.’

  Mhairi noticed DS Byers’s black expression. Seriously? The man was as subtle as a brick. This job would play to DI Moore’s strengths. She was also in the position to call in a few favours from Glasgow after solving their art fraud case two years ago.

  ‘I don’t need to tell you that the first few days are crucial. We need to hit this murder case aggressively,’ Farrell finished.

  As she was making her way to the door amidst a queue of hot cross coppers, Mhairi felt a tap on her shoulder. It was DI Moore.

  ‘Mhairi, it’s wonderful to see you.’

  ‘Likewise, ma’am. How are you?’

  ‘I’m great, really great,’ she said, her haunted eyes belying her smile. ‘Listen, there’s a couple of things I need to tell you—’

  Farrell materialized and her mouth snapped shut. Mhairi narrowed her eyes. She could smell trouble. Frustrated, she had to follow him out of the door.

  Chapter 13

  Farrell and Mhairi made the post-mortem by the skin of their teeth. The pathologist, Roland Bartle-White, was a stickler for punctuality. As they approached, he gave them a grim smile.

  ‘I was wondering if they’d send you pair down.’

  ‘Well, here we are,’ said Mhairi brightly.

  ‘It’s been a while,’ said Farrell.

  They suited up and followed him into the mortuary suite where the body of Gina Campbell was waiting for them. Cut down in her prime. All they could do for her now was bring her killer to justice.

  There was another pathologist standing by the body. He was tall and had warm brown eyes which alighted on Mhairi with evident interest. His name was Sandy Gillespie and they had encountered him a few times in Glasgow.

  Cool and professional, she gave him no encouragement as he went on a charm offensive. Ever since she had been so badly let down by her last partner, Mhairi had steered resolutely clear of romantic entanglements.

  As Bartle-White began an inspection of the body he frowned and leaned forward.

  Farrell glanced at Mhairi and his pulse quickened. What had he found?

  ‘This is rather interesting.’ He motioned them closer and pointed at a tattoo on Gina Campbell’s left breast. It looked like an eye and Farrell recognized the significance at once.

  ‘It’s the Panopticon sign,’ he said. Mhairi raised her eyebrows.

  ‘It relates to penal reform. Jeremy Bentham designed a system that made prisoners feel they were always being watched regardless of whether they actually were or not. It allowed one hidden guard to keep con
trol over all the inmates. Simple, yet highly effective.’

  ‘An odd choice for a young woman,’ said Mhairi.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s rather stranger than that,’ said Bartle-White. ‘It’s not a permanent tattoo but a rather good quality fake.’

  ‘You mean a transfer?’ asked Farrell.

  ‘Yes, but that’s not the only strange thing.’

  Farrell fought against the temptation to tell him to spit it out. Bartle-White was arrogant and did not like to be hurried. ‘Oh?’ he managed with commendable self-restraint. Mhairi was tapping her foot with impatience and about to blow a gasket.

  ‘It’s been recently applied. Whether it was put on before she died or afterwards, it’s impossible to say.’ Bartle-White straightened up and waited for their reaction.

  Farrell glanced at Mhairi and saw the realization mirrored in her eyes that this case was starting to go pear-shaped.

  ‘Can we get any usable DNA off it?’ asked Farrell.

  ‘My assistant will take a digital image and I’ll excise it for testing,’ the pathologist replied.

  Glancing across at Mhairi, Farrell noticed she was quite comfortable in such a setting now, unlike the last time they had been in this room. Although he hid it well, the unseemly squelches and smells as the pathologist compelled a body to reveal its secrets still made him queasy.

  After what seemed like an eternity of weighing and measuring, the pathologist straightened up with a frown.

  ‘I’m afraid that the deceased wasn’t killed with the knife that has been produced from the scene,’ he said.

  ‘But it was covered in blood,’ said Farrell, confused.

  ‘That, I’m not disputing,’ said the pathologist. ‘However, that knife did not inflict the stab wound. The width of the blade is wrong. Could the real knife still be at the scene? Could it have been missed?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said Farrell. ‘Our SOCOs would never make such an elementary error. It must have been removed from the scene.’

  ‘Perhaps an attempt to frame the husband?’ asked Mhairi.

  ‘Possibly,’ replied Farrell.

  ‘I can confirm that she was stabbed once while she was still alive. The wound cut the femoral artery. Exsanguination would have occurred in minutes,’ said the pathologist.

  ‘She most likely let her attacker in to the house as there were no signs of forced entry. Are there any defensive wounds?’ asked Farrell.

  ‘None.’

  ‘No signs of resistance?’

  ‘Nothing obvious. No ligature marks or fingertip bruises. No wounds at all apart from the obvious one.’

  ‘Could she have been poisoned or injected with something?’ asked Farrell.

  ‘We’ll need to wait for toxicology to ascertain the former,’ said Bartle-White. ‘I’m looking for puncture marks now.’ After what seemed an eternity he straightened up once more.

  ‘None that I can see.’

  ‘What can you tell us about time of death?’ asked Farrell.

  ‘Hard to say with any degree of certainty in the circumstances. Based on the fact that the body had almost reached full rigor when the police surgeon attended the scene at 7.45 a.m. and that she was last seen alive around 7 p.m., I would say you’re looking at a window between 7 p.m. and 11 p.m.

  They took their leave, feeling the warmth of the May morning immediately dispel the chill of the mortuary.

  ‘I’ve a feeling that we’re going to be here more than a week,’ said Farrell.

  Mhairi groaned.

  Chapter 14

  The nanny, Jane Pearson, lived in a small bungalow at Heathhall on the outskirts of town. Mhairi rang the doorbell. No answer. The lights were on and someone was obviously in, so she rang it again.

  A rather harassed-looking young woman with a baby on her hip and a stroppy toddler grabbing on to her leg, answered the door.

  ‘This really isn’t a good time,’ she began.

  Farrell produced his warrant card. ‘I can see that you have your hands full, but we really need to speak with you in connection with the murder of Gina Campbell.’

  ‘Er …’ she flustered, glancing nervously behind her.

  ‘May we come in?’ said Mhairi, stepping up to the threshold, leaving Pearson no option but to usher her in to the living room.

  There, they were surprised to discover Fergus Campbell lounging on the sofa, perfectly at home.

  He stood up at once when they entered, looking defensive.

  ‘Is this your little girl, sir?’ asked Mhairi, chucking the smiling baby under the chin.

  He relaxed a little.

  ‘Yes. Max Delaney did offer but Jane was kind enough to let us stay here last night. We couldn’t go home and … well, I didn’t really know what else to do. They’re so young and I haven’t been massively hands-on up to now.’

  He gave a weak smile.

  ‘I’ll have to learn, I suppose, but it takes time and when Jane offered …’

  ‘This must be so difficult for you,’ said Mhairi. ‘For all of you. Do you have family in the area?’

  ‘Yes, but we’re not close, to put it mildly,’ he muttered.

  ‘Even so, in such tragic circumstances …’ said Farrell.

  ‘Tragic? They’re probably hanging out the bunting. They loathed my wife.’

  There was an awkward silence.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean …’ he said, running his hands through a mop of dark curls.

  ‘Look, we’re sorry to intrude but we do need to talk to Miss Pearson on her own. You know the drill. I don’t want to do it at the station if I can do it here,’ said Farrell.

  Jane Pearson looked on the verge of tears.

  Mhairi raised her eyebrows and stared unblinking at Fergus Campbell until he got the message.

  ‘Oh … er … right, I’ll take Teddy and Amelia out to the park. It’s a lovely day for it.’

  Farrell noticed how stiff he was around the children. The poor guy really didn’t have much of a clue. With the help of the nanny he was soon bundled out the door into the sunshine with the baby, Amelia, and her brother Teddy.

  Jane Pearson seemed even tenser when they were gone. She invited them to sit then perched on the edge of an upright chair.

  ‘So how long have you worked for the Campbells?’ asked Farrell.

  ‘I started with them three months before Teddy was born, so just over three and a half years.’

  ‘How come?’ asked Mhairi. ‘Don’t most couples have the nanny start after the birth?’

  ‘Yes … but …’

  ‘But what?’ asked Mhairi.

  ‘Gina wasn’t in a good place. The baby was unplanned. She didn’t find out in time … to well … do anything about it. Fergus needed help. I’ve been with them ever since.’

  ‘Can you confirm the last time you saw Gina?’ said Farrell.

  ‘Yes, it was two nights ago, at around 7 p.m. She’d called me to ask if I could go over and take Teddy and Amelia for the night because she had a pounding migraine.’

  ‘How was she dressed when you arrived?’ asked Mhairi.

  ‘She was in her dressing gown. Her cheeks were flushed as if she had a fever. She said she was going to go to bed and try and sleep it off.’

  ‘And Fergus?’

  ‘He was getting ready to go back out. He left the house just before I did.’

  ‘How were things between Gina and him that evening?’ asked Farrell. ‘Did you witness any exchanges between them?’

  ‘He went in to check on her, took her a cup of tea. That’s it as far as I’m aware. They didn’t have a row or anything.’

  ‘So you were the last person to see her alive?’ said Farrell.

  ‘Apart from the nutter who killed her,’ she retorted.

  ‘Was she a good employer?’ asked Mhairi.

  The nanny coloured and looked away.

  ‘We won’t let on to Fergus. We’re just trying to get a feel for what she was like as a person, that’s all,’ coaxed Mhairi.r />
  ‘I’ve had better.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I don’t want to say. Why does it matter now?’

  ‘Because someone disliked her enough to kill her. Whatever you can tell us about the way she typically behaved might signpost the way to a motive for the killing.’

  ‘If you must know, she was mean and spiteful. She deliberately never paid me on time so I had to go cap in hand to her every month.’

  ‘Why didn’t you leave?’ asked Farrell.

  ‘How could I? Gina didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. Teddy and Amelia needed me. I couldn’t abandon them.’

  ‘What about their father?’ asked Farrell.

  ‘You saw him. He’s pretty clueless. His own parents sent him off to boarding school at the age of seven. He thinks not being shown love and affection is normal.’

  ‘From your time in the household, how would you characterize their relationship?’ asked Farrell.

  ‘They were total opposites. He’s cool and detached, but she was fiery and had a short fuse. There were times when they thought I couldn’t hear them. The things she would say to him were really cruel, enough to cripple someone.’

  ‘And did he retaliate?’

  ‘No, never. I used to wish he would, but he never so much as raised his voice to her. I heard him cry out in pain once. It sounded like she was hitting him. He deserved better,’ she said then looked awkward as though she had given too much away.

  ‘You and Fergus,’ said Mhairi. ‘Have you ever …?’

  ‘No! Of course not! What do you take me for? He’s my boss, end of story.’

  ‘Sorry, but I had to ask.’

  ‘I suppose.’ She bit her lip.

  ‘Look, he’ll be back with Teddy and Amelia soon. I really have to get on.’

  Farrell and Mhairi stood up to leave.

  ‘Thank you for your time. We’ll be in touch if there’s anything else,’ said Farrell.

  They walked back to the car in silence.

  ‘I’m starving,’ said Mhairi. ‘Let’s grab a couple of rolls and some coffee from that takeaway on the Whitesands.’

  ‘I’m not really hungry,’ countered Farrell.

  ‘Frank, you’ve got to eat,’ she said, more loudly than she had intended.