Avenge the Dead

by Jackie Baldwin

  ‘Reckon he had a knife pulled on him one too many times.’

  ‘The scar on his face?’ asked Mhairi.

  ‘Dumfries seemed a safer bet.’

  ‘Until now,’ said Farrell.

  Capaldi’s gaze dropped, anticipating from years of shadow boxing around coppers that they were about to get down to the nitty-gritty.

  ‘You appreciate that we have to ask you some questions in relation to the murder of Gina Campbell?’ said Farrell.

  ‘I can’t tell you what I don’t know,’ he said.

  ‘Were you aware that Gabriel Ferrante was having a relationship with Gina Campbell?’

  ‘Not at the time. He told me after you lot came sniffing around. Reckoned it would soon be doing the rounds.’

  ‘Were you surprised?’ asked Mhairi.

  ‘Can’t say I gave it much thought,’ he replied. ‘None of my business. I keep my head down, do my job, go home.’

  ‘Did you know Gina Campbell yourself?’

  Again that miniscule hesitation.

  ‘No. Why would I?’

  ‘Well, you certainly know her father, Mario Lombardo,’ said Farrell, leaning forward and fixing him with an unflinching gaze.

  An expression of fear flitted across Capaldi’s features.

  ‘The hell, I do. What the fuck is this? I’m not saying nothing without a lawyer.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Mhairi. ‘Did we strike a nerve?’

  ‘And what if I were to suggest to you that someone at the Pig and Whistle saw you deep in conversation with Mario Lombardo,’ said Farrell. ‘Would he be lying to us, do you think?’

  ‘I can’t categorically state that I haven’t passed the time of day with some bloke in the boozer, but I wouldn’t have felt the need to know his name or anything about him. That’s just what blokes having a pint do. Bit of a chat about the footie or the weather and that’s it. Been a proper bloody party.’

  ‘Have you ever been involved in working for Mario Lombardo at any time in the past?’

  ‘Look, I have no idea who he even is,’ he snapped. ‘Either charge me and get me a lawyer or I’m walking. You have nothing on me. This is a total piss-take. I’m done being helpful. You’d be better off spending your time catching the person who murdered that woman and kid.’

  ‘You think that they were killed by the same person?’ asked Mhairi. ‘What makes you say that?’

  Capaldi rolled his eyes.

  ‘For the umpteenth time, I don’t have a friggin’ clue. Stop trying to twist my words.’

  ‘Where were you on the night Gina Campbell was killed?’ said Farrell.

  ‘I finished work, had a pint in the Pig and Whistle and went home. Microwave dinner for one and watched telly. It’s a wonderful bloody life, all right? Can I go now?’

  ‘And how about the night of Aaron Sullivan’s death?’

  ‘What? You’re trying to pin the death of that kid on me too? Not a chance.’

  ‘Just answer the question,’ snapped Farrell, his patience wearing thin.

  ‘Work, Pig and Whistle then home around nine. Satisfied? In fact, now I think of it you were bloody there too, the pair of you. I passed you at the door.’

  He glared at Farrell. ‘You were bloody staggering as I recall and it was only half past bloody six.’

  Mhairi went hot and cold.

  Shit, this wasn’t good. Just as well this interview wasn’t being taped.

  Undeterred, Farrell pressed on. ‘Did you know Aaron Sullivan, the boy who was murdered?’

  Capaldi lost his combative air. ‘No, I didn’t. I saw a kid in there sitting with that wanker, Barry McLeish. I thought he looked a bit young at the time. It should never have happened.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Farrell.

  ‘Whatever shit is going down you don’t kill kids that age. I hope you get the bastard that did it.’

  Farrell changed tack.

  ‘Have you ever known your boss, Gabriel Ferrante, to lose his temper? I mean dealing with criminals, some of them can be a bit mouthy if things aren’t going their way, right? It’d be only natural to lose your rag once in a while.’

  Capaldi laughed.

  ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree there, mate. My boss is as cool as a cucumber. If you’re thinking crime of passion, I’d forget it if I were you.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Capaldi. We appreciate you giving up your time to talk to us.’

  ‘What do you reckon?’ asked Mhairi, once they had emerged onto the street and were out of earshot.

  ‘He’d follow Gabriel Ferrante off a cliff,’ said Farrell. ‘He’s completely loyal to him. If he thought Ferrante had killed Gina Campbell in a lovers’ tiff, he would help him cover it up in a heartbeat. The kid, though, that’s a different story.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Mhairi. ‘The most likely scenario then is that those murders weren’t related.’

  ‘The fact that Aaron had a load of drugs stashed in his locker makes that more likely. Although, it does seem rather odd that two of three friends have recently had someone close to them stabbed. We mustn’t forget that the victims share the same mode of death.’

  ‘Mind you, death by stabbing isn’t all that exotic these days,’ said Mhairi. ‘If Aaron was working as a drug runner for Mario Lombardo and Gina was his daughter, the common link could be someone with a vendetta against him rather than the three lawyers.

  ‘By the way, the barman didn’t say that Joe Capaldi and Mario Lombardo were deep in conversation in the pub.’

  ‘I know. I used a classic cross-examining technique. Most perps walk right into the trap.’

  ‘Sneaky,’ said Mhairi. ‘But I like it.’

  Farrell’s radio crackled into life. It was DS Byers.

  ‘I’m at the court,’ he said, sounding as if he had been running. ‘A fight’s broken out between some lawyers. I need assistance.’

  ‘On our way,’ said Farrell as he and Mhairi dodged the traffic crossing across Buccleuch Street and sprinted into the court building.

  Chapter 32

  They ran up the stairs to Court Two where they found a full-blown brawl in progress. Sheriff Robert Granger had already been escorted off the Bench into chambers, and Bob stood beside a handful of other solicitors, all watching the action unfolding through the glass doors into the court.

  ‘I don’t know what started them off,’ said Bob, turning to Farrell. ‘It all happened so fast and then the lot of them were going at it hammer and tongs. The two officers in the dock opened the hatch and got the three accused back down the stairs to the cells. We couldn’t do anything about the spectators. We figured they’d be safer staying where they were.’

  ‘Mhairi, you wait here,’ said Farrell as he burst open the door and plunged in to assist DS Byers in breaking up the fray.

  ‘As if,’ she muttered, running after him. She grabbed Jack Kerr, who was scrapping with the procurator fiscal, Peter Swift. With a howl of rage he swung round to punch her, but she neatly dodged, used his weight against him and had him face down and handcuffed in a matter of seconds.

  Swift held up his hands in surrender and collapsed onto a chair. He was breathing heavily and red-faced with exertion. Max Delaney was furiously trying to resist arrest, maintaining he’d been acting in self-defence, but he was no match for Byers’s superior strength and inferior patience.

  Mhairi left Byers to cuff Swift and Delaney, sprinting across to help Farrell who was having a much harder time trying to subdue Gabriel Ferrante. He had Fergus Campbell bent backwards over the agents’ table, punching him with brutal efficiency. There was blood spattered everywhere and Campbell’s face was beginning to resemble tenderized meat. Where had he learned to fight like that? He was solid muscle. Mhairi raced round the table in front of them, leaned over, grabbed Ferrante by the ears, and dug her very sharp nails in as far as they would go. He yelped and his fist shot out and landed with a loud smack on her nose, sending her reeling backwards. Her head cracked against the wooden sheriff�
��s Bench. Briefly, she saw stars before sliding down onto the floor. Farrell grabbed Ferrante’s fist from behind. Realizing what he had done the fight went out of him and his body softened, enabling Farrell to handcuff him. It was over.

  ‘Don’t you ever do anything I say?’ yelled Farrell with a worried glare as he took in Mhairi’s burgeoning black eye. ‘There was no need for you to jump in. Byers and I had it under control.’

  Mhairi grimaced in pain, gingerly checking her nose was still in the right place, as Byers helped her to her feet.

  ‘You keep telling yourself, that, Frank Farrell,’ she snapped.

  The paramedics arrived and immediately rushed to the aid of Fergus Campbell who had slid off the table, onto the floor, apparently unconscious. After a few seconds they pronounced him stable and stretchered him out to the waiting ambulance, winding carefully down the steep flights of stairs. Within minutes more paramedics arrived to patch up the other combatants before they were cautioned by the police and escorted, still cuffed, through the open trap door in the dock down to the cells.

  The motley crew of spectators laughed and jeered as Farrell stood grimly at the side of the dock.

  Peter Swift the fiscal was furious that he was being treated the same as everyone else.

  ‘DI Farrell, this is outrageous,’ he hissed. ‘I was trying to break up the fight not involved in it.’

  ‘Not from where I was standing,’ replied Farrell, unmoved.

  ‘You’re completely undermining my authority in this court,’ he hissed, as a more enterprising and audacious member of the public benches leaned forward to take their photo.

  ‘I think you did that all by yourself, when you took the decision to throw a punch.’

  The hatch opened and Swift was led away, still huffing and puffing.

  ‘Right, that’s the lot,’ said Farrell. ‘And here’s the cavalry. About time.’ He dispatched the uniforms surging through the door to interview the dozen or so witnesses who were being funnelled out the court.

  His keen eye spotted an anomaly. He hurried over to Bob.

  ‘That guy at the back of the queue, Bob, talking to the woman, I’m sure he wasn’t in here before?’

  Bob peered across at them.

  ‘You’re right, he definitely wasn’t.’

  ‘He’ll be one of Sophie Richardson’s assistants,’ muttered Farrell through clenched teeth. He strode over to the trendy young guy in his thirties in the designer gear who avoided eye contact on his approach.

  ‘You can tell Ms Richardson that if she wants information, she’ll need to go through the proper channels. I’m sure that Andy Moran, the civilian press officer, will be only too pleased to assist.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he attempted to protest. ‘It’s a public gallery. I’m entitled to be here.’

  ‘Not if you’re attempting to interfere with a criminal investigation you’re not.’ Farrell beckoned to a couple of young uniforms to come over.

  ‘Please show this gentleman out and don’t permit him to talk to anyone on the way down,’ he said.

  The young whippersnapper had the cheek to slip his card into the bag of the woman he’d been talking to and mouth, ‘call me’, to her as he was being led away. Farrell became aware he was grinding his teeth.

  He walked over to Mhairi and frowned at the bruised mess her face had become.

  ‘I hope you’re happy. I told you not to wade in.’

  ‘You can talk,’ she snapped right back, pointing to his burst lip and matching black eye.

  They glared at each other, then grinned as the absurdity of the situation hit them.

  ‘That almost matched a typical Friday night in Glasgow,’ said Mhairi.

  ‘I’ve never seen the likes of it,’ said Farrell. ‘I suppose there’s a first time for everything.’

  ‘We’d best take the back entrance, or you’ll get pounced on by Sophie Richardson and her media darlings.’

  ‘I’d take a good old-fashioned punch-up any day of the week,’ groaned Farrell.

  They were leaving the court room when Bob came rushing out of the door to Sheriff Granger’s private chambers.

  ‘The sheriff would like a word with you,’ he said apologetically.

  ‘What, now?’ said Farrell, exasperated.

  ‘I’m afraid so. And he doesn’t like to be kept waiting,’ he whispered, glancing nervously at the closed door behind him.

  Farrell sighed. He loathed bullies with a passion and this sheriff seemed to rule his little fiefdom with an iron fist.

  ‘Fine, let’s get it over with,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll come,’ said Mhairi. ‘You might need backup.’

  Chapter 33

  Sheriff Granger sat in his gown minus wig and contemplated them with an ugly expression.

  ‘DI Farrell, I will not tolerate this behaviour in my courtroom. I want you to know that all of these solicitors will be found in contempt of court, punishment to be determined. I also want Miss Beth Roberts held in custody.’

  ‘On what grounds, my Lord?’ asked Mhairi, staring him straight in the eye.

  ‘I can’t hear you,’ he said, bouncing with anger in his seat.

  ‘Would you like me to shout, my Lord?’ asked Mhairi, knowing perfectly well what he was getting at but choosing to be obtuse.

  Bob and Farrell sent her worried looks.

  ‘I cannot hear you, young woman, because I have not yet invited you to speak! DI Farrell, perhaps you can teach your subordinate some courtroom etiquette when you have a few moments.’

  ‘Yes, my Lord,’ said Farrell, earning a glare from Mhairi. ‘Might I enquire on what grounds you wish Beth Roberts to be detained? When we arrived she was nowhere to be seen.’

  ‘Don’t let her looks fool you. That young woman is an absolute menace. She’s not only sly and deceitful but grossly incompetent. You can’t trust a word that comes out of her mouth. Apparently she’s been running around with Jack Kerr behind Peter Swift’s back. That’s what caused the whole thing to kick off in the first case. She incited the entire anarchic event.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow, my Lord,’ said Farrell. ‘I can understand a dispute occurring out of the court but when you were on the Bench? How could that possibly have arisen?’

  Bob cleared his throat.

  ‘If I may, my Lord?’

  ‘Go ahead,’ said the sheriff, with a majestic wave.

  Bob removed two letters from his jacket and handed them to Farrell, who put on gloves to examine them. One envelope was addressed to Fergus Campbell. The enclosed photo clearly showed Gabriel Ferrante and Gina Campbell in the throes of passion. The note read:

  Enjoy the show.

  I did.

  The other envelope was addressed to Peter Swift. The photo was grainier this time and showed Jack Kerr entangled with a woman on a rumpled bed. Her face was hidden beneath him. The note read:

  Jack Kerr and your fiancée are having an affair.

  SUCKER

  Farrell bagged up the evidence carefully.

  ‘Each of the solicitors involved found an envelope with their name on it waiting at their usual seat after lunch,’ said the Bar officer. ‘Peter Swift threw the first punch and seconds later they were all fighting.’

  ‘Tell them who placed the notes on the table,’ said the sheriff, with a malicious gleam in his eye.

  ‘It was Miss Roberts,’ admitted Bob, looking distinctly unhappy. ‘I saw her do it, as I came in from the sheriff’s chambers to place a witness list on the Bench.’

  ‘Now do you see?’ demanded Sheriff Granger.

  ‘You have my word that we’ll look into her involvement, my Lord,’ said Farrell. He bowed his head and Mhairi reluctantly followed his lead as Bob ushered them out into the corridor.

  ‘Tosser,’ she muttered.

  ‘Careful, he’ll hear you,’ whispered Bob with a worried backwards glance at the closed door.

  ‘I’m not scared of him,’ she said.

  ‘Mayb
e you should be,’ he replied.

  Byers was waiting for them along the hall, looking somewhat the worse for wear too.

  ‘That soft bastard, Max Delaney, ripped my new shirt,’ he complained. ‘I’ll be sending him the bloody bill.’

  As they got closer he took in Mhairi’s battered face and Farrell’s split lip.

  ‘Christ, looks like I fared better than you two,’ he said.

  Farrell brought him up to speed with what had been said in chambers and showed him the notes and photos.

  Byers shook his head in disbelief. ‘Ferrante and Gina Campbell, fair enough, but if Beth Roberts is having an affair with Jack Kerr why would she want to advertise the fact to her fiancé of all people?’

  ‘Can you hand off these letters and envelopes to Janet White or Phil Tait?’ Farrell said, passing across the bag. ‘I want copies for the 6 p.m. briefing. See if they can get any useful prints or DNA off them.’

  ‘What do you want to do about the lawyers, boss?’ asked Byers.

  ‘I’d like them all cautioned and charged for now,’ said Farrell. ‘I reckon we should keep them in overnight. I want them to have absolutely no contact with each other until we can work out what’s been going on.’

  ‘What about Beth Roberts?’ said Mhairi.

  ‘I’ve not seen her,’ said Byers. ‘She seems to have left before we got here.’

  ‘She can keep,’ said Farrell. ‘I’m going to take Mhairi to the hospital to get her checked out properly like the paramedic wanted.’

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ said Mhairi, affronted.

  ‘You can beg all you like but my mind’s made up,’ said Farrell. ‘As a little inducement we can also pop in on Fergus Campbell and get a first crack at him when he might be feeling more vulnerable.’

  ‘Oh well, why didn’t you say that in the first place?’ huffed Mhairi and set off down the stairs.

  Both men looked at each other and shook their head in a rare moment of accord.

  ‘That one is something else,’ said DS Byers.

  ‘Enough to turn a man’s hair grey,’ agreed Farrell.

  She turned back and gave them a lopsided glare.

  ‘Come on, what are you waiting for?’