They walked out the house together.
Chapter 67
Farrell and Mhairi sat opposite each other at the kitchen table going through the case files for Colette Currie. It was stiflingly hot. Mhairi lifted her hair off the nape of her neck and pulled it into a makeshift bun using an elastic band from some papers.
‘There’s just no air in here,’ she complained.
Farrell got up and padded across to the fridge in his bare feet and extracted an ice-cold beer.
‘Want one?’ he asked.
‘Sure,’ said Mhairi. ‘Let’s sit in the garden. It might be marginally cooler. I’m hoping the midges will be too knackered with the heat to bite me.’
They took their beers to the picnic table and sat in companionable silence. Oscar and Henry were sprawled on the grass side by side.
‘Look at them,’ said Mhairi. ‘They’re so much happier down here. They’ll miss it when we go back.’
‘You’re not tempted to stay?’ asked Farrell.
‘No, not in the slightest. I want to keep working the big cases. My career matters to me. Why? Are you?’
‘Maybe a little,’ he replied.
‘Your mother would like it.’
‘Somehow I doubt that. These days she’d probably feel I was cramping her style,’ he said with a laugh.
He reached into the box of papers he’d brought out and started sifting through some papers on the picnic table. Mhairi did likewise.
After a few minutes she came upon the crime scene photos of Colette Currie. They were horrendous and she closed her eyes briefly then peered closer.
‘What the hell?’
‘What is it?’ asked Farrell.
She pointed out a bright blue patch of skin on the underside of the deceased just below her chest.
‘Is that a Panopticon tattoo?’ he asked.
‘Yes. The upper layer of skin was removed by the fire, but the ink has been preserved,’ said Mhairi. ‘It could be a coincidence,’ she said doubtfully. ‘All law students probably come across that image in their studies.’
‘I don’t believe in coincidences,’ said Farrell.
They returned to the boxes.
After half an hour or so, Farrell let out a low whistle. ‘You’ll never believe who the sheriff was on that case in Jedburgh ten years ago?’
‘Not Robert Granger?’
‘The very same,’ said Farrell. ‘He wasn’t the sitting sheriff. That’s why we never twigged before. He’d been sent down from Glasgow to cover for him when he was on holiday.’
‘Given those disturbing photographs and what Beth Roberts told us do you think it’s possible he did the same to Colette Currie?’ asked Mhairi.
‘By all accounts she was quite a free spirit, not as timid as Beth Roberts. She might have put up a fight.’
‘There was a balaclava recovered from Granger’s house. What if he attacked her, there was a struggle and she managed to pull it off, so she discovered his identity?’
‘He’d have had to kill her. There’s no way he could let her live after that,’ said Farrell.
‘He left her for dead and set the place on fire,’ said Mhairi.
‘We can prove it,’ said Farrell. ‘His DNA wasn’t in the system before so it didn’t throw up a match against one of the two semen samples. Now we can have them run again, against his DNA from the post-mortem.’
‘Remember what Fergus Campbell said about the key?’ said Mhairi.
‘Yes.’
‘According to the papers, a key was found inside the cottage by the front door, though,’ said Mhairi. ‘Why wouldn’t she have used it to unlock the door and get out?’
‘Unless she didn’t have a key. What if the killer had two keys: he hid one key under the doormat inside the front door before he set the fire? The mat would have been incinerated leaving the key exposed in the aftermath. It would look as if she’d been trying to open the door, seem much less like foul play than if the door had been locked and the key absent. The killer could’ve then locked the door behind him on the way out, and hidden the spare key in Fergus Campbell’s coat pocket the next morning at court,’ said Farrell. ‘If it’s anything like the agents’ room in Dumfries, the lawyers dump their coats in there and put on their court gowns. The room is never locked but it’s not uncommon for a sheriff or one of the fiscals to wander through in search of some case law from the library. Certainly, it wouldn’t have raised any eyebrows if he’d been seen in there.’
Solemnly they clinked their bottles of beer together.
‘To Colette Currie,’ said Mhairi.
‘May she rest in peace,’ said Farrell.
‘One case down, three to go,’ said Mhairi.
By now it was nearly dark. Mhairi let out a huge yawn. She got to her feet stretching and promptly stumbled backwards over her flip flops landing in Farrell’s lap as he reached out to grab her. Mortified she twisted around to face him, her arms still flailing. For an insane moment she had the urge to kiss him. His eyes were inscrutable in the darkness but she heard his sharp intake of breath. Before she had time to gather the shreds of her dignity around her his strong arms had righted her and propelled her to her feet. She could feel the heat of him despite the air cooling.
‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘Night, Frank.’
She could tell he was struggling to keep a straight face. He must think I’m a total joke, she thought, stomping off to bed.
‘Night, Mhairi,’ he called after her. ‘Sleep tight.’
Not a chance in Hell, she thought.
Chapter 68
Farrell had tossed and turned all night tormented by a slideshow of images from the three remaining unsolved cases. Mhairi had been acting a little weird last night too. For a moment he’d thought she was about to kiss him. He couldn’t decide if he was glad or sorry that she’d refrained. What could she possibly see in a loser like him? She’d be taking self-sabotage to a whole new level. He didn’t want to hurt her. She was too precious to him. Of course, he could have imagined it.
Maybe the stress of the cases was causing his mind to unravel and see things that weren’t there. With a sigh, he flung back the covers and pulled on his running gear. He had to stay focused. The fear of losing his sanity again had never completely left him. It was a dull ache deep within his psyche that flared up like an abscess every now and again. A good run would sort him out.
It was still only 5.30 a.m. as he slipped from the house. The birds were making their usual din as he headed into Dock Park running along the tree-lined avenue beside the river. DI Moore had been convinced that Mario Lombardo was innocent of Aaron Sullivan’s death, but could he trust her instincts to be right? After all, the last time he’d been in Dumfries she’d made a catastrophic error of judgement.
Joe Capaldi seemed to be involved somehow but he couldn’t imagine either him or his boss, Gabriel Ferrante, colluding to cover up the murder of a child. Yet, Barry McLeish was clearly terrified of Joe Capaldi.
Gina Campbell’s murder had also hit a wall. The nanny, Jane Pearson; Gina’s husband, Fergus Campbell, and her lover, Gabriel Ferrante, potentially all had motive, means and opportunity.
Now that it appeared likely that Sheriff Granger had murdered Colette Currie in Jedburgh, it did make a connection between the other two murders less likely. Although the timing of the murders close to the tenth anniversary of Colette Currie’s death was troubling. Also, how likely was it that two close friends would each have someone close to them murdered within two weeks of each other?
As he left the park and headed along the footpath to Kingholm Quay, breathing in the salty tang of the river banks, he felt a familiar pang of pain for the loss of his old friend, DCI Lind. He missed having him to bounce ideas off and keep him grounded. He hoped that Laura would relent soon.
Back at the cottage, Farrell ran into Mhairi in the hall. She already had her suit on. There were dark circles under her eyes and she seemed pale and tense. They sidestepped around each other in the narrow space, mu
ttering apologies. Mhairi slid her eyes out from under his gaze. So, he hadn’t imagined it then. He didn’t like this new awkwardness that had crept into the spaces between them. It was up to him to fix this. Only he didn’t know how.
‘I’m just going to jump into the shower,’ he said, attempting the faux heartiness of a double-glazing salesman.
‘Whatever,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll load up the car.’
They travelled the short journey to the station in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
Farrell and McLeod entered the MCA room to find it a hive of activity.
Farrell walked to the front of the room and cleared his throat.
‘Listen up, people. Mhairi and I were going over the files for the Colette Currie case last night. We think we may have made a breakthrough. I want Sheriff Robert Granger’s DNA run against the two semen samples obtained from Colette’s post-mortem. I’ve also obtained a DNA swab from Jack Kerr, which should prove to be a match for one of the two semen samples. He’s admitted they slept together the night she died.’
‘You reckon Granger murdered her?’ asked Byers.
‘Yes, subject to the samples matching up from the Scottish DNA database.’
‘Where does that leave us in relation to the three active murder cases?’ asked Byers.
‘Beth Roberts had motive and opportunity to have killed Sheriff Granger. If she was responsible, though, I doubt she acted alone. She doesn’t have the strength that would have been required to drag him through from chambers and hoist him up in that fashion,’ said Farrell.
‘Maybe she had help?’ suggested DC Thomson. ‘What about her fiancé, Peter Swift?’
‘The fiscal? That’s all we need. I suppose that we can’t rule him out. Let’s bring him in for questioning. He’ll either be behind Beth Roberts one hundred per cent or already beginning to distance himself for the sake of his career.’
DC Thomson looked up from his computer terminal.
‘You asked me to trace Tony Marino, the man who was put away for the murder of that girl, Emily Drummond, at Sheriff Granger’s school.’
‘And?’
‘Well, the weird thing is that he walked out of jail after his sentence and disappeared into thin air. Nobody’s seen or heard anything from him since. There’s a long-standing warrant for his arrest as he was released on life licence.’
‘So if he does turn up he’ll be hauled back to jail?’ said Farrell.
‘No one’s that good at keeping hidden in this digital world,’ said DC Thomson. ‘He should’ve been seen somewhere by now.’
‘That could mean one of two things,’ said Byers. ‘Either he’s dead or he had a new identity waiting, ready to slip into.’
‘But if he really didn’t kill that girl then his sentence should be quashed,’ said Mhairi.
‘Unless, he decided to exact his own retribution and murdered the real killer,’ said Farrell. ‘Sitting in prison for twenty years for a crime you didn’t commit? That’s a lot of time to plan your revenge.’
‘I still think it’s suspicious that Joe Capaldi turned up in Dumfries a matter of weeks after Sheriff Granger arrived down here. How many ex jailbirds work in a solicitor’s office?’ said DS Byers.
‘It was probably good PR for Gabriel Ferrante to employ a former criminal,’ said Farrell. ‘Must have given him a bit of street cred with his clientele.’
Farrell turned to DC Thomson.
‘Do a bit more digging into Capaldi. I want the man’s whole life history. Ascertain who visited him in jail. Check out his cellmates, known associates, that kind of thing. Go through his previous convictions. Did he ever appear in front of Sheriff Granger for anything, no matter how minor? He’s connected somehow to these murders. I just don’t know how.’
‘So far we’ve uncovered two of the secrets Colette Currie’s three friends were hiding,’ said DI Moore. ‘Max Delaney may have been hiding something too.’
‘Dave, have you heard back from Tech Support in relation to Aaron’s social media accounts, emails etc?’ asked Farrell. ‘They should have cracked the passwords by now.’
‘They have, there was an email waiting for me this morning,’ DC Thomson replied. ‘His phone and laptop have been opened and have been placed in the evidence room meantime. I’ll sign them out and take a look.’
He bent over his computer once more. ‘I’ve just received an email from DCI Buchanan. There were no prints on the knife and no recoverable DNA either as it appears to have been wiped down with bleach.’
There was a collective sigh of disappointment.
‘That’s unfortunate,’ said Farrell, ‘but we knew it was a possibility. As Mario Lombardo has indicated Father Jim Murray can alibi him for the night of Aaron Sullivan’s murder, I’ll pop to St Margaret’s now, nail that down.’
‘It doesn’t mean he didn’t instruct Joe Capaldi to kill him on his behalf,’ said Mhairi, eyeballing DI Moore, who met her stare with detached coolness.
‘No, it doesn’t,’ said Farrell. ‘I wasn’t terribly convinced by Joe Capaldi’s alibi, either. I got the impression that Gabriel Ferrante was covering for him out of some misplaced sense of loyalty.’
‘I still don’t think that Gabriel Ferrante would protect a child killer,’ said Mhairi. ‘I’d be prepared to stake my reputation on it.’
‘Really?’ said DI Moore.
Mhairi flushed with anger.
Farrell exchanged a glance with Byers. Things between the two women were becoming tense.
‘The alibi may be bogus because he’s genuinely convinced that Joe Capaldi is innocent,’ said Farrell. ‘Whether or not that belief is misplaced has yet to be determined.’
Chapter 69
Farrell exhaled in relief as he exited the station car park. It felt good to be on his own, albeit briefly. The frustrations and pressures were getting to his team now. The media were hounding them, using their failure to apprehend anyone to further their political agenda. His boss, DCI Buchanan, in turn was coming under fire from those above her. She had cut him far more slack than he deserved within the last couple of years. He didn’t want to let her down.
Glancing at his watch, he realized that morning Mass would now be over so Father Murray would likely be at home. Parking at the side of St Margaret’s he walked round the back of the church to the well-worn sandstone house and rang the bell.
A cheerful middle-aged woman in an apron answered the door and showed him into the parlour. It was stuffed with an eclectic mix of furniture that looked like it had come from a charity shop. The overall effect was one of comfort and welcome. Farrell sank onto a well-stuffed sofa and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.
With a start, he woke up as his friend came and sat opposite him.
‘Sorry, I must have dosed off,’ he said, rubbing his neck and blinking.
‘I was tempted to leave you there, you looked so peaceful. How are you, Frank?’
‘Surviving, just about,’ he said. With the sun streaming in through the bay windows, he noticed that Father Murray himself was looking tired and a bit worn. He’d put on weight since the last time they’d met and his face was puffy and tired.
‘You?’
‘It’s been a difficult few weeks,’ the priest sighed. ‘You’ll know about the death of one of my parishioners, Aaron Sullivan. A tragic business.’
‘I didn’t realize the family were Catholic,’ said Farrell.
‘Yes, they’ve been coming here with the lad since they fostered him years ago. A terrible tragedy, for sure.’
‘I’m afraid Jack and Sarah have split up. They might need even more of your support now.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
The housekeeper brought them in a tray of tea and buttered scones. Farrell thanked her and gladly helped himself, thinking that Mhairi should have been here. She would generally sell her soul for a bit of home baking. He felt a twinge of guilt as he thought about that moment between them. He forced his mind back to the subje
ct in hand.
‘What do you think of Mario Lombardo?’ he asked.
His friend’s eyes clouded and he looked away.
‘He’s a regular attender here,’ he said.
‘That’s not what I asked,’ said Farrell.
‘I know, but it’s all I’m prepared to say.’
‘He’s unburdened himself in the confessional, hasn’t he?’
‘You know better than to ask me that,’ the priest snapped.
Farrell knew he would get nowhere if he pressed further. The sanctity of the confessional was absolute. His friend’s reaction spoke volumes, however. He changed tack.
‘Mario Lombardo sent me here, actually. He said you can alibi him for the night Aaron was murdered. Apparently he went on a church trip to Edinburgh with you all?’
Father Murray reached for a well-worn leather diary and thumbed through it.
‘Yes, he’s quite correct. I remember he was there. I heard about Aaron the morning we got back. Mario’s popular with the ladies. They make a fuss of him since he lost his late wife, Maria. They attended church together. A lovely lady, no idea of the full extent of her husband’s … activities. After her death he kept coming on his own.’
‘What about his daughter, Gina Campbell?’
She came here regularly too but not with her father.
‘With her husband?’
‘No, he’s not Catholic. She always sat beside another man. They arrived and left separately but I formed the impression it was a close attachment, nevertheless.’
‘Who?’
‘Frank, I’m not in the habit of gossiping about my parishioners.’
‘I know that but Gina was murdered, her children left without a mother.’
‘Fine. It was Gabriel Ferrante. Satisfied?’
‘Yes, for now.’
‘How’s your friend John Lind? Any progress?’
‘I haven’t seen him since I got here because Laura has banned me from visiting,’ Farrell said, aware that he sounded bitter. ‘My boss has been quietly feeding me progress reports. He’s aware but not communicating yet. He seems very withdrawn and passive. They’ve removed his feeding tube and he’ll swallow pureed food but makes no effort to eat.’
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