Together with Mhairi he swiftly searched the property looking for any indication of where they might have gone.
‘Look! They’ve definitely been here,’ said Mhairi producing a half-finished drawing and a packet of wax crayons.
‘This too,’ said Farrell holding up a pink sparkly ribbon.
‘No sign of any passports,’ said Byers, striding through from the master bedroom. ‘Their cases are gone too. There’s a number of empty hangers in the wardrobe suggesting they’re going on the run.’
Farrell’s eyes widened as he looked at a framed photo on the kitchen dresser.
‘Beth has the Panopticon tattoo,’ he said. Mhairi and Byers turned and saw a framed photo of Beth Roberts in denim shorts and a bikini top. The tattoo was under her left breast, exactly where Colette’s had been. She was smiling in the photo, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
‘Do you think Beth Roberts is a willing participant?’ asked Mhairi. ‘My money’s on her being coerced.’
‘I agree it’s a possibility,’ said Farrell. ‘He might exert such strong psychological control over her that she feels she has no ability to act on her own.’
‘She walked in there this morning, bold as brass,’ said Byers. ‘I reckon she’s all in.’
‘Time will tell,’ said Farrell. ‘We need to figure out where they’ve gone. And fast. There’s no laptop or computer here.’
‘What about his work computer at the fiscal’s office?’ said Mhairi. ‘He could have planned something on there, bought tickets, done some prep?’
‘Good idea,’ said Farrell. ‘Ask DI Moore to call them and get one of our Tech team down there? I imagine that they’ll cooperate.’
Mhairi, walked away speaking into her radio.
Farrell paced up and down. Where in hell’s name had they gone? What twisted thought processes were going on in Peter Swift’s mind? What was his end game and where was it going to take place? Pulling out his phone, he brought up Mia’s photo, all gap-toothed innocence, staring fearlessly at the camera. He had to save that little girl. Failure wasn’t an option.
Chapter 74
Farrell and Mhairi ran up the stairs to the MCA room to find DI Moore and DC Thomson hard at work. To Farrell’s surprise, Clare Yates was also there, sitting quietly to one side. He was pleased to see her.
‘Clare, what do you think Swift’s next move is likely to be?’ he asked, sitting down beside her. ‘I’m sure you’ve been brought up to speed. Talk to me.’
‘The ten-year anniversary has clearly triggered him. Sheriff Granger moving down here a year ago may also have been a catalyst given that he was the presiding sheriff in Jedburgh.’
‘What do you think his end game is?’ asked Farrell. He knew the answer. He just so desperately wanted to be wrong.
Her eyes sought his, confirming his fears.
‘I’m as sure as I can be he intends to murder that little girl. Thereafter, I think he’ll either murder Beth Roberts and commit suicide or attempt to flee with her. Either way we don’t have much time. I hate to say it, but Mia may already be dead.’
Farrell jumped to his feet, his pulse racing. He saw Clare looking at him with concern.
‘Peter Swift could have killed her at his place, dumped the body there and fled. He must know we’re already on to him. Why wait? Why not complete his revenge and kill her straight away then flee unencumbered by a child?’ said Farrell, raising his voice in frustration.
Mhairi appeared at his elbow.
‘Frank! You have to keep your shit together,’ she hissed.
His face tightened, then consciously relaxed.
‘I’m fine,’ he said.
Suddenly, Clare stood up.
‘Is it possible he’s gone to Jedburgh?’ she asked. ‘Think about it. That’s where all this began. He may need to deal the final blow there symbolically to complete his revenge.’
‘The ruined house,’ said Farrell. ‘The shrine.’
He ran over to DC Thomson.
‘I take it no one’s spotted either Peter Swift’s or Beth Roberts’s car?’
‘Not a glimpse. Neither of them has any other cars registered in their names. No cars have gone missing in Dumfries during the last week,’ said DC Thomson.
Farrell made a snap decision.
‘Right everyone, listen up. In the absence of any compelling evidence to the contrary, I’m surmising they’re en route to Jedburgh, possibly to the ruined house where Colette Currie died.’
He could see a few sceptical faces. The Super had arrived and was watching him closely. ‘What’s the plan then, DI Farrell?’ he said.
‘DI Moore can liaise with Jedburgh police. They can advance on foot into the site as there’s a lot of cover around to avoid detection. We need a couple of ambulances parked up nearby and an air ambulance on standby. Absolutely no sirens or lights once within range.’
‘They’ve had quite a jump on us,’ said the Super. ‘Jedburgh is fifty miles away.’
‘Perhaps not all that much, depending on how long they spent at Swift’s house,’ said Farrell. ‘And they won’t want to draw attention to themselves by speeding. Mhairi and I will take one car. DS Byers and DC Thomson can take the second, if DI Moore is content to coordinate things from here?’
DI Moore nodded.
‘We also need the Firearms Team. Sir?’ said Farrell, turning to the Super.
‘In the absence of any other firm leads, I think it’s worth a shot,’ he said. ‘I’ll liaise with DCI Buchanan in Glasgow in case we need further support and resources. If anything occurs meantime we can pull you back.’
Less than ten minutes later, equipped with vests and Tasers, the two police cars and the tactical support van pulled out of the car park with a screech of tyres, sirens wailing. Farrell glanced at Mhairi’s face as he turned the car towards the A701. She was white as a sheet, her mouth set in determined lines. The stakes couldn’t get higher than the life of a child. His team was the only thing standing between that child and certain death.
Chapter 75
The white-knuckle blue-lighted ride meant that they reached Jedburgh not long after they received police reports that the couple had arrived at the cottage with their precious cargo. They abandoned their cars to the side of the track and raced towards the cottage in a crouching run using the wild hedge on one side to hide their approach. The rain clouds hung low in the sky and thunder rumbled punctuated by occasional flashes of lightning. The only sign of occupation was the black Ford Fiesta that had no doubt been stored at the lock-up garage with Peter Swift’s old car.
DI Bill Coburn sidled over to greet Farrell as he and his team fanned out through the undergrowth. The unrelenting rain soaked into their very bones.
‘There’s another three officers around the perimeter,’ he said tersely. ‘All awaiting your command.’
The thin wail of a child rose like smoke from the burned house. The sound was abruptly choked off and all those present tensed, ready to spring into action the moment Farrell said the word.
His phone vibrated, startling him. An unknown number. Some sixth sense told him to answer. He could hear a young child quietly sobbing in the background.
‘Hurry! He’s going to kill her,’ whispered the voice.
‘Stay tight, we’re coming for you,’ he said. ‘Keep the line open if you can.’
He pressed the button on his radio.
‘Advance all units,’ he commanded. He moved forward in a running crouch, alongside Mhairi, Tasers at the ready. Byers and DC Thomson advanced from the rear of the house. The Jedburgh officers fanned out, at the sides, keeping low to the ground. The Firearms Team took up positions near all points of entry, weapons cocked. This was it. It was now or never. The wooden front door was still hanging off its hinges. Mhairi and Farrell paused at either side. Their eyes met. Then Farrell slowly crept into the charred remains of the lounge with Mhairi following at his heels. Through a hole in the back wall he could see Byers and DC Thomson enter via th
e back door into the kitchen.
There was no sign of Swift or the child.
Suddenly, they froze as they heard a female voice arguing. Beth Roberts was trying to let them know their location. Her voice drifted down from upstairs. It was hard to see in the gloom. Farrell gestured to Mhairi and the two of them hugged the wall to the stairs at the other end of the house. The voices were louder now as they crept up the stairs hoping the shouting voices would mask the creak of the rotting floorboards.
As Farrell’s head reached the level of the first floor he saw Peter Swift standing with his back to him. Farrell could see that his arm was raised but whether he was pointing a finger or a gun was impossible to determine. Beth Roberts was pressed against the opposite wall holding the child. She looked terrified. Mia’s eyes were facing the stairs and Farrell saw them widen in surprise. Her thumb slid out of her mouth.
Peter Swift stiffened and started to turn around. He did have a gun and it was heading his way. Farrell ran at him discharging the Taser. Swift jolted backwards, getting a shot off as he fell, screaming in agony as the electricity raced through his body. Total chaos ensued as the Firearms Team erupted up the stairwell, positioning themselves around the large room. Sergeant Forsyth removed the gun from Swift, and Farrell pulled him to his feet and cuffed him, trembling with suppressed rage. He read Swift his rights with gritted teeth, determined to do nothing to compromise a conviction. DC Thomson led a sobbing Beth Roberts away in handcuffs. The terrified little girl was picked up and soothed by DS Byers.
Time suddenly seemed to slow down. Where the bloody hell was Mhairi? he wondered, his eyes searching anxiously for her amidst the throng. It wasn’t like her to be away from the centre of the action and he could swear she’d been right behind him. His heart missed a beat as he saw a smear of blood on the wall beside the stairs. Please God, no! He swayed as the room faded at the edges. He could see peoples’ mouths moving but couldn’t hear the words, his ears still ringing. Byers approached, holding the little girl who was sobbing into his shoulder. The sounds of the room slowly floated back.
‘Mhairi’s been shot. Don’t panic, she’s all right.’
Farrell stood rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the wet stain.
Byers turned to follow his stare.
‘The blood’s not hers. Swift headbutted one of the men and bust his nose. They’re taking her back to Dumfries in the ambulance. She’s going to be fine.’
Farrell nodded at Byers, unable to speak for a minute, struggling to compose himself.
‘How’s Mia?’ he asked.
‘Unharmed. I think we got here in the nick of time,’ said Byers. ‘Once the paramedics have checked her over we can take the poor wee mite home.’
‘You’re good with her,’ said Farrell.
‘I’ve had plenty of practise,’ said Byers.
With John’s kids, thought Farrell, though he managed a brief smile.
He stumbled out from the gloom into the sunlight. The ambulance had made it halfway up the drive until thwarted by the potholes. A paramedic was attending to a very grumpy Mhairi McLeod.
She scowled on seeing him approach, masking her relief. He wasn’t fooled.
‘What’s the damage?’ he said to the paramedic.
‘Excuse me! Sitting right here,’ she muttered, grimacing in pain.
‘No sign of a penetrating injury,’ replied the paramedic. ‘The vest absorbed the impact of the bullet.’
‘Like I say, I’m fine. Stop fussing,’ Mhairi murmured.
The paramedics exchanged concerned glances. Mhairi’s eyes were becoming unfocused. She looked sleepy, her breathing increasingly shallow.
‘My chest hurts,’ she whispered, as her face twisted in pain.
Farrell stood to one side looking on helplessly as they inflated a blood-pressure cuff.
‘Hypotensive,’ said the paramedic. ‘We could be looking at a tension pneumothorax if she suffered a rib fracture?’
Mhairi’s eyes rolled back in her head.
‘She’s stopped breathing,’ said the paramedic.
‘She’s in cardiac arrest,’ said the other, after feeling her neck for a pulse. ‘Get the defibrillator! Starting compressions.’
This can’t be happening, thought Farrell, watching in horror as the paramedics switched the defibrillator on, attaching sticky pads to Mhairi’s chest. A small crowd of officers had silently gathered round.
‘Clear!’ They stood back.
‘Shocking.’
Mhairi’s body jerked upwards and there was a hushed silence.
‘Back in sinus rhythm,’ pronounced the paramedic.
They hurriedly secured her and loaded her into the back of the ambulance, slamming the doors.
‘Where are you taking her?’ demanded Farrell, frantic with worry.
‘Borders General Hospital, in Melrose. It’s quicker.’
‘I’ll escort you there,’ said Farrell, leaving Byers to organize the removal of the prisoners and the return of Mia to her parents. He sprinted to the police car and threw it into gear, wheels spinning in the dirt as he drove past the ambulance which was reversing now to follow him.
His face grim, he switched on the siren and lights. Mhairi would survive this, he told himself saying it over and over as if that might make it true.
The alternative was too awful to contemplate.
Chapter 76
DC Thomson pulled up outside Max Delaney’s house. DS Byers got out of the back seat and went around to open the car door for Mia. Her parents came running from the house, her father scooping her up in his arms.
‘How will I ever be able to thank you?’ he said, turning to them both.
‘You just did,’ said Byers. ‘Both Peter Swift and Beth Roberts are now in custody. We’re not sure yet to what extent Roberts was a willing participant in Swift’s plan, but I can tell you that she did try and help us rescue her in the end.’
They got back in the car to drive to the station.
‘Moments like that make all the crap we have to put up with worthwhile,’ said DC Thomson.
‘They do, lad. Let’s hope that on this occasion, the price we have to pay isn’t too high.’ They both fell silent, lost in their own thoughts.
‘Have you heard anything from the hospital?’ asked Byers as they entered the MCA room.
‘Not yet,’ said DI Moore, her forehead creased in worry. ‘How’s little Mia?’
‘A bit withdrawn but she’ll bounce back,’ said Byers.
‘I can maybe give them a phone later and offer to pop round?’ said Clare Yates.
‘That would be helpful,’ said DI Moore.
‘Good job all round,’ said the Super. ‘I still can’t believe that Peter Swift was behind it all. It beggars belief that someone from the fiscal’s office could have so lost their way.’
‘I suspect that he’s always been a dangerous and narcissistic sociopath,’ said Clare Yates. ‘Where else better to hide? It’ll be interesting to see what Beth Roberts has to say for herself.’
‘I understand his plan for revenge on the three lawyers,’ said the Super. ‘He clearly received a serious affront to what is no doubt a monstrous ego. But killing a sheriff? And in the manner he did?’
‘About that, sir,’ said DC Thomson. ‘I’m not convinced that he did.’
‘What? How so?’ asked the Super. ‘Spit it out, lad.’
‘Well, sir, just before Mia was abducted, I discovered something. Joe Capaldi shared a cell with Tony Marino, the person accused of the rape and murder of that young girl, Emily Drummond, at Morrington Academy, thirty years ago. I managed to get a hold of his mug shot.’ His hands flew over the keys of the computer and everyone crowded round to look.
The image was taken many years ago but the likeness was unmistakable.
‘Gabriel Ferrante,’ breathed the Super. ‘As I live and breathe …’
‘The DNA swab for Sheriff Robert Granger has come back as a match for the semen recovered from Colette Currie,
’ said Byers. ‘It was also tested against the sample obtained from the dead girl from Morrington Academy all those years ago. It seems that Granger raped and murdered them both.’
‘But how was Gabriel Ferrante, sorry Tony Marino, convicted of murdering the first girl if he was innocent?’ asked DI Moore.
‘I looked back over the trial transcript and witness statements,’ said DC Thomson. ‘He maintained he was her boyfriend at the time. Her father was a powerful figure in the local community. He rubbished that idea. He said Ferrante was a two-bit drug dealer who was obsessed with his daughter and followed her around. He said she was terrified of him and that he was delusional if he thought they were together.’
‘And was he?’ asked DI Moore. ‘A two-bit drug dealer?’
‘Yes, so it would seem. He said he did a bit of dealing to put food on the table for his alcoholic mother,’ said DC Thomson.
‘He claimed he’d met the girl at a party. She and her friends bought some dope off him. They got on and started to see each other. She knew her father wouldn’t approve, so kept it from him and her friends. She seems to have told one friend but that friend never made it on to the witness list.’
‘Changed times,’ said Byers. ‘Hopefully, wouldn’t happen now.’
‘Ferrante claimed that she was terrified of one of her classmates, not him. His name was Robert Granger.’
Byers let out a low whistle.
‘I can guess the rest. The boy’s sent to prison maintaining his innocence so not eligible for parole. He serves every single day of his sentence burning with a desire for revenge. Then he’s released, sheds his identity like an old skin, and turns up on our patch with his old cellmate in tow.’
Clare Yates looked up from her phone.
‘The name “Gabriel” means Avenger,’ she said. ‘I looked it up as I thought it was likely chosen with great care.’
‘If he’s the one who murdered Sheriff Robert Granger then that bastard is going to be responsible for him serving yet another life sentence,’ said DS Byers.
‘Is he even a real lawyer?’ asked DI Moore.
‘Apparently, he hit the books and sat his Bar exams inside,’ said Thomson. ‘No wonder he chose to specialize in criminal law.’
Avenge the Dead Page 26