Dead Man's Prayer

by Jackie Baldwin

  ‘What have you got for me, Janet?’ he asked a grey-haired woman in her fifties who was peering over some fibres with a magnifying glass.

  ‘Not a lot. No prints whatsoever. Bastard must have wiped the door handles when she wasn’t looking. He was smart enough to refuse her offer of coffee as well.’

  ‘That’s it? There’s nothing else?’

  Janet glowered at him.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ she snapped.

  ‘What then?’

  ‘It was raining last night. We managed to lift a print from the path to the front door, where the gravel had worn away. But the most interesting thing is the soil residue both outside and in the front porch where he must have wiped his feet. It had an unusual composition, which I fed into the national database. Interesting that he was so meticulous with everything else but not with his feet,’ she pondered.

  ‘This guy does nothing by chance,’ said Farrell. ‘I’m guessing either this is a false trail or he wants to be found.’

  ‘The clay came from a quarry out at Locharbriggs,’ she said. ‘It’s the only match locally I’ve been able to find.’

  ‘Thanks, Janet, you’re the business,’ said Farrell over his shoulder as he sped away up to the MCA room.

  Up on the wall were large-scale Ordnance Survey maps with pins showing the locations of all empty buildings with religious significance. Farrell briefly updated them on the lead on a possible locality and he and DS Stirling stared at the relevant sections with deep concentration. Farrell saw it first.

  ‘There! A disused church beyond the quarry. Get on to the Council. I need the specs of that building. Hurry!’

  DS Stirling got on the phone right away while Farrell quickly touched base with the rest of the investigators. The phone rang. Farrell snatched it up.

  ‘DI Farrell speaking,’ he snapped.

  ‘Now, now, Frank, what’s got you sounding so tetchy?’ said a voice that sent shivers up his spine.

  Farrell froze and signalled frantically to Stirling to start a trace. A deathly hush fell on the room as all eyes turned his way.

  ‘Who’s speaking?’ Farrell asked.

  A mirthless laugh grated in his ear.

  ‘Oh, I think you know,’ the voice said.

  Farrell betrayed no sign of the rage engulfing him as he spoke calmly into the mouthpiece.

  ‘How are those little boys? Are they well?’

  ‘You mean are they both alive? Well they are at the minute. How long they stay that way depends on you.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Farrell.

  ‘Any preference by the way?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Any preference for which one lives and which one dies?’

  Farrell was close to losing it by this time. He glanced over at Stirling, whose fingers were dancing over the keyboard.

  ‘My preference is that neither dies, that everyone walks away from this, including you. Help me make that happen,’ urged Farrell.

  ‘And wipe the slate clean?’ asked the voice, with a hard edge. ‘I think you’re full of shit, Frank. That’s what I think.’

  ‘What about a straight exchange: me for the boys? How about it?’ asked Farrell.

  ‘It’s tempting, Frank. Let me get back to you on that one. Got to go, got little mouths to feed.’

  ‘Wait!’ yelled Farrell.

  Too late. The connection was terminated. Farrell rounded on Stirling.

  ‘Did you get a location?’

  ‘Sorry, he broke the connection with a couple of seconds to spare. Bastard knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘We’ve still got a possible location from the clay residue,’ said Farrell, desperate to be doing something.

  He glanced at his watch. It was still only ten thirty. He was damned if he was going to waste a single second.

  ‘Listen up,’ he commanded. ‘Unless I get information to dictate otherwise, we’re going to launch a covert surveillance operation on the church out by Locharbriggs quarry. I want the area completely surrounded from all sides but the emphasis is on covert. I don’t want him to know we’re there. Complete radio silence must be maintained once everyone is locked in position. I also want roadblocks set up at all possible entrances and exits but again these must be far enough back as to be completely invisible from the church. Leave for all available personnel is cancelled until further notice. We’ll need uniforms as well. Bring out their best and brightest. Notify Firearms; they need a team on standby at the location ready to respond when I give the signal. We’ll need an ambulance and a doctor specializing in emergency medicine standing by, just in case. I want DI Moore replaced with a uniform and a meeting in the conference room at eleven thirty with her and the super, to sign off on the operation and offer their input.

  ‘DCI Lind, Sir?’ asked Mhairi, who had furiously been taking notes.

  ‘I reckon he’s going to have to sit this one out,’ said Farrell. ‘His place is with his family. Assuming we get the go-ahead from the super I want all involved officers to attend a briefing in the conference room at noon. Remember one thing: failure is not an option.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Farrell paced up and down the front of the briefing room waiting for the last few stragglers to squash into their seats. The room was packed to the gunnels and the heat generated by so many closely packed bodies was becoming oppressive. The officers chatted quietly in subdued tones. DCI Lind was a popular officer and everyone was devastated by this latest development in what was already a fraught case. Farrell glanced at his watch and was about to start the briefing when the double doors swung back. Detective Superintendent Walker marched in, closely followed by DI Moore, who looked positively agitated in contrast to her normal calm demeanour. However, as they drew closer, he noticed a third person bringing up the rear. Clare looked like she wanted to be anywhere in the world other than this room. Her face was bleached of colour, and the look she shot him was faintly hostile.

  ‘I’ve been briefing Dr Yates on our situation,’ boomed Walker.

  ‘She feels she may be able to give us some insights on the kind of person we’re dealing with.’

  Farrell saw Byers snigger but was gratified to see Mhairi poking him hard in the ribs with her elbow.

  Clare cleared her throat nervously. Walker gave her a glass of water. She shot a nervous glance in Farrell’s direction and began.

  ‘Everything I’ve learned about this case leads me to believe that we are dealing with someone who is highly intelligent but who might also be suffering from a severe mental health disorder. He may be delusional and feel he is following some higher calling with a strong compulsion to complete his fantasy. His motive may have been revenge insofar as Father Boyd was concerned, but that doesn’t hold good for the little boys. He seems to have fed them, taken care of them, even to the extent of reading them bedtime stories. It would appear that he randomly selects the twin who is to go home by having the children select a card from a pack. The child with the highest card gets left behind and the one with the lowest card is taken somewhere else. We still don’t know what he did with the missing boy, Mark. He could be dead or he could have him captive somewhere. He is clearly fixated on DI Farrell and that might give you an advantage you can use down the line. In short, you are dealing with an extremely capable, highly organized individual with a high probability of mental illness. This may make it less likely that you can resolve the situation by negotiation. His priority will be to complete his fantasy and he may well be careless of his own personal safety as a result. All of these factors make the situation highly volatile and dangerous. If you get the opportunity to engage with this man I would suggest you tread very carefully and attempt persuasion rather than confrontation. At present he is still functioning but if pushed too hard his fantasy world could crumble, causing him to either decompensate and become catatonic, or else become consumed with paranoia. At that stage he will be beyond the power of reason. A third less likely option is that he could come crash
ing back to reality again, shocked out of his altered state.’

  ‘You mean regain his sanity?’ queried Farrell.

  ‘Yes. It’s not always a one-way trip, DI Farrell,’ she said, her eyes locked on his.

  Farrell got to his feet and moved towards her. She looked at him with a guarded expression. Farrell wondered if their budding relationship would survive all these harsh intrusions.

  ‘Thank you, Dr Yates,’ he said. ‘Feel free to remain for the rest of the briefing, if you wish.’

  ‘Thank you, DI Farrell,’ she replied. ‘I regret I have an engagement elsewhere.’

  He watched her exit the room, feeling a sensation of loss. Giving himself a mental shake he stepped up to address the room.

  ‘Right, we’re planning to move on the location near the quarry at 2 p.m. There will be an armed response unit backing us up, waiting on our orders at the perimeter. They’ve also drafted in a trained negotiator from Glasgow, who may attempt to engage the perpetrator in a dialogue. Our priority must be the safety of those little boys. I want no gung ho tactics. Is that absolutely clear?’

  He intercepted a look from Mhairi that said that’s rich coming from you and gave her a high-wattage glare, which sent her gaze veering off to the right.

  ‘There are plans up on the wall that give the layout of the church. There are three entrances: one to the front, one to the rear, and one to the side. I want you all to familiarize yourselves with these. An ambulance will be standing by beyond the perimeter, just in case. Those of you who are attending the scene get yourselves to Cornwall Mount. They have instructions there to issue you with body armour and Tasers. We’ll be split into three teams of six. I’ll lead one team, DI Moore will lead the other, and the super will lead the third.’

  At this a murmur of surprise rippled round the room.

  ‘The lists are on the doors. I don’t need to remind you of how high the stakes are here,’ Farrell said.

  ‘Be vigilant and good luck.’

  As he strode out the briefing room and along the corridor, he heard Mhairi calling him. He kept walking, pretending he hadn’t heard her, but undeterred she broke into a run and soon caught up with him.

  ‘Sir, can we get together and discuss the operation?’

  ‘Not now, DC McLeod. There’s something I have to do first,’ he answered.

  Driving out the car park he headed through the town until he reached St Aidan’s, where all this mess had begun. The car park was deserted. He went into the church. There he kneeled, bowed his head, and prayed as though his very soul depended on it.

  Suddenly, behind closed eyes he sensed a change within and without. Startled, his eyes flew open and he beheld the figure on the cross bathed in the light from the midday sun streaming in through the stained glass window. As he gazed upon the embodiment of the son of God he could have sworn that he saw a smile flicker on the countenance of that suffering visage. A trick of the light or a sign of encouragement? Feeling comforted, Farrell made the sign of the cross and left as quietly as he had come.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Two hours later, Farrell was in position, flanked by Mhairi and Byers, lying flat on the underside of a small hillock and peering over the top with a rain-spattered pair of binoculars. The cold and wet had seeped into his bones but the adrenalin surging through his body kept him alert and on edge.

  ‘Copy that,’ said Mhairi quietly into her radio. ‘All units in position, Sir,’ she whispered.

  ‘If I’d known this was the way today was going to pan out I’d never have worn these shoes,’ grumbled Byers. ‘Handmade Italian jobs they are.’

  Farrell threw him a look that would stop a tank in its tracks and put a finger to his lips. Byers nodded nervously.

  There were no signs of life. The old church looked stoically forlorn and closed-in on itself. Farrell hoped their intelligence was right and that this really was the place. The twins were surely living on borrowed time as it was.

  Suddenly his mobile phone vibrated in his pocket. Mhairi looked at him disapprovingly as he fished it out. Then, as he moved to answer it, comprehension flared in her eyes. He held up a hand to silence her.

  ‘I knew you would come,’ said the voice on the phone.

  Farrell felt a shiver run up and down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

  ‘What can I say?’ Farrell replied. ‘I’m a sucker for family reunions. Talking of which, why don’t you let those little boys go? Then you and I can get together, catch up all you want? What do you say, Michael?’

  As he was talking Farrell began snaking forward on his belly through the long grass, motioning to his team to do likewise. Mhairi quietly brought the rest of them up to speed on her radio.

  ‘Not going to happen, Frank. I have to finish what I started,’ said the flat voice into his ear.

  Farrell broke out in a sweat both from exertion and fear. Dammit, they were so close. If he could only keep him talking for a few minutes longer.

  ‘Don’t you want to meet me, meet our mother?’ he asked, trying to keep the desperation from sounding in his voice.

  ‘And do what exactly? Play happy families?’

  ‘It doesn’t have to be like that,’ said Farrell. ‘We can get you help, start over.’

  ‘Goodbye, Frank,’ said the voice.

  Farrell charged at the front door yelling the activation code into his radio. He put his shoulder to the door and eventually it yielded. He could hear the sound of splintering wood at the other entrances as all three teams converged at once. Inside, the pervasive smell of incense crawled up his nose. He used to love that smell. Not any more. His eyes struggled to adjust to the gloom inside. He switched on his halogen torch and saw answering beams flare up all around. The super’s voice sounded like a foghorn, issuing orders to the various teams. They searched the interior, terrified of what they might find lurking in the shadows. DI Moore found one small boy curled up in a ball inside the pulpit, sucking his thumb, and gently pulled him into her arms.

  ‘You’re safe now, little one,’ she murmured, holding him close.

  Farrell was able to confirm it was one of Lind’s kids though he couldn’t tell which one. The little boy wasn’t for talking. That still left two boys missing.

  ‘Ask him if he knows where his twin is, Kate,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to scare the wee chap.’

  DI Moore spoke softly to the little boy but he shook his head and buried his face against her neck.

  They carried on searching, more methodically now. Inching forward slowly until they had covered the surface area of the church one more time.

  ‘Bastard couldn’t have got by us,’ exploded the super. ‘It’s just not bloody possible. We had all the exits covered and there’s nowt but grass to hide behind.’

  ‘Quiet!’ yelled Mhairi.

  The super turned and stared at her as though she had taken leave of her senses. He was just drawing breath to give her a good rollicking when they all heard it: the keening sound of a young child crying.

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ the super said. ‘We’ve searched every nook and cranny of this place. Where’s that noise coming from?’

  ‘There must be an escape tunnel,’ said Farrell. ‘It wasn’t on the plans but some old churches had hidden tunnels underground to allow the priests to escape their enemies. Look for a trapdoor concealed in the floor,’ he urged.

  They split into groups and combed every square inch of the dusty floors. Eventually, DS Stirling let out a shout.

  ‘Over here.’

  Farrell rushed over just in time to see him lifting up a trapdoor. A warm blast of fetid air struck him in the face as he shone his torch down into what could have passed for the mouth of Hell itself. The cries were louder now and without further ado Farrell swung himself over the edge and made his way down the rickety ladder. Landing with a thud on an earthen floor, he cautiously made his way along the narrow passageway, stooping to avoid banging his head. As he rounded a corner his heart leapt in
to his mouth as he saw two little bodies curled up, motionless, on the floor. As he approached, one of them came to life and started screaming, trying to shrink back into the wall away from him. The other remained motionless. An opened pack of playing cards lay beside them. Feeling sick to his stomach he felt for a pulse on the prone child and unashamedly wiped the tears from his face when he found a weak one.

  ‘Thank God,’ he murmured.

  Mhairi arrived at his side looking anxious as she glanced down at the unconscious boy.

  ‘The paramedics are waiting at the top of the hatch, Sir. If you can lift Mark, I’ll help DI Lind’s boy up the ladder. His twin will soon perk up when he sees he’s OK.’

  Farrell gently cradled Mark in his arms. His head lolled back and he was clammy; his breathing so shallow his chest barely moved. He’s going to make it, said Farrell to himself, unable to countenance any alternative.

  At the top of the hatch he wordlessly handed him over to the paramedics, who immediately hooked him up to oxygen and put him on a saline drip.

  ‘Probably severely dehydrated,’ ventured one of them.

  They all watched the ambulance draw away in silence. Both twins were now cuddled into DI Moore and looking a lot brighter.

  ‘Has someone told John they’re OK?’ he asked.

  ‘Just off the blower,’ said the super.

  ‘DI Farrell, I think you should do the honours,’ he said.

  ‘DC McLeod, you’d better get over to Mark’s family and take them to the hospital to be with their son.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  Farrell walked up the driveway and rang the bell, two little hands now folded trustingly in his big ones. He’d thought they might not want to go with him but, of course, they understood the concept of twins. The door flew open and Laura scooped both boys up into her arms, then the three of them were wrapped up in Lind’s loving embrace like nesting dolls. Stuck awkwardly on the doorstep, Farrell felt a shard of loneliness pierce his soul. Would he ever have a family of his own? If his mother hadn’t bowed to pressure all those years ago maybe he could have grown up with a brother who might have been whole instead of damaged beyond repair.