They walked down the stairs to the interview rooms.
‘How do you want to play this, Kate?’
‘I reckon you make a much better bad cop, than me,’ she said.
‘Thank you … I think. We should lay out Shaun’s choices. Either, go back in himself wearing a wire and have his communications monitored, or he can give us sufficient information to send someone else in undercover. The lad would have to stay in a safe house for the duration though. We can’t have him running amok, blabbing to his meathead friends and family.’
‘Agreed. There would have to be a total ban on contacting his family for now. If they interfered with the investigation in any way, it could put DC Thomson in severe jeopardy.’
‘We’ll need a cover story that will appease them, and it can’t be that he’s helping us, or he’ll be banished six feet under,’ said Farrell. ‘I know how these types of family operate.’
They reached the interview room on the ground floor. As they swung open the door, the smell of pine disinfectant fought for supremacy against that of sweat and stale body odour and lost. Farrell sat at the table and glowered at the pimply faced young man opposite him. Shaun Finch tried faint-heartedly to glare back at him, but soon dropped his gaze.
DI Moore switched on the tape recorder and video.
‘Resuming interview at 15.33. Please identify yourselves for the tape.’
‘DI Frank Farrell.’
‘DI Kate Moore.’
‘Shaun Finch,’ the lad mumbled, his sulky mouth turned down in a frown.
‘Can you confirm again for the tape, Shaun, that you’ve been advised of your right to a solicitor and choose to proceed without one,’ said DI Moore.
‘Aye, let’s get this over with,’ he muttered, squirming in his seat. A restless ball of energy with no place to go.
Farrell leaned forward and stared at the youth, who flinched away from his gaze.
‘Have you any idea how much bother you’re in here, Shaun?’
‘I was only the driver, that’s all you can pin on me,’ he said, slouching further down in his seat.
‘That’s as may be,’ said Farrell. ‘But what I think you’ve not quite grasped is that you are art and part liable in the whole criminal enterprise, not just for your wee bit in it.’
‘What’s he talking aboot?’ Shaun asked DI Moore.
‘You’ve been engaged in a joint criminal enterprise, so you’re liable for the forgeries, their delivery and resultant fraud. In other words, you’ll be up the road to Barlinnie and they’ll throw away the key. Make the rest of your family look like regular pillars of society,’ said Farrell.
‘No way!’ he spluttered, flecks of saliva spraying out through misshapen teeth.
‘How else did you think this was going to end?’ asked Farrell.
‘I thought I was going to cut a deal, like,’ he said.
‘Trouble is, Shaun, you don’t have much to bargain with, do you?’ said Farrell, his tone slightly more conciliatory. He glanced at DI Moore, and she took his cue, leaning forward as Farrell settled back in his seat, looking like he needed to be convinced.
‘Come on, Shaun,’ she said. ‘Do yourself a favour, lad. Nobody wants to see someone as young as you wasting their youth locked up in that nuthouse. There must be something else you can tell us.’
Shaun’s low brow frowned in concentration. Farrell felt like he could almost hear the cogs turning slowly. He wasn’t going to get there on his own.
‘Surely, even if you haven’t seen any of the players, you must have some idea of who could be involved locally or what else is being planned?’ he said.
‘Would it make a difference, like? I don’t know anything for definite.’
‘When you said before, in the earlier interview, that the forger is in Kirkcudbright, how did you know that?’ asked DI Moore.
‘Well, it made sense given the pick-up site.’
‘Which was?’
‘Behind one of the graves in St Cuthbert’s Kirkyard. Only somebody local to Kirkcudbright would think to put it there. Stands to reason,’ he said, growing bolder now.
Farrell weighed up his options. The last thing he wanted to do was lead the witness and have the tape ruled inadmissible at a later date in court.
‘What pub do you drink in?’ he asked, changing tack.
‘The Smuggler’s Inn,’ Shaun said.
Farrell was aware of it though had never been in. It was the local watering hole in Kirkcudbright for anyone remotely shifty, where they could shoot the breeze with kindred spirits.
‘Have you heard any rumours in general about dodgy artists?’ he asked.
Shaun scratched his head. It was torturous to watch.
‘There was meant to be a big heist going down. The theft of a priceless painting from one of them posh houses. Proper gentry like.’
‘Which one?’
‘Kincaid House. The kitchen maid from there was in The Smuggler’s wi’ her man a few weeks back. He gave her the evils and dragged her away. Never heard nothing else. Never seen them since.’
‘Do you know her name?’ asked Farrell.
‘Poppy something.’
‘What about him?’
‘Not a local boy. Sounded like he was from Glasgow.’
‘What about the artists that live in Ivy House, on the edge of Kirkcudbright?’ asked Farrell.
‘Right bunch of mingers that lot.’
‘Aside from their lifestyle, have you any reason to believe that any of them is involved in the forgery ring?’
Shaun scratched his head and thought. The clock ticked on. Farrell ground his teeth together but bided his time. They needed his cooperation.
‘What’s in it for me?’ he eventually asked, his shaking voice belying the bravado of his words.
‘A free pass out of jail, if the fiscal’s willing to come on board,’ said DI Moore. ‘You would have to be placed in protective custody until the conclusion of the operation.’
‘What? Like in the films?’ he asked, looking not displeased by the idea.
‘Exactly like in the films,’ said Farrell.
‘But for that to happen, for that free pass to be issued, we’re going to need you to cough up every bit of information you know,’ said DI Moore.
‘If you can’t or won’t give us what we need, then there’s no deal,’ said Farrell, looking as severe as he knew how. ‘You’ll be staring at serious jail time. Tick Tock!’ he said, gathering his papers together as though about to leave. DI Moore did likewise, started to stand.
‘Aw right, keep yer hair on,’ Shaun scowled. ‘I’ll tell you everything.’
Farrell and Moore sat down again.
‘The Collective?’ said DI Moore.
‘I know at least one of them is involved.’
‘How do you know?’ asked DI Moore.
‘Well, I wanted a bit of insurance like, so I went to the pick-up site early and hid.’
‘The pick-up site? Is it always the same?’ asked Farrell.
‘St Cuthbert’s Kirkyard, up past Ivy House and turn up to the left. You go through the gate, turn left following the wall and it’s the grave tucked right in the corner.’
‘Who dropped off the parcel?’ asked DI Moore.
‘I couldn’t make them out. It was nearly dark, and they were all muffled up.’
‘Male or female?’
Shaun shrugged.
‘Couldn’t say.’
‘How do you know it’s someone from The Collective, then?’ asked Farrell.
‘Cos I followed them, didn’t I?’ He sat back with a smirk. ‘I figured I would leave the package where it was for the time being and tail them for a while at a safe distance, but whoever it was turned in to that posh house they live in. That’s how I knew.’
‘Have you any information that anyone else in Kirkcudbright is involved, apart from that one person?’ asked DI Moore.
‘Their top man is meant to live in Kirkcudbright. He’s the one behind the forgery ring.’
‘Says, who?’ asked Farrell.
‘Says Billy Ryan, the barman at The Smuggler’s. Said he overheard some out-of-town boys talking. Proper hard nuts they were. By the accents, he pegged them as being from Glasgow.’
‘When was this?’ asked DI Moore.
‘Not a clue. You’d have to ask him yourselves. Don’t mention my name either. Billy Ryan’s not someone I want to mess with. He’d stab you soon as look at you, that one.’
‘So tell us, Shaun,’ said Farrell, ‘how did you come to be mixed up in all of this?’
‘Someone contacted me by text. Said they’d heard I could drive a tractor and might be willing to put a wee bit of delivery money my way.’
‘Who owned the tractor you were driving?’
‘The farmer I was working for at the time. They said to text back if I was interested in taking it any further. Then, they were going to arrange a dummy run and, if it went well, there’d be a couple of hundred quid in it for me.’
‘Did you know you were delivering forged paintings?’ asked Farrell.
‘Not at the beginning, though they did tell me it wasn’t drugs when I asked. That’s the one thing I didn’t want to be mixed up in.’
‘And later?’
‘Well, it wasn’t rocket science. They were wrapped in oilskin and packed in cylinders. Light, not heavy. I thought at first they might be stolen, but when there was no fuss in the papers, I figured they were forgeries.’
‘How many deliveries did you make?’ asked DI Moore.
‘Nine, until I was caught. It was on the first Monday of every month. I was on my way to Stranraer for the last one, when some numpty cut in front of me and caused the accident. I had no choice but to leg it.’
‘Did you contact them to say what had happened?’
Shaun nodded.
‘They gave me a burner. I texted them when I got away.’
‘You’re sure that you didn’t let on that you’d left the painting behind?’
‘No, I didn’t dare. I was playing for time till I could scratch some money together to do a runner to Ireland. They said to lie low until the heat dies down then they’d put another burner at the drop site when I got back to it.’
‘Have you still got the original phone?’
‘No, I dumped it. I didn’t manage to get back to pick up the new one.’
‘So, to the best of your knowledge no one you’ve been dealing with knows what you look like?’
‘No,’ said Shaun.
‘Interview suspended,’ said DI Moore as they both got to their feet.
‘We’ll get you something to eat, Shaun.’
They left the room and moved along the corridor.
‘I’ll take a run out to Kincaid House tomorrow and bring in that kitchen maid,’ said Farrell. ‘If she’s been shooting her mouth off, she could be in grave danger.’