As Farrell entered the room, Lind put the phone down. His grey complexion was only relieved by the darkening hues of the blues around his eye.
‘That’s the search warrant requested for tomorrow morning,’ he said, running his hand reflexively through his thinning hair.
‘I wonder if Moretti’s done a bunk?’ said Farrell. ‘Depending on what we find when executing the warrant, I reckon we need to detain him for questioning as soon as possible. I’d just like a bit more to strengthen our hand than the assertion of one gallery owner. At the moment, all he needs to say is that the paintings were there when he moved in as well. Difficult to disprove.’
‘Agreed,’ said Lind. ‘We also need to know if his purported medical condition is genuine or simply a convenient smokescreen.’
There was a knock at the door and Byers stuck his head round.
Lind waved him in to join them, and he pulled up a chair beside Farrell.
‘Byers, have you managed to pin down Moretti, yet?’
Byers sighed and shook his head.
‘Man’s a bloody ghost. Officially he doesn’t exist. No social security number or trace of him anywhere in official records. Something well off, there. Be a bugger to trace if he’s done a runner.’
‘You can say that again,’ said Farrell. ‘If he’s been faking his medical condition, all he has to do is remove the scarves and walk away. Mhairi and I visited him and didn’t even get close enough to know what he looks like under all those layers.’
‘Could be sitting in the staff canteen and we’d be none the wiser,’ muttered Lind.
‘Did you contact the organizers of the Lomax Prize?’ asked Farrell. ‘I assume he had to give them some kind of brief bio to go along with the submission?’
‘Yes, but it drew a complete blank. The judging was blind. Bios were only to be produced after the shortlist was announced, to prevent bias. In any event, he’s withdrawn his work from the competition.’
‘Despite being shortlisted?’ said Lind.
‘I know, right?’ said Byers, scratching his head. ‘Who does that?’
‘Someone with something to hide,’ said Farrell. ‘The question is what? Do we have an image of the original piece?’
‘No, due to the fact it was withdrawn, the trustees say that they had to delete all digital images on the instructions of the artist.’
‘Is the entry still with the organizers?’ asked Farrell.
‘No, it was couriered back to Moretti two days ago,’ said Byers. ‘Apparently it was brilliant, but disturbing.’
‘It’s a long shot,’ said Farrell, ‘but it might be worth having a local copper go round and speak to all staff involved, see if any of them snapped an image on their phones when no one was looking. Guarantee anonymity.’
‘Sounds like you’re liking this guy for the murder of the girl,’ said Byers.
‘Her name’s Ailish Kerrigan,’ snapped Lind, causing Byers to sit up in surprise.
‘Too early to say,’ said Farrell sending Byers a warning look. ‘He’s certainly a person of interest, if his links to the paintings in Janet Campbell’s studio flat can be proven.’
‘It would be premature to say anything to Maureen Kerrigan for now,’ said Lind.
‘Does she have long dark hair?’ asked Farrell.
‘Yes, why do you ask?’ said Lind.
‘I saw a dark-haired young woman with Mike Halliday today in Kirkcudbright,’ said Farrell.
‘Dark hair isn’t exactly uncommon in these parts,’ said Lind.
‘Even so,’ said Farrell. ‘Whether that was her or not, I hope she’s not poking around, asking questions. Especially now that it’s at least a possibility that we’re dealing with an out-and-out psychopath.’
‘True, I’ll give her a ring. Try and get her to at least relocate to Dumfries for the time being,’ said Lind.
‘Have you spoken to Clare Yates yet, in relation to gaining some insight into the mind of the killer?’ asked Farrell, trying to keep his expression as neutral as possible.
Lind glanced at his watch and looked horrified.
‘About that …’
His words were interrupted by a knock at the door.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ muttered Farrell.
‘I asked her to swing by to give her thoughts on the paintings we recovered today,’ Lind said, looking awkward.
Byers made heroic efforts to control a smirk trying to escape as he stood up with the other men.
Lind strode to the door and opened it wide. There on the other side was his former girlfriend, even more gorgeous than the last time he had seen her. Her smile slipped as she took in Lind’s ruined face and then Farrell standing awkwardly behind him. Lind took control.
‘Clare, thanks so much for coming in. I thought we might be more comfortable in the conference suite. I’ll arrange for the paintings and coffee to be sent up there.’
‘Excellent,’ she said, sending a strained smile of acknowledgement in Farrell’s direction. She walked off with Lind, who was managing to dredge up a superhuman amount of small talk as they went.
‘Awkward, much?’ said Byers, in his usual tactless manner.
Farrell sent him a glare, which should, by rights, have turned him into a pillar of salt, and marched off in the opposite direction.
He knew Lind had done the right thing in calling Clare in. He had thought he wouldn’t be affected by seeing her again. He was wrong. It had devastated him when she called time on their relationship last year. He’d been considering leaving the priesthood and seeking a papal dispensation to be released from his vows. However, she hadn’t wanted to take on his considerable baggage and, in all honesty, he couldn’t blame her. As he walked along, all he could feel was the imprint of her body in his arms like a phantom limb. The faint vapour trail of her perfume left hanging in the corridor taunted him. He had to get out of here. Fast.