Farrell and Lind were breakfasting at the cottage in Kelton. They stared at each other morosely over their cereal and coffee. Lind had spent another night sleeping on Farrell’s couch. He had been sitting in the garden waiting for him when he returned from Mhairi’s flat. Laura had lost her rag in marriage guidance and stormed off. Lind had gone after her and they’d had a massive row. She’d asked him to move out and was threatening to change the locks. He had never seen Lind looking so down. It was like he had no fight left in him, and he was going to need plenty if he was going to turn this around, thought Farrell.
No wonder there was such a high rate of attrition with marriages in the force. That said, he still thought Laura was behaving irrationally. It’s not as if Lind was running around on her. All he was guilty of was trying to do his job and make the world a safer place for their kids to grow up in.
‘Right,’ said Lind. ‘Let’s get this show on the road. Kirkcudbright here we come.’
Farrell’s mobile rang as he stood up.
‘Hey, Kate, we’re just heading out now … are you sure?… How did you?… OK … park yourself at the local nick until we get there …’
‘Tell me,’ said Lind, who had been fidgeting with impatience throughout.
‘Basically, Kate has discovered that Lionel Forbes is implicated in the murders of Monro Stevenson and Poppy Black. He’s almost definitely our missing link in the forging case.’
‘But how did she …?’
‘She was staying the night at his place and couldn’t sleep.’ He felt a lurch of anger at the thought of Kate with that creep. ‘She went for a poke around and discovered a sheet of cream paper in a drawer that matched the suicide note, some red wax and the seal stamp used for the forged paintings. There was also a packet of bulbs with one missing, most likely the one we found in Poppy Black’s flat. She took digital images of it all, but she didn’t dare remove it and bag it up to avoid compromising the op today.’
‘You mean she and him?’
Farrell nodded.
‘Is she all right? Did he twig she was on to him?’
‘Yes, she’s fine. She thinks she pulled it off.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Lind. He thought for a moment, once more the capable officer and man that Farrell knew him to be. Thank God his focus was back, thought Farrell. They would all need to pull together as a team today.
‘Right, Frank, you head off to the station and brief Byers on these latest developments. I see no reason to mention that Kate was staying the night, for the time being. She was simply at his for dinner to discuss something pertaining to the case, when she inadvertently noticed the paper poking out the drawer, which aroused her suspicions and further investigations. Got it?’
‘Loud and clear,’ replied Farrell.
Lind’s phone rang. Laura’s name flashed on the screen.
‘Aren’t you going to get that?’ asked Farrell.
‘It will have to wait. In the meantime, I’ll head off down to Kirkcudbright and liaise with DI Moore. I want to make sure DC Thomson has all he needs to wrap up this operation today. I have a feeling we won’t get another bite at this particular cherry.’
Farrell locked up. The cold damp fog made the early morning darkness even more impenetrable. Hopefully, it would lift later. Lind’s engine was already running, his window down.
‘See you later,’ said Farrell, as he walked by and slid into the Citroen.
He followed Lind to St Michael’s Bridge then waved him off to the left as he continued straight on. His stomach churned, and he had a feeling of foreboding he couldn’t shake off. He wished he was heading straight to Kirkcudbright like Lind. If they got really lucky they might wrap up both the murder of Monro Stevenson and the forgery ring today.
Once he entered the station he swiped through the door and took the stairs up to the MCA room two at a time. DS Byers looked like he had been in there most of the night and clearly hadn’t even had time to shave.
‘Thank Christ one of you is here,’ he exploded, when Farrell walked into the room. ‘There’s a limit to what I can get done on my own.’
‘Sorry, Mike. I know you’ve been run off your feet in here. With the investigations overlapping like they have, you’ve been doing the work of three men, and I reckon you’re the only one among us that could have kept all the plates spinning.’
Byers looked mollified.
‘DI Moore and DC McLeod were working their socks off last night,’ said Farrell. ‘Have you got the stuff they sent you yet?’
‘Regular Cagney and bloody Lacey, that pair,’ grumbled Byers.
‘I need you to get a search warrant for Lionel Forbes’s place, but we won’t execute it until we see how the chips fall today. I don’t want to alert any of them prematurely that we’re closing in.’
‘That background you requested on Nancy Quinn? Turns out she was adopted. She’s estranged from her adoptive parents. Broke off all contact with them when she went to Glasgow School of Art. Her adoptive parents have no clue as to the identity of her natural parents but said she had become obsessed with tracing them before she left. Social services have confirmed that her birth parents are Hugo Mortimer and Penelope Spence.’
‘Did you see the picture Mhairi found in Hugo Mortimer’s studio?’
Byers grimaced.
‘Do you think he knows? I mean he’s a bit of a lech, but to paint his own daughter like that? Turns my stomach, it does.’
‘He might,’ said Farrell. ‘Equally he might not. It could all be part of some twisted revenge plan she has for him. Time will tell.’
‘This bloody lot should have their own reality TV show.’
‘Can you bring the Super up to speed?’ asked Farrell. ‘I’m about to head off to join the others in Kirkcudbright.’
Byers looked distinctly unhappy at the prospect, but he nodded reluctantly.
‘What do you want me to do about the whole Penelope Spence/Paul Moretti issue?’ he asked.
Farrell thought for a moment.
‘Nothing right now. I’m as sure as I can be she’s not implicated in any of the four crimes that we’re investigating. As far as I can figure, the whole disguise was simply a ruse to hide from Hugo the fact that she was getting her hands dirty as a successful commercial artist.’
‘And yet, it would be her money keeping the whole sordid set up afloat,’ said Byers shaking his head in disgust.
‘Depending on how today shakes down, I’m going to get her in, tell her we’ve figured out her little game and see what she knows about the origin of those paintings in Janet Campbell’s rented studio. If she didn’t paint them, then she might have an inkling of who did,’ said Farrell.