Farrell had showered, changed, and was winging his way out the station with a spring in his step when he saw the diminutive figure of DC McLeod ahead of him. As he drew abreast of her, the expression of unguarded misery on her face brought him up short.
‘DC McLeod, Mhairi, what’s the matter?’
Startled, McLeod turned an anguished face towards him.
‘Just thinking, Sir; you know how it is.’
‘Come on, in here.’
Farrell sidestepped into an empty office, leaving her no option but to follow him. He sat down behind the desk and motioned for her to sit, which she did with evident reluctance.
‘Right, Mhairi,’ Farrell said, ‘tell me what’s wrong. I’ve been around a bit longer than you and I know that something is bothering you. Don’t make me get the thumbscrews out.’
‘Honestly, Sir, it’s nothing.’ Mhairi’s face flushed.
‘Hey come on, I’m a priest, I love hearing confession,’ Farrell said, trying to lighten the mood.
To Farrell’s horror his comment had the opposite effect. Mhairi’s eyes brimmed with tears.
‘Last night I went to meet someone,’ she burst out. ‘Someone I was really keen on. Turns out … he was married. He didn’t see fit to tell me till after we … we …’
‘It’s okay, Mhairi, I get the picture. Some men can be total pigs. Losers like him aren’t worth all this grief.’
‘It’s just … I know what they all think of me but a married man … I would never have …’
Seeing her there with her face all crumpled Farrell had an insane urge to put his arms around her. He should never have started this. Standing up he patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.
‘All the best lessons in life are learned the hard way. Sometimes we need to be broken down before we can become truly strong.’
Mhairi cracked a smile for the first time.
‘Is this a sermon?’
‘Sorry, I’m a bit rusty. I used to have them all quaking in their seats.’
‘I doubt that,’ said Mhairi. ‘Look, you’re right, I should be glad I’m not the one married to him. Sorry, Sir, it’s just with the murder, the kids, and everything, I’ve been running on empty. You don’t need to worry about me, I’ll be fine.’
‘I know it’s none of my business …’ said Farrell.
‘So old, yet so perceptive,’ muttered Mhairi under her breath.
‘But don’t sell yourself short,’ said Farrell, starting to perspire. ‘That’s all I’m saying … Love tends to turn up when you least expect it.’
‘Love,’ snorted Mhairi, ‘is a four letter word.’
‘Er, right,’ said Farrell. Why in God’s name had he got into this?
‘I’m glad we had this little talk,’ said Mhairi.
‘You are? Excellent!’ said Farrell, exhaling with relief.
‘Don’t you have to be somewhere, Sir?’ asked Mhairi, taking pity on him. ‘You looked like you were in a hurry …’
Farrell glanced at his watch.
‘Go on, Sir. I’m fine. If you keep me any longer, I’ll miss the start of EastEnders.’
‘See you tomorrow then, DC McLeod, bright and early,’ Farrell said with mock severity.
As he drove along the quiet country lanes to meet Clare, Farrell felt increasingly nervous. Since he had left active service in the priesthood he had tended to avoid involvement with the opposite sex. The very few relationships he had tentatively embarked on had been short-lived, as the guilt had gnawed away at him like cancer until he ended it and laid himself bare in the confessional. Even though, if he met someone he wanted to marry he could apply for a papal dispensation, he still couldn’t rid himself of the feeling deep down that he would be betraying his vows. It had been a good number of years since his last relationship. It’s only a drink, he told himself.
The Solway Inn was a few miles out of Dumfries. As he walked towards the lounge entrance light spilled onto the pavement from the mullioned windows. Pulling open the heavy wooden door, he glanced around quickly, worried that she might not be there. His fears were groundless. She was sitting framed by the glowing log fire, perfectly composed.
The time flew by as they chatted about books, films, and music. Nice safe topics. Then she brought up the paper she was writing.
‘So where do you stand on the nature versus nurture debate?’ she asked, looking as though she wanted to take notes but thought that might be a breach of social protocol.
Farrell thought about it.
‘Firmly on the fence, I would say. I’ve come across kids that have been dragged up with mothers on the game, fathers in prison, and the kind of poverty that eats into the soul yet they’ve struggled and strived and somehow come out on top. Equally, I’ve come across kids that have wanted for nothing; their every whim catered to by devoted parents, and they’ve got involved in drugs and spiralled downwards until all that’s left of them is their addiction, like a big black hole sucking in everything around them.’
‘So you don’t think some people are simply born bad?’
‘No. I like to think that we can all exercise choice to a greater or lesser degree but I admit that good choices are harder to make in certain environments.’
There was then a lull in the conversation and Farrell knew it was coming.
‘So, Frank, how have you been?’ she said.
‘If I want to book a consult I’ll contact your office,’ he snapped.
She looked hurt and he hated himself for being so boorish but what did she expect?
‘It’s just that, if we’re to see each other socially, I need to know if there are any issues that could complicate things …’ she said.
‘Sorry,’ he told her. ‘I overreacted.’
‘Are you still taking lithium?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he said, sending a silent apology winging up to the Almighty. ‘After a while I didn’t seem to need it.’ It was only a little lie. After all he’d been off it for the last few days and still felt fine. He’d only ever had that one episode and the circumstances had been extreme, to say the least.
Clare seemed to relax again and turned the conversation away to other things. Farrell decided to sound her out about the murder. Maybe she could shed some light on the kind of mind that would dream up something so horrific. Clare listened attentively. She thought in silence for a few minutes after he had finished then turned towards him again.
‘It sounds to me as though this murder was staged for effect, everything planned down to the tiniest detail, yet there’s ferocity about it that contradicts that. I would hazard a guess that the killer knew Boyd and felt he’d a very real grievance against him,’ she said.
The evening went a little flat after that and Farrell blamed himself for ruining the mood. As they took their leave in the car park, he wondered if he’d blown his chances. But as he reached down to kiss her goodnight on the cheek she turned her head and her lips touched his, sending a jolt of electricity through his body. Gently he pulled away and smiled at her.
‘Call me,’ she said as she slipped into her car and drove away.
Once home, he was asleep within minutes, the rigours of the last few days catching up with him. The phone woke him abruptly and he reached for it still half-asleep. His clock showed the time to be 3 a.m.
A strangely muffled voice said, ‘what’s yours is mine and what’s mine will be yours.’
Farrell sat bolt upright.
‘Who is this?’
The caller rang off. Just some fruit loop had one too many, Farrell thought. Uneasily, he fell asleep once more but his dreams were troubled.