Farrell sat in the back of the panda car with a face like a thundercloud. This was just fine and dandy. The whole station would have him down as some closet sexual predator. The mere idea would have normally raised a wry chuckle, but he was most definitely not amused. For this to have happened to him, of all people. Only those working on the investigation knew that there was someone else running amok wearing his face. An impostor with a black hole where his heart should be. At least the two young officers escorting him to the station had wordlessly uncuffed him before he got into the car.
As they drove through the town centre the car’s headlights picked out the flotsam and jetsam of humanity swirling around the sink hole of their existence. He heartily wished he had gone straight home after dinner. What had he been thinking? It frustrated him that once more he had been wrongly identified as his brother, as if to the outside world they were interchangeable, cut from the same cloth. Even though Michael couldn’t possibly have known he would pitch up in Beau Jangles, he had still managed to land him in a whole heap of trouble.
Farrell kept his head held high at Loreburn Street as he was escorted by the unsmiling officers to the Custody Sergeant, but couldn’t avoid his face burning with humiliation at the curious glances the strange trio evinced.
The Custody Sergeant, Donald Sloan, who with his narrow face and ginger beard resembled a wily fox, intercepted them smoothly.
‘Right, Constables, thanks for your assistance. I’ll take it from here.’
The two youngsters exchanged relieved glances and shot off. The Custody Sergeant gave him a hard look. He looked right back at him.
‘Step this way, Sir,’ Sloan said, briskly showing him into an interview room.
He folded his long body onto the plastic chair and waited.
The door opened and in walked Byers and McLeod. Farrell had an insane urge to wipe the smile off Byers’s face with the back of his hand.
‘Well, well, Sir,’ said Byers. ‘I didn’t think you had it in you.’
Farrell snapped to his feet.
‘I don’t, you moron. I never touched her! She’s only a kid. It must have been him.’
‘Assuming there is a him. You have heard of Jekyll and Hyde?’
Farrell swallowed a retort and sat back down.
‘When is this alleged assault supposed to have taken place?’
‘Saturday, fourteenth June,’ replied Byers. ‘Around midnight.’
Farrell racked his brains, reeling back through the cluttered memories of the last few weeks. Suddenly he had it. He glanced at Mhairi and saw the realization in her eyes too.
‘Sorry,’ he replied. ‘Guess I was home alone.’
‘He was with me,’ Mhairi burst out.
Byers turned towards her. The penny dropped. He glanced from one to the other.
‘Takes “open all hours” to a whole new dimension.’
In one fluid movement Farrell was out of the chair. He slammed Byers against the wall so hard some plaster fell to the floor. Mhairi’s hand flew to her mouth in horror.
‘We were working late. That’s all there was to it.’
Byers, eyes bulging, attempted to nod vigorously.
‘Now, I think you owe the lady an apology,’ Farrell said, releasing his grip.
‘Sorry, DC McLeod. I didn’t mean anything by it. Just kidding around,’ said Byers, eyes bouncing around like ping pong balls as he tried not to look at either of them.
‘Apology accepted,’ said Mhairi.
‘Now, either let me out of here or charge me,’ said Farrell.
‘I guess you can go,’ said Byers, ‘seeing as how your alibi checks out.’
Farrell wordlessly got up and walked straight out the room and then out of the station into the cool fresh air. A raucous crowd of youths staggered by on the opposite pavement, one of them pausing to retch into the roadway. Obscenities rose from their midst like a mushroom cloud. He had to get home, clear his head.
Back at the cottage he poured himself a whisky and wandered out into the small walled garden. It was a clear night and, away from the town, the stars sprawled luxuriantly across the sky displaying their beauty for all to see. As Farrell sat down on the garden seat the scent of blowsy crimson roses and honeysuckle soothed him, chasing away the stench of human nature.
Looking around him Farrell realized that he could not simply enjoy the fruits of the previous tenant’s labour forever. The garden had a faintly neglected air, a creeping malaise. Already he could see tendrils of bindweed edging tentatively around the precious blooms that did not yet realize they were under attack.
An emerald glint caught his eye. A large ginger tom stood motionless, every muscle tensed. His rear end began to wiggle as he prepared to launch himself onto a tiny field mouse that was sniffing the air anxiously, sensing danger but not sure where it was coming from.
Farrell erupted from his seat hissing loudly and the predatory moggy took off, yowling in anger. He looked round but the mouse had already made good his escape. You had to take your victories where you could find them. Feeling slightly comforted he went back inside.