‘But?’
‘Something about it seems off. By all accounts he had everything to live for.’
‘Maybe so, but that’s no defence against mental illness. He could have been depressed and nobody realized.’
‘Possibly. There was also a car passed down the lane a short while before the likely time of death. It stopped too long to have been turning. He may have had a visitor.’
‘Maybe they told him something that pushed him over the edge?’
‘Or maybe he was murdered and the whole thing was staged?’
‘The Super’s going to love that theory,’ said Lind with a grin.
‘He’ll go nuclear,’ said Farrell.
‘You got that right.’ DSup Walker wasn’t renowned for his calm temperament. ‘So, what does your gut tell you?’
‘I think we should consider it a suspicious death meantime.’
‘Agreed. Get the Major Crime Administration room set up and fix an initial briefing for noon. I’m appointing you as Senior Investigating Officer on this one. Assemble your team and let’s get cracking.’
‘Right you are,’ said Farrell, rising to his feet. He remembered that unguarded look when he had walked in. ‘How’s Laura?’
‘She’s doing well, joined a support group.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ said Farrell. Laura and Lind were his oldest friends; their marriage had taken a hammering last year when she had lost a baby at five months.
‘I’ll hear what you’ve got so far in a few hours,’ said Lind.
Farrell took the hint and left him to it. His next port of call was Detective Sergeant Mike Byers, who was working at his desk in the pokey room he shared with DS Stirling. Personally, he couldn’t stand the man. He was casually misogynistic with a gym-sculpted body that spoke to his vanity. However, he had done a solid job of running the MCA room during the Boyd murder case a few months earlier.
‘Byers, I need you to open the MCA room and post a briefing there for noon. The death in Kirkcudbright is being treated as suspicious for the time being.’
‘I thought he topped himself, sir?’
‘We’ve reason to keep an open mind,’ said Farrell.
His stomach growled just as his phone beeped. Time to refuel and take his medication. He headed down to the canteen where he managed to find a limp cheese and pickle sandwich and the muddy dark sludge that passed for coffee. He retreated back to his office and closed the door before sliding out his pill box. Ever since he had come within a whisper of having another breakdown he had been meticulous about taking his maintenance dose of lithium. During their last major case the spectre of insanity had felt his shoulder once more and he had no desire to be reacquainted with that part of his life.
A photocopy of the suicide note was on his desk.
Please forgive me. I have tried to fight this darkness. When I found out about the Lomax Prize I thought it was a lifeline to cling to. I see now that it changes nothing I cannot go on.
Your loving son,
Monro
The note was typed and signed in blue ink. The signature was ragged and uneven, which could suggest heightened emotion, Farrell thought.
There was a knock and Mhairi popped her head round the door. He pushed the note across to her, and she sat down to read it in silence.
‘How do you feel about being the Family Liaison Officer on this one?’
To his surprise, she was silent, looking torn.
‘Spit it out, Mhairi.’
‘I would, sir, if it wasn’t for what happened to my brother.’
Farrell recalled seeing a picture of a smiling young man in uniform at Mhairi’s flat a few months earlier.
‘The soldier?’
‘Yes. He wasn’t killed in Afghanistan.’
‘Oh?’ The penny dropped.
‘He died … later.’
Her face flamed red, and she looked on the verge of tears.
‘Suicide?’
‘Yes. PTSD, they reckoned.’
‘I’m sorry, Mhairi. I’d no idea. Would you prefer to be off the case altogether? It’s not a problem.’
‘No, sir, that won’t be necessary. I can work the case. I just don’t think I could handle being up close to all that emotion.’
‘No worries, there’s more than enough work to go round.’
***
After Mhairi left he pondered who he could appoint as FLO in her place. DC Thomson had recently been made detective but, although hard-working and keen, he didn’t yet have the people skills for such a dual role. He had a lot of growing up to do. PC Rosie Green came to mind. She had recently flowed in to the PC-shaped hole left by DC Thomson and seemed fairly robust and sensible.
He phoned downstairs and, five minutes later, there was a brisk knock on the door.
PC Rosie Green was around twenty-five. She had an air of calm competence about her that Farrell felt would be reassuring to the family. Other than that, he really knew very little about her. As far as he was aware she didn’t seem to be particularly tight with anyone in the department but was well enough liked.
‘Rosie, take a seat,’ he said. ‘I take it you’ve heard about the suspicious death in Kirkcudbright early this morning?’
‘Yes, sir, only I thought it was a suicide?’
‘That remains to be determined,’ he said. ‘The reason I asked for you is that I’m looking for a FLO for his family and wondered if you might be interested in taking on that role?’
She paused before answering as if she was thinking it through. Farrell liked that quality. Some might mistake it for slowness, but he would rather have a measured response than an off-the-cuff one to be regretted later.
‘Yes, sir,’ she replied. ‘I would definitely be interested.’
‘Excellent. I’ll make that a formal request then and you can get up to speed with everyone else at the briefing. If you find DS Byers he’ll give you a copy of all the information we’ve gathered to date, which isn’t much.’
The phone rang. The parents were here. He asked for them to be shown into the small conference room.
‘As it happens the parents have arrived to speak to us. I know you’re not yet in possession of all the facts, but could you join us in the conference room?’
‘Of course, sir,’ she said, rising to her feet.
He allowed them a few minutes to settle then entered with Rosie. The couple looked to be in their mid-fifties and introduced themselves as George and Doreen. Doreen’s eyes were red raw with weeping.
Farrell was pleased to see PC Green immediately took the lead, taking Doreen’s hand in hers and offering her condolences. Once the couple had been given their tea, Farrell sat opposite them at the oval table and gently began.
‘When was the last time you saw your son?’
‘He came for lunch on Wednesday, Inspector. He was on top of the world,’ said Doreen,