Perfect Dead: A gripping crime thriller that will keep you hooked

‘How well did you know him?’ asked Mhairi.

‘Well enough. I was his cleaner, not his friend. I’m not the chatty type. I think he liked that. I didn’t disturb his concentration when he was working. He kept out from under my feet, paid me on time. It was a suitable arrangement.’

‘Were you aware that he owned a handgun?’ asked Farrell.

‘No, I certainly was not. I never set eyes on such a thing.’

‘Had you noticed any shift in Monro’s mood of late? Did he seem depressed or worried at all?’ asked Farrell.

‘Quite the contrary. He seemed in fine fettle. He was very excited about being in the running for that big art prize.’

‘What art prize?’

‘The Lomax Prize. He said it could launch his career if he won. It’s Edinburgh based, I think. A big deal, apparently.’

‘What about the girl in the photo on his desk? Was he in a relationship?’

The cleaner shrugged.

‘That, I couldn’t tell you. I certainly never met her.’

‘When you were cleaning, were there any signs that a girl had stayed over?’ asked Mhairi.

‘I was his cleaner, not a tabloid journalist,’ she shot back. ‘I wasn’t in the habit of snooping around.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting that,’ said Mhairi. ‘Please can you answer the question.’

‘I never saw any evidence of someone sleeping over,’ she replied, her lips compressed as though to hold back the angry words threatening to spill out.

‘Did he have any visitors in the past few weeks?’

‘I have no idea. None that I was aware of.’

‘Thank you for your time, Mrs Murray,’ said Farrell standing up. ‘I know this has been a difficult morning for you.’

‘It’s the parents I feel sorry for,’ she offered, as she was seeing them out. ‘The loss of a child is hard enough to bear without all these unanswered questions.’

Chapter Three (#u350febc5-ac4c-5ca2-b3e1-7e331bb5286d)

Back in Dumfries, Farrell made his way to DCI Lind’s office on the first floor. He walked in with a cursory tap on the door and surprised his boss and old school friend in a look of misery. It melted into a smile so quickly that Farrell wondered if he had imagined it.

‘Frank, come away in. What’s the score with that body then? Terrible business by the sounds of things.’

‘Well, it looks like a classic suicide,’ Frank said, taking a seat opposite Lind’s desk. ‘He appears to have pulled the trigger all right. There was a note.’

‘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?’