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

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.

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

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, her mouth twisting as she held back tears.

‘Any particular reason for that?’

‘He’d received word the week before that he’d been shortlisted for the Lomax Prize, a major art award. His career was about to take off. It was all starting to happen for him.’

‘How many people knew he’d been shortlisted?’

‘Probably half of Dumfries by the time she’d done shouting about it,’ said George, giving his wife an affectionate pat on the arm. ‘She was that proud of him.’

‘When did you last speak to him?’ asked Farrell.

‘He normally phoned on a Sunday evening, no matter what,’ Doreen said. ‘But we didn’t hear from him last night. Now we know why.’ A thought occurred, and she turned to her husband, her hand over a mouth stretched in agony.

‘Oh God, George, maybe if we’d phoned him, instead of letting it go, we could have stopped him, changed his mind.’ She broke down once more, and PC Green put her arm around her making low soothing noises.

‘You mustn’t think like that,’ said Farrell.

‘We thought he must be out celebrating still with friends, didn’t want to cramp his style,’ said his father.

‘Could you give a list of his friends’ names and addresses to PC Rosie Green, as soon as is convenient? They might be able to help us with filling in a timeline.’

‘Well, the thing is, we’ve never met any of them,’ said Doreen. ‘Not his artist friends anyway. There are a couple of lads he was at school with in Dumfries that he saw once in a blue moon.’

‘I see,’ said Farrell. ‘Did Monro have a girlfriend?’

‘He’d been seeing a Dumfries girl, Nancy Quinn, for a couple months,’ said Doreen. ‘We met her once and she seemed nice enough. They went skiing together in December.’

‘Had he ever suffered from depression?’

His parents looked at each other.

‘You might as well, tell me,’ said Farrell. ‘We’ll have to request his medical records as part of our enquiries.’

‘He suffered from depression a few years ago. He got in with a group of artists,’ said Doreen.

‘Bloody hippie commune, more like,’ said George. ‘From what I could gather they spent as much time on sex and drugs as they did on their art.’