Chapter 43
FIFE
Brodie had called Det Supt Cross the night before. ‘Sorry to call you at home, boss, but there’s been a development in the Fife case.’
‘Oh aye? What’s that then?’
‘I was talking to Ruth about the case and it turns out that’s the house where she was fostered when she was a child.’ He told him what age Ruth had been when she was at the house and how old she was when she left.
‘What? Oh fuck.’ There was silence for a few moments, Brodie hearing the TV on in the background wherever Cross was. ‘Listen, I’ll call Assistant Chief Annie Leslie and tell her. She’ll make the decision and I’ll call you tomorrow.’
‘Okay, sir. Enjoy the rest of your night.’
‘I’m watching TV, having a beer with my dog lying next to me. Life doesn’t get any better, son.’
It turned out that the assistant chief had run things past the chief constable, and because Ruth was only a toddler when she lived there, it wouldn’t affect the case, so Brodie was to stay on board. He was happy to.
Thursday morning, he got up early and drove over to Glenrothes. He was pulling out the desk drawers when Art walked in. The incident room was full and there was a buzz of activity.
‘I don’t think Alan keeps his Hobnobs in there,’ Art said. Cameron was standing behind him.
Brodie turned to look at him. ‘Just making myself at home,’ he said. ‘Not that it’s any of your business, mind.’ He looked at him. ‘And it should be DCI McRae, surely?’
‘I told you Alan and I go way back.’ Art stepped into the room like he wanted a fight. ‘And I give him his rank when we’re on duty.’ Not that it’s any of your fucking business, he thought, but kept that part to himself.
‘Glad to hear it.’ He picked up a mug and drank from it. ‘Morven made it for me. She said this was your spare mug. I hope you don’t mind?’
Art stepped closer. ‘Let’s just clear the air a wee bit here; you’re a DCI, higher rank than me, but you’re also an outsider.’
‘Nobody’s a fucking outsider in Police Scotland, pal. That’s why they had me come over from Edinburgh. Years ago, they would have found somebody from within, but they want me in here.’
‘In case there’s any shenanigans, I get it. But we’re a tight-knit team in here. There’s no shenanigans.’
‘I hope not.’ Brodie sipped his coffee. ‘I’m glad you got that off your chest.’
‘Talking of DCI McRae, the bar manager at the bowling club, the one his ex-wife was seeing, was found dead in his house.’
‘Who found him?’
‘We did. Me and Cameron. He was hanging from a door handle with his willy in his hand.’
‘Auto-eroticism gone wrong?’
‘It might be. Sherlock will tell us what he thinks.’
‘Don’t you think that’s what it was?’ Brodie said.
‘Both of them commit suicide after Alan, I mean, DCI McRae, disappears? I’m sceptical.’
‘If it was foul play, do you have any idea what the motive would be?’
Art hesitated. ‘Alan’s ex, Pat, said when she met him at the trail car park, he was scared about something. He didn’t tell her what he was scared of. Maybe he got himself into trouble or something.’
Brodie shook his head. ‘I’m not here to help you look for your missing DCI, I’m here because of the bones found. But you could keep me in the loop.’
‘Sorry, sir. We’re a tight-knit team, and we’re all worried about the boss. I didn’t mean to give you a hard time. Feel free to write me up.’
‘Shut up. Listen, I understand, Art. But don’t keep anything else from me. You too, Cameron.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Cameron said.
Art nodded.
Just then, DS Freya Munro knocked on the open door. ‘Sorry to disturb, sir, but you told me to tell you right away if I found anything,’ she said, handing over some papers to Art.
‘What’s this?’
‘The house report about the cottage. Everything to know about it, including its owner’s details.’
‘Margaret Wallace?’ Brodie asked.
‘No, sir. Rory Farmington. Ex-MSP.’
Art looked puzzled. ‘That’s the second time I’ve heard his name mentioned.’
‘What was the first time?’ Brodie asked.
Art turned to look at him. ‘Mrs Wallace’s neighbours gave us a rundown on the Wallace family, including the fact that the lady of the house used to… entertain some men. Rory Farmington being the main protagonist.’
‘Is he still alive?’
‘I think so,’ Art said. ‘He’s ancient though.’
‘I’ll find an address for him.’
‘Thanks, Freya,’ Art said. Then to Brodie: ‘You don’t mind if I call my DS by her first name, do you, sir?’
‘Don’t be a smart-arse, inspector.’
‘Sir.’
Art left the office without saying another word. Freya was at her keyboard.
‘He’s a charmer, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir,’ she said to Art.
‘Let’s just hope that Alan walks in through that door sometime soon and tells us he’s back for good.’
‘Here it is now, sir. An article from the Fife Independent. Former MSP Rory Farmington’s son to enter politics.’ She scanned the article. ‘It says Farmington senior is living in a nursing home in Townhill, just outside of Dunfermline.’
‘What?’ Art looked closer at the screen. ‘Jesus. That’s the same one Margaret Wallace is in.’ He turned round and walked back to Brodie’s temporary office. Knocked.
‘Art. What’s happening?’ Brodie said.
‘You said we were going along to the nursing home in Dunfermline.’
‘I did.’
‘Former MSP Rory Farmington is in there, too.’
‘Interesting. Let’s go down there now and maybe we could have a talk with him too. But first, I want to declare something.’ He told Art about Ruth living at the cottage when she was a girl. ‘The chief constable herself has given me the green light to stay on the case, so everything is above board.’
‘That’s fine, sir.’
Art filled him in on the conversation with the couple across from the cottage, then left the office and shouted at Cameron. ‘With me. And DCI Brodie.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Cameron said, giving thought to finishing the sausage roll that was half eaten, but deciding it would still be there when he came back.
‘I’ll catch up in a minute,’ Brodie said. ‘Don’t fuck off without me.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ Art said. ‘How can you eat that for breakfast?’ he asked Cameron on the way out.
‘It’s Greggs.’
‘It’s fucking carbs.’
‘When I get to your age, I’ll start worrying about my health.’
‘If you don’t start worrying about your health now, you might not get to my age. Besides, we’re not that far apart in years, cheeky bastard.’
‘Fourteen years. A lot can happen in fourteen years.’
Art thought back fourteen years, and saw his wife there. He was happily married to her back then, and they had a few years left together. They just didn’t know it at the time.
‘Aye, go ahead, son. Eat as many sausage rolls as you like. You never know what’s round the corner.’
Cameron started the car up and they waited for Brodie.
‘Here he is, now. Fuck’s sake,’ Art said, looking at their temporary boss in his side-view mirror.
‘Ease up on him, boss. I don’t suppose he asked to come through here,’ Cameron said.
Art looked at him. ‘If we piss him off enough, maybe he’ll go running back through to poshland.’
‘I’m not going to piss him off. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he’s a big bastard,’ Cameron said.
‘The harder they fall, eh?’
The back door opened and Brodie got in. ‘You pair of bastards talking about me again?’ he said.
‘Sausage rolls, sir,’ Cameron said. ‘We were discussing the merits of having one for breakfast.’
‘And why you’ll be a fat bastard when you get to my age,’ Art added.