Chapter 44
FIFE
They were almost at the nursing home when Brodie’s phone rang. He took it out and looked at the number, before deciding to answer it or not. His mother. What if something had happened to his dad?
‘Hello?’
‘Liam, it’s Mum. I was just wondering if you’ve heard from Moira this morning?’
‘No. Why would I? She’s supposed to be working with you, isn’t she?’
‘She didn’t turn up for work. I can’t get a hold of her. Your dad went round to her flat but there was no answer.’
‘Was she sick yesterday?’ Brodie asked.
‘Not that she said. She got talking to one of our customers, a regular, and he left and then she said she was going home for a quiet night. There was nothing unusual. The only thing different was talking to the man.’
‘Do you know his name?’
Silence on the other end for a moment. ‘He said his name was Peter, a little while back. He’s not been coming here for very long though, so I don’t know anything about him.’
‘Maybe she went out with some friends. You know how she used to be, going out in that group of friends of hers. Getting drunk, partying.’
‘That was a while ago,’ Isobel said.
‘Not that long ago. She would go out and Roger would go out with his pals. Moira liked a good drink, Mum.’
‘Don’t say that. She wasn’t an alkie or anything.’
‘My point is, she likes going out with her friends. You shouldn’t worry about her. She’s forty-two, well able to look after herself.’
‘You know, all this working for us is all good and well, but if she’s not going to be punctual for anything, then perhaps she should return to working in an office.’
Brodie’s mind was on other things, and he tried to think of a way to cut the call without offending her. ‘I really have to go.’
‘Can’t you pop back home and check on her?’
‘I’m in Fife right now. I won’t be home for a while yet.’
‘Okay. Your father is worried sick. You know how he gets.’
‘I know.’
‘I shouldn’t worry like this, but you know how it is, having Eric.’
‘I know. I’m sure she’ll turn up soon.’
‘I hope so. Let me know if you hear from her.’
Brodie hung up, wishing his mother wouldn’t worry so much.
Moira had had a small group of friends that she would go drinking with a few years earlier.
She had been carefree, even though she was married.
Five or six of them would go out on the town on a Friday and get hammered, falling about drunk.
He wasn’t sure if she had seen them recently but, Roger, her husband, had called him one night a few years back, saying she was out and hadn’t come home until late.
It was daylight when she got in and he had been worried that she had been fooling around on him, but she had assured him that she wasn’t.
The thing was, she had a cut above her eye, almost like she’d been mugged, but she said she had fallen.
And she flat-out refused to get it looked at.
Moira had changed after that, and when he had spoken to her, she told him she decided to cut back on going out after the fall. The thing was, Brodie hadn’t believed she had fallen, not back then and not now.
If she hadn’t been out drinking, then where had she been? And where was she now?
Cameron pulled the car into the car park and slipped in between a cheap hatchback and a Range Rover.
Upstairs, they made their way to Margaret Wallace’s room. The bed was made, but there was nobody in it.
‘Maybe she went for a walk,’ Cameron said.
‘She’s dying of cancer, son. It saps your energy. I’ll go and find a nurse.’ Brodie walked back to a nurse’s station and saw a young woman sitting behind the counter.
‘DCI Brodie. I was here speaking with Margaret Wallace yesterday. I don’t see her in her room. Is she still…’
‘Alive? Yes. She asked one of the nurses to take her to see her friend, Mr Farmington.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s just after eleven, so they’ll be having their morning cup of tea.’
Brodie nodded. ‘Where is his room? Would he be up for getting a visit?’
She smiled. ‘I think he would. His room is at the end of the corridor. That way.’ She pointed in the opposite direction from Margaret’s room. Brodie waved to the two others to follow him, and they all trooped along to Farmington’s room.
Margaret was sitting in a wheelchair, having a laugh with the old man when they appeared in the doorway.
‘Mrs Wallace,’ Brodie said, and the smiles dropped off both of their faces.
‘Who are you?’ Farmington asked.
‘DCI Brodie.’ He introduced the other two. ‘We’d like to ask some follow-up questions about the boy found under the floorboards.’
‘Floorboards?’ Farmington said. ‘What are you talking about, man?’
‘Under the floorboards in Mrs Wallace’s house.’
‘How dare you,’ Farmington said, his face growing red. ‘Coming in here accusing her of stuff. I personally know the chief constable of Fife Constabulary. I’ll make a call.’
Brodie thought the man must have dementia. Fife Constabulary hadn’t existed for twelve years, since Police Scotland had been formed and all police forces had been amalgamated.
Brodie could tell this man was used to getting his own way. ‘It’s not a crime, no, but it’s a crime to kill a child, wrap him up and hide him under floorboards.’
There was a voice behind them, and they turned to look. ‘It’s you lot again. What do you want now?’ Laura said.
‘We’re just having a chat,’ Art said. ‘Come in and join the fun.’
‘Don’t be facetious, inspector. I’ll be reporting the lot of you for bothering a couple of elderly patients who are in a nursing home.’
To Fife Constabulary, just like Farmington? Brodie wanted to say but kept his mouth shut.
‘We’re conducting a murder inquiry here, Ms Forrest,’ Art said.
Laura gave him a look that might have killed lesser mortals, as she realised he knew her marital status and the name change when he called her Ms.
‘You want to question them, but it needs three of you?’ She was holding a Tim Hortons disposable cup in her hand, and Brodie thought for a second that she was going to throw it.
‘It’s operational procedure,’ Brodie said, staring her down.
‘What is it you want now?’ she said, drinking from the cup.
Brodie saw the hardness around her eyes, the crow’s feet that he was willing to bet had been there for a long time. ‘Just follow-up questions.’
‘You don’t mind if I stay and listen?’ Laura said with a tone in her voice.
‘Actually, we were hoping you would be here so we could talk to you as well, Ms Forrest,’ Art said. ‘If you wouldn’t mind stepping out of the room where my colleague and I could have a little chat?’
‘Sake,’ she said, turning on her heel. Art indicated for Cameron to come out with him, and Brodie nodded his appreciation.
Brodie then turned to Farmington. ‘Sir, I’d like to ask you what you remember about young Marcus disappearing.’
‘What makes you think I would know anything about what went on in Margaret’s house?’
Brodie walked over and sat in the one chair in the room: a large, high-backed affair. ‘Do you really want to do this dance?’ he asked Farmington.
The old man chuckled. ‘I really don’t have any—’
‘Rory, he knows,’ Margaret said quietly, and Farmington dropped the facade.
‘Yes, I suppose he does,’ he said.
‘Right, let’s reset this conversation; what do you know about Marcus?’ Brodie said.
Farmington looked at Margaret, who nodded, and then he began to speak.
‘Margaret worked for me at one time. We started dating, but my work took me all over the place, and we drifted apart. She could have been a rising political star, but she met a fine young man and fell in love with him. However, after they got married, the veneer began to crack, revealing his true character. He was a drunk and couldn’t keep a job. ’
Brodie looked at Margaret, who nodded slowly.
‘Then one day, I bumped into her at a function,’ Farmington said, carrying on, ‘and we hit it off, like we had never stopped seeing each other and, to be honest, I fell in love with her at that moment.’
‘Let me guess; you were married?’ Brodie said.
Farmington nodded. ‘Yes. I was married to Cecilia, and we had one child, a boy. I wanted to be with Margaret, and to hell with my career, but she wouldn’t hear of it.
She said we could still see each other. It was something she was happy with.
Just being with each other was magical. Then Margaret started working in my office again, and there would be trips.
If anybody suspected anything, they damn well didn’t say anything.
Margaret and I kept on seeing each other for years.
I even went to her house a few times, and if Toby should come home early, then I would have a stack of papers that we would be reading through.
Unless we were in bed, then we’d be royally screwed. But that never happened.’
Margaret smiled. ‘And then it happened; I fell pregnant. Laura was about eight at the time, but I had told Toby a long time before that I couldn’t produce children.’
‘Walk me through the pregnancy, which I’m assuming was Marcus,’ Brodie said.
Margaret nodded. ‘I told Toby that stranger things have happened. He believed it. I really believed I couldn’t conceive, but there it was. I was pregnant by another man.’
‘Then Marcus was born,’ Brodie said. ‘How did Toby take that?’
‘We had a plan to have Margaret leave Toby, and we would take the kids,’ Farmington said.
‘Then you would get divorced, is that it?’ Brodie said.
‘I wanted that, but Margaret was so selfless, weren’t you, my dear?’ Farmington said to Margaret.
She smiled at him. ‘You had your political career to think of.’ She looked at Brodie. ‘I made sure that Rory saw Marcus as often as he wanted. Toby was drunk most of the time, so he didn’t care if I took Marcus and Laura out.’
‘Very clever,’ Brodie said. ‘Except things didn’t work out that way.’
Margaret took a deep breath and made a grunt as she exhaled, as if fighting back a sob.
‘No, it didn’t. He was about five or six when he changed.
He became withdrawn and then one day, he ran away.
He had never run away before. He began acting out at school and getting into fights.
Then one day, I returned after a trip to London with Rory.
I had been away for a few days. When I got back, I was told by the police that Toby was dead.
They were sure it was suicide. They also told me Marcus had run off again.
On the same day that Toby had died. He left the house, and we never saw him again. ’
‘What year was this?’
‘Nineteen eighty-seven.’
‘Where were Laura and Ruth at this time?’
‘Next door. They have a couple of spare bedrooms, so they kindly took them in until I got home.’
‘There was a manhunt for him, wasn’t there?’ Brodie asked.
‘Oh, yes, I was on the bloody phone making sure every resource was at their disposal,’ Farmington said.
‘And still nothing,’ Margaret said. ‘They asked Laura about the last time she saw him, and she said the day before. She was in her room, watching videos with Ruth, and they saw Marcus, who said he was going to play in his room. That’s the last they saw of him.’
Brodie tapped his foot for a second. ‘Your husband liked a drink, we know that now, but do you think he could have come home and done something to Marcus?’ Brodie asked.
‘Kill him, you mean?’ Farmington said.
‘Yes. Somebody killed him with a blunt force object. Could it have been Toby?’
‘I mean, it’s possible. Maybe he committed suicide because he couldn’t live with the guilt. But Toby shouted at everybody.’
‘How was Laura with Toby after you told her she was adopted?’ Brodie asked. ‘Did she still look on him as her dad?’
‘Laura was Laura, always very strong-willed. She would do whatever she wanted to do. But it didn’t seem to faze her, being adopted. She just shrugged and went on with life. She didn’t know anything different. We adopted her when she was a year old, so we were really all she knew.’
‘When she was older,’ Brodie said, ‘how was she with Marcus?’
‘She was fine.’
‘How about the arguments?’
Margaret looked at Farmington, then back to Brodie. ‘Toby and I would have the odd argument, but nothing outrageous.’
‘You and Laura would have arguments, we heard.’
‘I tried to make her see sense, but as she slipped into her teenage years, she got worse. She was very, how shall I put it, independent when she got to about fifteen, sixteen. Started going out with boys – older boys, mind – ones who had cars who would pick her up. She would come in at all hours. She would drink, especially on a Friday night. She had left school by then and was waiting to go to college. She didn’t even attempt to look for temporary work.
That’s when the arguments started. And poor Marcus, he had to witness that.
He was scared at times, but I reassured him that everything was fine. ’
‘How did your husband react at that time?’ Brodie asked.
‘He was supportive. He would back me up when I told Laura about her behaviour. She would tell him to get lost. Then he grounded her and things got worse between them.’
‘Can I ask you, what do you know about Laura’s birth mother and father?’
‘Not much. I think Laura was an unwanted pregnancy.’
‘Do you know their names?’
‘Steven and Ashley.’
‘Where was Laura born?’ Brodie asked.
‘In Dunfermline. May 2, 1971. She just turned fifty-four.’
‘How did Laura and Ruth cope with Toby dying the way he did?’ Brodie asked.
Margaret looked at Farmington before looking back at Brodie. ‘Laura was almost inconsolable. She cried for weeks afterwards. Ruth was too young to understand.’
Brodie looked at them both for a second. ‘It must have been hard for Laura, her brother disappearing and then her father dying.’
‘It was.’
Brodie looked at the old woman and thought about the stories Ruth had told him about how horrible her foster mother had been. Obviously, Margaret had selective memory.
He stood up and looked at Farmington. ‘Where would I be able to find your son?’
‘Why?’ the old man asked.
‘Covering all of our bases. I want to talk to him.’
‘I don’t have to tell you where he is.’
Brodie nodded. ‘That’s right, you don’t, but it would make life easier for me.
Since he’s running for a seat in the Scottish Parliament, he won’t be hard to find, but if I have to go the extra mile to find him, I’ll make sure it gets leaked to the press that a potential candidate is being investigated in a decades-old murder. See what his chances are after that.’
‘That’s fucking blackmail,’ Farmington said, his voice barely a whisper.
Brodie smiled. ‘Yes, it is.’ He turned and walked towards the room door.
‘Wait.’
Brodie turned. Farmington gave him the address.
‘You certainly are a bastard, chief inspector.’
Brodie smiled again. ‘And proud of it.’