Chapter 45
FIFE
Brodie took his coffee over to a desk and sat on the edge. The others looked at him. It was lunchtime, and they generally ate at their desks if they were in the office at that time. Art McKenzie, Cameron Reid, DS Freya Munro and DC Morven Fraser.
Morven was eating pizza and it smelled wonderful, making his stomach growl.
‘From what we can gather,’ Brodie said, ‘Margaret Wallace had a temper on her. At eighty-five now, she doesn’t show signs of it, but from what some of the neighbours tell us, she used to go at it with Laura.
DI McKenzie spoke to the neighbours across the road, and they said arguments would happen all the time.
This was also confirmed by other neighbours.
According to them, they all thought that Mrs Wallace had mental health issues. ’
‘What was your impression of her, sir?’ Morven asked.
‘I could see it. Even though she’s elderly, there was an underlying tone there.’
Freya was sitting at another computer off to one side, typing and drinking her coffee.
‘What we didn’t tell her was we knew about the little boy having broken bones from previous injuries, breaks that had healed. Somebody used to batter the wee guy, and God knows how they got away with it for so long.’ He looked at Freya. ‘How did the social work search go?’
She looked at him. ‘There’s nothing in the system, but since he went missing in 1987, and the injuries would have been before that, it doesn’t surprise me.
Not every record would have been digitised.
They would be on paper, and if they were kept, they would be in a central storage place somewhere.
But we’re talking forty years ago, so the chances of finding anything like that are slim. ’
‘How about Laura’s biological parents?’ Art asked.
‘This is interesting,’ Freya said. ‘I couldn’t find any information on Laura’s parents regarding the adoption, but I did find a newspaper story about a Steven and Ashley Forrest who were killed in a car crash.’
‘When did this happen?’
‘Nineteen eighty-six.’
‘A year before Margaret’s husband died in 1987, which we now know to be a murder,’ Art said.
‘Is there any way we can find out if she had treatment for mental health issues?’ Morven said.
‘Probably not,’ Brodie answered. ‘It’s all privacy laws nowadays.’
Just then, the incident door opened and Det Supt Chris Breck walked in. ‘Brodie. I need a word,’ he said, holding the door open.
Brodie stood up and walked towards the man. Breck was as tall as Brodie, but not as well built. ‘Sir?’
‘Outside,’ he said, as if he meant to take the DCI out to the car park for a fist fight. Brodie stepped into the corridor.
Breck let the incident room door close before speaking to him.
‘I’ve had a phone call,’ Beck said.
‘Let me guess; from Rory Farmington.’
‘Give that man a cigar. He might be a pain in the arse, but he’s still a powerful pain in the arse. He told me you are going to interrogate his son about the murder of Marcus Wallace.’
‘Interrogate is taking it a bit too far. I was going to talk to him about that time.’
‘Leave it alone. He too has powerful friends. Besides, what can he tell us after forty years?’
‘You’d be surprised. Margaret Wallace remembers quite a lot. So does old Farmington.’
‘Just leave it, Liam. This is an old case. It might never get solved.’ Breck patted him on the shoulder and walked away.
Brodie fought to contain his anger. If there was one thing he hated, it was politicians who thought they could walk on water.
‘Problem, sir?’ Art asked.
‘Cancel talking with Farmington’s son, Keith. The old boy made a phone call. It was a long shot anyway, seeing what he could remember from those times.’
‘Unless there is something that we can get DNA from, this is a case that might never get solved,’ Morven said.
‘That’s what worries me,’ Brodie said. Then he looked at Art. ‘How did it go when you were talking with Laura when I was talking to her mother?’
‘There’s an air about her. She’s tough, as you saw for yourself, and when I asked her about that day, she told us she was busy doing homework and didn’t really take notice of Marcus.’
‘Unless there’s a smoking gun, this case might stay unsolved,’ Brodie said. ‘But we have to keep on trying.’
A phone rang and Cameron picked it up. He listened and held out the receiver.
‘It’s for you, sir.’
‘Hello?’
‘This is Sergeant Foster at the front desk, sir. Somebody here asking for you. A Mr Keith Farmington.’