Читать книгу Perfect Dead: A gripping crime thriller that will keep you hooked - Jackie Baldwin - Страница 17

Less than two hours later, Farrell parked his car at the harbour in Kirkcudbright, opposite the Tourist Office. The tide was in and the fishing boats bobbed gently up and down with an attendant mob of hungry seagulls screeching overhead. There was a strong smell of fish mingled with the salty tang of the sea. Mhairi consulted the map on her phone and started walking.

‘I think it’s over here.’

They stopped in front of a whitewashed building with the words ‘Kirkcudbright Art Gallery’, painted in eggshell blue on a piece of driftwood. A bell tinkled as they entered. Inside, a middle-aged woman, her face wreathed in smiles, got off the stool, where she had been knitting, and came forward to greet them.

‘Janet Campbell, gallery owner, how can I help you?’

Farrell produced his warrant card, and the smile disappeared.

‘Is this about that poor boy, Monro?’

‘Did you know him?’ asked Farrell.

‘That I did. I have one of his paintings in the gallery.’

‘When was the last time you saw him?’ asked Mhairi.

‘Let me see, now. It would be a week past Monday. He popped in to let me know he’d been shortlisted for the Lomax Prize. He was so excited. That’s why I can’t believe he would’ve wanted to kill himself. It makes no sense.’

‘Aside from last week, how was his demeanour generally?’ asked Farrell.

‘He seemed happy enough. Like most creative types, he would hit a slump from time to time but, in the main, he appeared to be fine.’

‘Could you show us his painting, please?’

She led them upstairs to a light-filled space and over to a corner. The canvas depicted the same dark-haired girl as the picture they had found wrapped in the deceased’s bedroom. This time, she was sitting in a field of poppies, oozing vitality, smiling into a hand-held mirror as she brushed her hair.

‘Look closer,’ said Janet.

Mhairi exhaled as they realized that the reflection in the mirror didn’t match. It showed the same girl but looking haunted, with bruised eyes and sunken cheeks.

‘Do you know anything about the model?’ asked Farrell.

‘I met her a few times; she came in with Monro.’

‘Were they ever an item, as far as you know?’ asked Mhairi.

‘They were just friends, I think. He was obviously keen on her, but she was involved with Patrick Rafferty up at Ivy House.’

‘Is she still there?’ asked Farrell.

‘No, she disappeared into thin air. Ran off one morning three years ago and no one has seen or heard anything from her since. Her folks reckoned something bad happened to her. The sister came over, put up posters; the family even offered a reward for information, but nothing came of it.’

‘I see it has a “Sold” sticker,’ said Farrell, pointing to the red dot.

‘Yes, it sold a few months after she went missing. The owner requested that it should remain on show here in the gallery in exchange for a modest annual sum.’

‘Who is the owner?’ asked Farrell.

‘I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you. It was all arranged through an Edinburgh solicitor.’

‘Isn’t that rather unusual?’ asked Mhairi.

‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ Janet smiled. ‘Can’t afford to look a gift horse in the mouth though.’

‘The main reason we came here was to speak to Paul Moretti, and this was the address given for his studio?’ said Farrell.

‘He used to rent the studio flat from me, at the back of the gallery, but he left over three years ago.’

‘Did you know him well?’

‘Not at all, really. Our paths rarely crossed. He’s allergic to sunlight, poor chap. Breaks out in burns and blisters if he goes out during the day. He had his own key.’

‘Did you know he’s been shortlisted for the Lomax Prize too?’ Mhairi asked.

‘My, he’s a dark horse,’ she said, clearly surprised.

‘Is any of his work hung in here?’ asked Farrell.

She grimaced a little.

‘No, it’s not really my cup of tea. To be honest, I find it distasteful. I believe he sells a fair bit to foreign collectors. Certainly, he always paid his rent bang on the nail, so he must do all right out of it.’

‘Distasteful, how?’

‘He likes to paint dead things, animals, birds, that sort of thing. He showed me one once, wanted me to sell some in the gallery. It was all I could do not to shudder in front of him. There’s a big market for it abroad, he said. I gave the studio a wide berth when he was in it. Worried about what I might find in there. He did leave it spotless when he left though, so I can’t complain.’

‘Do you have his home address?’ asked Mhairi.

‘Yes, he lives at Lavender Cottage. Head back out of town then take the third turning on the right into Silvercraigs Road. The cottage is at the top of the hill on the left.’

Farrell handed her his card.

‘If anything else occurs to you in relation to Monro Stevenson then please don’t hesitate to get in touch.’

‘Mike Halliday, the man who lives in the studio now, is an artist too. He might be able to help you. I think he was quite friendly with Monro.’

‘Thank you, we’ll swing by on the way out.’