Читать книгу Perfect Dead: A gripping crime thriller that will keep you hooked - Jackie Baldwin - Страница 19

Ten minutes later they were picking their way up an uneven garden path to the front door of a dark cottage, overshadowed by the looming granite cliff behind. Closed shutters stared sightlessly into the distance, paint peeling like some scabrous disease.

Farrell hammered on the door. The blinds were down but given what they had been told, Moretti could still be in. They were on the verge of giving up when the door opened a crack.

‘Give me a couple of minutes to get away from the light then come in closing the door behind you,’ said a disembodied voice.

OK, this is creepy, thought Mhairi as she followed Farrell in to the dim interior. The house smelled cold and damp.

‘Turn right,’ called the voice.

They felt along the wall to the doorway.

‘Please, come in and take a seat,’ said the voice.

Gingerly, they felt their way to two wingback chairs and sat down. Across from them, the owner of the voice was a darker blot in the gloom.

‘I apologize for the lack of light but, as I’m sure has been explained to you, I cannot tolerate it. How may I help you?’

‘Could you confirm your name and date of birth?’ asked Farrell, hoping he was writing on the correct page in his notebook.

‘Paul Moretti, 2nd August 1973.’

His voice was hoarse, and he was muffled up in many layers to withstand the freezing temperature inside. He wore a hat with flaps over the ears and dark sunglasses.

‘DI Farrell and DC McLeod from Dumfries,’ said Farrell. ‘We’re investigating the death of Monro Stevenson.’

‘Yes, I heard. A shocking business.’

‘Did you know the deceased?’ asked Mhairi.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Moretti. ‘The art community in Kirkcudbright is very incestuous.’

‘When did you first meet him?’

The figure in the gloom changed position. There was a pause. ‘I didn’t say that I had met him. We’ve never been introduced. However, I knew who he was.’

‘Congratulations on being shortlisted for the Lomax Prize, by the way,’ said Mhairi.

‘Thank you.’

He didn’t sound that happy about it, she thought.

‘Did you know that Monro and another local artist were shortlisted as well?’ asked Farrell.

‘Yes.’

‘When was the last time you saw Monro Stevenson?’ asked Farrell.

‘I don’t see much of anybody. However, I do remember seeing him one night about two weeks ago.’

‘You can’t be more precise?’ asked Farrell.

‘It was the first half of the week, not long after the weekend. So, a Monday or a Tuesday.’

‘What time of day?’

‘It was late, around 10 p.m. I had been out for my nightly walk.’

‘What was he doing when you saw him?’

‘He was having an argument with someone at the top of a close on the High Street.’

‘Who was he arguing with?’ asked Farrell.

‘I couldn’t say. I was some distance away.’

‘Could you describe the man?’

‘He was tall, powerfully built.’

‘Anything else?’

‘He was smoking a cigar. I could see the tip glowing; that’s all I can tell you.’

‘How can you be sure it was Monro Stevenson?’

Again, Moretti paused and shifted in his seat.

‘I’d seen his photo on leaflets in the area and also the local paper.’

Mhairi exchanged a glance with Farrell. She could see Moretti more clearly now that her eyes were adjusting. He was sitting on the opposite side of the room where the darkness seemed even more impenetrable. However, she could tell that he had long legs, suggestive of height, and despite, all the layers, she could see that he was quite slight, possibly even emaciated.

‘Have you always had to live in the dark like this, sir?’ she asked.

‘No. It’s been seven years since my condition first manifested.’

‘May I ask what your condition is?’ asked Farrell.

‘Polymorphic Light Eruption. Basically, an allergy to sunlight.’

‘Did you live in Kirkcudbright, before you developed the allergy?’

‘No.’

It was like pulling teeth, thought Mhairi.

‘Would you say Monro had any enemies?’ asked Farrell.

‘I wouldn’t have thought that he was sufficiently interesting to make enemies,’ said Moretti. ‘Anyway, I heard he killed himself?’

Wow, thought Mhairi. Say what you really mean, why don’t you?

‘We’re looking into all possibilities,’ said Farrell.

‘I see,’ said Moretti. ‘Perhaps he was interesting after all?’

They stood up to leave.

‘Thank you for your time, sir,’ said Farrell. They left the way they came and returned to the car.

***

‘That was one seriously creepy guy. And before you jump onto the moral high ground, it’s got nothing to do with his condition,’ said Mhairi.

‘I agree. It felt like he was hiding from more than the light.’

‘I don’t know about you, but I got the feeling he knew more about Monro than he was willing to let on. But why?’

‘That’s what we’ve got to figure out,’ replied Farrell.