Alex Gray - The Swedish Girl

‘Where is he now?’

‘In the cells. But he’s to be taken to Interview Room Three just as soon as you give the word. Is DI Grant…?’

Lorimer shook his head. ‘I’ll see Haggarty,’ he said. ‘But I’d like you there too. And Allan Martin’s the duty solicitor. Dr Lockhart feels that the presence of a woman might unsettle him right now.’

As the detective superintendent entered the room he saw Kevin Haggarty sitting by the table, hands cuffed together. He winced, seeing how gaunt this man was, the sharp angles of his face reminding Lorimer of pictures of Japanese prisoners of war. Haggarty shared that same defeated look; eyes sunk in hollows, the bones in his long fingers protruding through a scant covering of skin. When had he last eaten? Lorimer wondered.

‘Mr Haggarty?’ He stood over the man for a moment, looking intently to see if he would raise his eyes. But he seemed oblivious to anyone, even the solicitor who sat beside him.

There was the merest nod from Allan Martin and so Lorimer sat down opposite, making room for Alistair Wilson beside him.

‘I’m Detective Superintendent Lorimer and this is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Wilson.’

There was no reaction from Haggarty who had cast his eyes down as though reluctant to acknowledge the presence of the two men who had entered the room.

‘Have you had anything to eat or drink?’ Lorimer asked. Then, as the prisoner sat mute and unresponsive, Lorimer looked at the duty officer by the door.

‘He was offered something, sir, but didn’t take it,’ the officer replied.

‘You look hungry, Kevin,’ Lorimer said softly, staring at the lowered head in front of him. ‘I could send out for a burger, if you like? Double cheese? And a cup of tea?’

He saw Haggarty’s Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallowed. The very mention of food seemed to be getting to him.

The instant Haggarty looked up he was caught and held by Lorimer’s blue gaze.

‘How about it? I can have it here in just a few minutes.’ Lorimer shrugged as though it was no big deal to him whether the prisoner had food or not. ‘It’s just that we’re going to be here for quite a long time tonight, Kevin, and I need you to be able to concentrate, see?’

Lorimer smiled, the avuncular schoolteacher explaining matters for his wayward pupil.

Haggarty swallowed again then his tongue traced a line across his lower lip. ‘With chips?’ he asked, his voice husky as if from hours of weeping.

By the time the food had arrived and been wolfed down, Lorimer had established the basic information that was required: Haggarty was twenty-nine years old, lived in rented accommodation in Govan and was in receipt of state benefits.

As he watched the man wipe away traces of red ketchup from his mouth, Lorimer decided to ignore the psychiatrist’s advice to go easy on her patient.

‘The women you attacked were all like Caitlin, weren’t they, Kevin?’

The man’s mouth opened at the suddenness of the question.

‘ Weren’t they? ’ Lorimer insisted. ‘I am showing Mr Haggarty pictures of Eva Magnusson, Fiona Travers, Lesley Crawford and Maria Campbell,’ he continued firmly as he placed the photographs on the table between them, never once taking his eyes from Haggarty’s.

The man glanced down as Lorimer pushed them nearer. Then, as Haggarty caught sight of the women, a whimper escaped from his bloodless lips.

The detective watched him, those eyes darting over the images from left to right and back again as though devouring them. Haggarty’s body language was something the tape could not record, the shoulders hunched, arms circling the photographs of the women as though to contain them: Eva Magnusson, Fiona Travers, Lesley Crawford and his latest victim who had been identified as dental hygienist Maria Campbell.

Haggarty lifted a finger as he looked at the first picture.

‘You killed these women,’ Lorimer told him sternly, ‘and badly injured this one. I am indicating Lesley Crawford to the prisoner,’ he added for the benefit of the machine that was recording the entire interview.

He wanted to ask ‘why’, but such questions were best left to the medical professionals who would, no doubt, have years ahead of them to find the answer to that question.

‘That one,’ Haggarty said slowly, tapping the picture of the Swedish girl. ‘I don’t know her.’

He looked up at Lorimer. His expression was impassive as he tapped the photo again. ‘I didn’t do that one,’ he said again.

‘The prisoner is indicating the picture of Eva Magnusson,’ Lorimer said, keeping his voice neutral, trying not to show his disappointment.

‘And the others?’

Haggarty looked at them again and as he studied the pictures, Lorimer was struck by the man’s complete lack of emotion.

He nodded at last.

‘Please speak for the tape,’ Lorimer advised.

‘Yes, I did them,’ Haggarty said, his glance shifting from right to left. ‘But not that one.’ His voice was firm and assured as his finger hovered over the image of Eva Magnusson.

More than an hour and several polystyrene cups of tea later, the detective superintendent kneaded the knotted muscles on the back of his neck and stifled a sigh.

‘Eva Magnusson,’ he said again, holding out the photograph of the Swedish girl. ‘Isn’t she like Caitlin?’ he persisted.

Haggarty was slumped back against the seat shaking his head once again.

‘Never seen her before,’ he yawned.

Lorimer clenched and unclenched his fists.

‘I think my client’s had enough,’ Allan Martin suggested and Lorimer nodded in agreement. Haggarty looked exhausted now and even in this extremity of tiredness he wasn’t about to put his hand up for a crime that he hadn’t committed. Besides, Lorimer thought wearily, despite what he had hoped to hear to the contrary, he really believed him.

The DNA samples taken from the man would confirm his story soon enough. Then he would have to admit that Jo Grant had been right to arrest Colin Young. Had the student murdered the girl he professed to love? Surely this was beginning to seem a real possibility?

And yet, a small voice insisted: if Haggarty was telling the truth and if Jo was wrong, then Eva Magnusson’s killer was still out there.

‘Looks like Colin’s going to have to face trial,’ Lorimer said, looking at Kirsty’s face to see her reaction.

They were at her local again, coffees in front of them, the snow falling slantwise outside the window making a small haven of the cosy pub on the corner of Merryfield Avenue.

‘I thought Haggarty would tell you he’d killed Eva,’ Kirsty said in a small voice.

‘I know, lass.’ Lorimer touched her hand gently. ‘But Professor Brightman always said it wasn’t the same person. Besides’ — he sipped his espresso — ‘the evidence points to two different killers. Eva was killed inside her own home, possibly by someone she already knew. And the other women were all out of doors, prey to Haggarty’s random attacks.’

‘Only they weren’t quite random, were they?’ Kirsty asked. A fleeting hope in her eyes. ‘He wanted to grab someone who looked like his dead girlfriend, didn’t he? Someone who looked like Eva? Maybe he followed her home, crept upstairs and…?’

‘Eva took a taxi home from the party, remember? And the flat was locked when you came home, wasn’t it?’

Kirsty frowned, nodding. The big front door was heavy to manoeuvre and it had definitely been shut when she’d got home. And the flat had been locked as well when she’d returned from work. Had she really heard anything? Or had it been an overwrought imagination? ‘Do you think it was Colin?’ she asked.