Alex Gray - The Swedish Girl

Lorimer sighed heavily. ‘A jury has to decide,’ he said. ‘But, no, if it makes you feel any better I don’t think the Colin Young you describe was capable of murder.’

‘Thanks.’

Lorimer bit back the words that he might have spoken. There could be another Colin that you don’t know, Kirsty; someone you never saw — a young man whose passions overcame his normal good sense.

‘More drinks?’

The purple-haired barmaid hovered beside their table.

‘Aye, I’ll have another espresso, please. Kirsty?’

‘Oh, it’s you!’ the barmaid exclaimed. ‘You’re one of the students that live next door to old Derek McCubbin. “The captain”, we always called him.’

‘That’s right,’ Kirsty nodded. ‘And you’re Ina?’

‘Aye, that’s me, hen. But see auld Derek, we havenae seen him in ages. Is he awright?’

‘Gone to live with his daughter,’ Lorimer offered.

‘Aw, thank gawd fur that,’ Ina said, seating herself between the pair of them. ‘When we saw thon sign up at the hoose we all thought he wis deid!’

She shook her head. ‘Terrible thing that aboot the bonny wee Swedish lassie. Funny thing, though.’ She dug Lorimer with a sharp elbow. ‘That wis the last time I saw the auld fella.’

‘The same night?’ Lorimer asked.

‘Aye,’ Ina nodded. ‘Wis in here till closing time. Staggered back round the corner as usual. Me an’ Tam watched him till he got in tae the close.’

She looked at Lorimer who was frowning at her.

‘What? Tam and me aye look out fur the auld bugger, him being that shoogly oan his feet.’

‘Derek McCubbin went home that same night? Are you sure of that?’

‘Sure ah’m sure. Mean, ye couldnae forget whit happened that night, eh?’

‘And it was closing time?’

Ina glanced behind her, a shifty look in her eyes.

‘Look, dinna tell onybody but some Fridays we have a late night, bit o’ music after hours, know whit ah mean?’

‘And what time did Derek McCubbin leave here?’

‘Och, well, could’ve been after midnight. Cannae right mind. Sorry.’ The barmaid rose to go. ‘Better get yer coffees. Anither latte fur you, hen?’

‘What is it?’ Kirsty whispered, leaning forward towards the detective superintendent.

‘Derek McCubbin claims to have been at his daughter’s in Castlemilk that night.’

‘But why would he lie?’

Lorimer’s frown deepened. ‘What if he saw something?’

‘Wouldn’t he have told the police?’

Lorimer sat for a moment, trying to imagine what could have been going on in the old man’s mind. Had he heard Eva screaming at her father? And had he seen Magnusson on the stairs? Or had Eva’s father really told him the truth? And had the old man seen Eva’s killer slinking down the stairs?

‘Thank Goad!’ Corinne Kennedy opened the door wide. ‘About time too! I’ve been worried sick!’

Lorimer stood on the threshold of the woman’s home, taking in her tear-stained white face. Corinne let go the handle of the door and stepped back inside the hallway then pulled a handkerchief from her trouser pocket, dabbing at her eyes as she led the detective superintendent through to the living room. The old man’s chair was empty, the walking stick nowhere to be seen.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, steering the woman towards a chair, seeing her twist the handkerchief between her fingers, clearly agitated.

‘Do you not know?’ Corinne’s head shot up. ‘Did they not send you from the polis station? I called them more than two hours ago.’

‘Has something happened to Derek?’

Corinne sniffed back a sob. ‘I don’t know!’ she wailed. ‘He wasn’t here this morning when I got up. Thought he might have slipped out for a paper or something. But he’s never done that since he came. I even phoned the flat at Merryfield Avenue when I found he’d taken the key but there was no answer. And, I mean, look at the weather. Who’d want to go out in this?’

Lorimer glanced towards the window. The snow that had been falling all morning was heaped into drifts on either side of the road, making it impossible to see the pavements. No elderly person in their right mind would want to risk a fall in those conditions. Little wonder Corinne had reported her father as a missing person.

‘When did you see him last?’

‘We went down the coast yesterday to see this wee hoose…’ Corinne broke off sobbing then pressed the hanky to her mouth for a moment. ‘It was lovely, just what we wanted. Nice view of the water. Immediate entry. Everything.’

‘He liked it?’

Corinne shook her head. ‘Christ knows! Hardly said two words the whole time we were there. Thon lassie from the estate agents must’ve thought he was no’ right in the head.’

‘Do you think he might have been ill?’

The woman shrugged. ‘Don’t know,’ she said in a small voice. ‘He could be dead quiet like that sometimes. Moody, y’know? Thought it was just one of his turns.’

‘And now?’

Corinne Kennedy heaved a sigh. ‘He’s never gone out without me since he came here. Not once. It’s not like him, Superintendent.’ Her voice cracked, betraying the woman’s anxiety.

‘Tell me,’ Lorimer asked, looking Derek McCubbin’s daughter straight in the eye. ‘Was your father really here the night Eva Magnusson was killed?’

In the end it felt like she had betrayed me , Colin wrote. I still loved her, of course I did. That was something I’d never felt for any girl before. She was so special, so different from anyone I’d ever met. And she’d made me think I was special too . He paused, remembering Eva’s sleepy smile as she’d rolled away from his arms, the sense of triumph he’d experienced in satisfying such a sexually adept young woman. I thought we could make a go of it. How wrong was I about that! But of course I never knew that at the time, not until after she was dead .

He sighed, his mouth a tense hard line. Eva had used him, used them all, like playthings. He’d sat listening to the service on Sunday, wondering why he bothered to be there at all, listening to the priest talk about forgiveness. Had he forgiven her?

He should feel bitter, but all he could think about as he crouched on the narrow bunk, notebook in his hands, was about the terrible waste of her young life.

Colin looked down, seeing the words blur through his sudden tears. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands tightly together.

He had wanted to stop believing, to tell himself that there was no God up there, no master of the universe. But now all he wanted was to pray in the hope that someone was listening.

‘Hello?’ Kirsty’s voice sounded tinny and remote over the intercom as Lorimer stood outside 24 Merryfield Avenue.

‘It’s Lorimer. I need to come up.’

As reply, the buzzer sounded and Lorimer pushed open the heavy green door. Behind him were Wilson, Grant and two uniformed officers, their squad car parked several yards along the snow-covered street.

‘What’s happening?’ Kirsty Wilson stood on the landing, peering down at the figures ascending the stone staircase, Lorimer leading them towards her. ‘What’s wrong?’

Lorimer was at the top of the stairs now and had turned towards the flat next door.

‘Go inside, Kirsty. We’ll see you later,’ he told her, merely nodding at the girl’s puzzled expression.

He heard the door click shut but no footsteps disappearing along the hall. She would be standing there, behind the glass door, curious yet disappointed, no doubt, wanting to be part of whatever was unfolding.

The doorbell to Derek McCubbin’s flat rang out as Lorimer pressed the old-fashioned bell, the long sound drilling through the empty hall. Behind him, Wilson and Grant exchanged glances.