Alex Gray - A Pound Of Flesh

Outside darkness had fallen to an inky black and rain battered against the windows. Shivering suddenly, Maggie got up and went to close the curtains against the winter’s night. Bill had told her a little about the latest prostitute murder but not much more than she had gleaned from the television and newspaper reports. What a night for any young woman to be out, standing waiting for some man to use their body! And all because someone had lured them into the world of drug abuse.

Maggie’s mind slipped to the wall outside the school’s medical room where posters urged the pupils to shun any form of drugs. The messages were hard hitting all right, but did they ever hit home with the kids? There were a few pupils that worried Maggie Lorimer, the quiet ones who seemed withdrawn and anxious as well as the wee neds who slunk into corners of the playground at break times, shuffling stuff in their pockets that might have been bits of hashish or something worse.

The sound of the new car turning into the drive banished her dark thoughts and Maggie felt her whole body relax as she waited for Bill to turn the key and come through the front door. It was, she admitted to herself, the best time of the day when he arrived home, no matter how late the hour. And, as Maggie waited, she experienced a moment of sheer pride in her husband. He was detective superintendent now, the man heading up this important unit at Pitt Street, whose face was all over the newspapers and TV with this high profile murder case. He had deserved to buy himself this new Lexus, she told herself.

‘Hi, gorgeous.’ Lorimer was suddenly there, his coat wet from the rain outside. Then, as Maggie found herself folded into his embrace, Lena Forsyth and her stupid book were banished completely from her mind.

‘I’ve had dinner but there’s plenty left for you. Made that Sophie Dahl asparagus soup you like so much,’ she murmured. ‘And there’s some chilli as well. Just need to warm it up in the microwave.’

‘Ach, you spoil me, woman,’ Lorimer said, holding her still and stroking her hair gently. She felt his sigh against her body. Maybe he would tell her what had been happening in his world, maybe not. Maggie smiled to herself, leaning her head against her husband’s chest. He was home now and whatever lay outside could wait for tomorrow.

Travelling by train at rush hour was not perhaps the most likely place to find love. It was certainly not what Barbara Knox was expecting to find that morning, looking through her copy of the Metro and glancing at her travelling companions. A middle-aged man directly across from her sat slumped in his corner next to the window, eyes half-closed, ears full of goodness only knew what sort of music from his iPod. Or was he listening to something work related? Barbara looked covertly at him again from the shelter of the sports pages. Nah, she told herself. Probably not music. Didn’t look the type, and wasn’t she always congratulating herself on being able to tell a person’s character from the little clues about their appearance? She smiled quietly to herself. Maybe that was an attribute she would bring to the team that Detective Superintendent Lorimer had asked her to join?

Barbara Knox felt a warm rush of pride as she remembered the article in the police magazine. The photo had been horrible, her face grinning out at the photographer from Pitt Street, but the feature itself had given her a glow of satisfaction as it outlined her short biography and the fact that she was to join this prestigious squad. And there would be new people there — people who might become friends, she thought, feeling a little wistful.

The squeal of brakes drowned out any further thought as the train slowed to a halt at one of the busier stations on the route into Glasgow, several of the passengers already on their feet, queuing to reach the doors. DC Barbara Knox gave a sigh and returned to her reading as the man with the MP3 player rose from his place and joined the others who were silently filing off the train. Barbara felt her coat being dragged slightly as he swept past so she rummaged into the pocket, her hand feeling her warrant card. She was pulling it out and trying to find an inside pocket in her jacket when more passengers began to enter the train. Mr MP3’s place was taken by an attractive dark-haired woman who sat down carefully as though she were taking special care not to disturb Barbara as she shuffled the card to a safer place. For the briefest of moments their eyes met and Barbara was surprised into giving one of her rare smiles. The other woman smiled back then turned away to look out of the window, as though suddenly shy of human contact.

But it was there, Barbara was sure of it, that little frisson of recognition, one girl to another. A surreptitious glance at the other woman’s ungloved fingers told Barbara what she had hoped to find out: no rings on the third finger of her left hand. Something caught at her throat as she continued to observe the woman and Barbara felt the familiar sense of excitement at anticipating a new conquest. She was undoubtedly a businesswoman; that much Barbara could tell from her thick black coat and expensive-looking leather boots, plus the well-groomed air that she had. It was classy, not overdone like one of these girls from the perfume counters, all blusher and false eyelashes, but subdued and elegant like the profile that was turned as if to let Barbara see just how exquisite she was.

The carriage was plunged into gloom as the train entered a tunnel and for a moment each woman gazed at the other in the reflection of the darkened window. This time the gaze was held and Barbara’s smile grew warmer.

As the train journeyed on through the approach to the city Barbara could see the woman’s smile still fixed on those reddened lips, lips that she suddenly yearned to kiss. She was, she was, she had to be , Barbara told herself, closing her eyes for a moment and imagining the touch of the woman’s hand on hers.

When she opened them, the woman was looking right at her, a curious expression on her face that made Barbara blush. Surely she couldn’t see into her mind? No, that was ridiculous!

Then the train was slowing down and everybody was rising to their feet, some straining their eyes to see on what side the platform would appear. Barbara and the dark-haired woman rose together and Barbara automatically ushered her out first before leaving the train herself.

It seemed the most natural thing in the world to strike up a conversation as they walked along the platform, side by side. The weather was the first topic, obviously, but then the woman cocked her head to one side and said, ‘You’re a policewoman, aren’t you?’

‘Yes,’ Barbara replied. ‘How did you know?’

‘You’ve got that clever air about you,’ the woman said, a smile on her half-parted lips that seemed to be keeping back something else that she wanted to say, some secret she wanted to share.

It was madness, of course it was, speaking like this with a perfect stranger. But at that moment Barbara Knox found herself beguiled by a smile and the soft timbre of the woman’s voice. In a sudden rush of pride, she found herself telling this stranger about the call to join Lorimer’s team and how she hoped to gain some experience and eventually promotion. The dark-haired woman was an easy listener and there was something more, Barbara sensed; a warmth that was greater than the interest of a mere passer-by.

‘What is it you do, yourself?’ Barbara asked as they waited to cross Hope Street. She expected she was a lawyer, or maybe an accountant; the offices between here and Pitt Street were full of businesses like that.

The enigmatic smile made Barbara eager to know more about this woman as she turned away. ‘Ah,’ she said, ‘that would be telling, now wouldn’t it?’ and the laugh she gave was husky, almost sexy, deepening the policewoman’s curiosity.