Alex Gray - A Pound Of Flesh

Well, he might ask a few searching questions of the three people who had agreed to meet him at the Scottish parliament.

‘Right, miss, go to sleep,’ Rosie whispered, laying the baby down slowly and gently so she would not waken. The wispthin muslin awnings on either side of the baby’s cradle quivered as Abigail sighed once, her feathery lashes lowering as her blue veined eyelids closed. Rosie stood still for a moment, wondering at the miracle of motherhood. Yes, it was exhausting, but there were times, like now, when she wanted nothing more than to stand and stare at her little daughter, counting the blessings that had come her way since the day she had met Solly. It was three months since Abigail had come into their world, destroying almost every night’s sleep with her constant demands, but Rosie had treasured every moment, knowing that her own career would have to be resumed long before the baby’s first birthday.

Jacqui White had agreed to be her locum for six months only and part of Rosie was glad that she hadn’t asked the woman to continue for longer than that. Yes, she was looking forward to returning to work and yes, she felt that the celebrity pathologist didn’t really have the same commitment to her work as she did, but then there was another huge part of her that longed to stay home and watch as Abby grew up. Wasn’t it a subject that came perennially into every woman’s magazine, this wrench between nurturing one’s offspring and making a career? Well, her career was certainly established and Rosie had no doubts that returning to work was what she should do. Still, finding a carer for their daughter was uppermost in Solly and Rosie’s minds and not just anyone who happened to be available; whoever looked after Miss Abigail Margaret Brightman would have to be a very special person indeed.

Maggie Lorimer had asked if she could help out at weekends, especially as Rosie would have to be on call some Saturdays and Sundays. Before Abby’s birth this hadn’t been a problem but now she was grateful for Maggie’s offer. Spending time with her godmother would be good for their little one, and looking at things another way, might even help to make up for the Lorimers’ own lack of family.

Rosie slipped out of the nursery at last, certain that Abby was sound asleep. If she were to repeat the pattern of previous days then she might be able to have a whole hour to herself.

‘Asleep?’ Solly asked as Rosie came up behind him and placed her arms on his shoulders.

‘Yes,’ she answered, then looked beyond him at the computer screen. ‘How’s it going? Any clues about Pattison yet?’

‘Ah,’ Solly smiled at her, stroking the hand that had wound its way to find his own. ‘Don’t tell me you’re looking for that elusive magic that so many people think is bound up with profiling.’

‘Nope,’ Rosie replied. ‘Not only do I know you better than that, I’m cynical enough to believe that Edward Pattison wasn’t just unlucky,’ she said darkly. ‘He was up to something. And I bet it involved a woman.’

‘How do you make that out?’ Solly murmured.

‘Well, stands to reason, doesn’t it? He’d been busy all evening with a delegation or something and should have been getting down to his beddy-byes in some nice hotel or other. So what else could have taken him out in his fancy car at that time of night? Eh? Tell me that!’ she said, nodding her head as though this should have been the most obvious thing in the world to ask.

‘Now if we knew the answer … ’ Solly began.

‘Well, what about the doorman at the hotel, or the night manager or … or … the guy who looks after the cars down in their garage? Has anyone asked them that question yet?’

‘Actually, yes,’ Solly said, turning around in his chair and catching his wife around her waist. ‘All of them are co-operating with Lorimer’s team.’ He smiled at her. ‘Are you so desperate to get back into harness, my lovely?’ he asked wistfully. ‘Sure you don’t want to give it a rest for a couple of years?’

‘Oh, don’t, Solly, please,’ Rosie replied. ‘It’s going to be hard enough, but you know my mind’s made up. Once we find a good childminder it’ll all work out, you’ll see.’

‘And meantime you want to know more about the facts of a murder case than when to give our daughter her first solid food?’ he teased.

‘Aye, too right,’ Rosie laughed. ‘Let me get back to my department and I’ll appreciate that wee lady next door all the more, I promise you. Anyway, see this case. D’you think it’s all about Pattison or is there really some nutter running around looking for guys in their Mercedes sports cars?’

‘Hmm,’ was all that Solly would give as a reply. Then turning back to his computer he began to re-read what he had written so far.

Rosie waited for a moment then shook her head before leaving him to it. She could hardly complain that her husband was busy at work now that she was thinking ahead to the resumption of her own career. Still, maybe she had struck a chord with her remark about Pattison. If she had been away from home at a conference she’d either have been in the bar talking to her colleagues or else telephoning Solly from her hotel room. Why Edward Pattison had been doing neither of these things but had chosen to drive away from his hotel late at night was not just a mystery, it didn’t make any sense; unless, as she had hinted, he had been up to something that his wife didn’t know about.

Solly frowned, looking intently at the words on his computer screen. Rosie was absolutely right. Of course Pattison should have been at the hotel, not gallivanting about Glasgow at that time of night. His diary had made it clear that he was expecting a full workload the next day and any hard-working politician would have been glad to have a good night’s sleep before returning to the Scottish parliament and his other duties. So, what had he been doing? What attractions had the city for a man with a reputation for clean living? Or, he wondered, had it been one particular attraction? And, if so, should Lorimer and his team be looking for what Glasgow folk would call Pattison’s bit on the side ?

Lorimer watched as the snowflakes whirled faster around the windows, obscuring the landscape on either side. Even the dark rows of pine trees on this stretch of the M8 had been obliterated by the whiteout and his driver had slowed down, warned by the overhead gantry signs that there was an accident ahead. It was, he thought, the law of natural cussedness that, at a time when he needed to act swiftly, his day was being held up, first by that press conference and now by the vagaries of the Scottish weather.

A small noise from his inside pocket made him take out his BlackBerry and read the latest message. He grinned when he saw Professor Brightman’s name appear at the top.

Cherchez la femme was all it said, but Lorimer knew fine what Solly was hinting at. Despite the fact that he hadn’t yet told Solly about his conversation with Catherine Pattison, the psychologist seemed to have reached the same conclusion about the dead man. He’d spent time during this journey trying out ways of asking questions of Pattison’s closest friends and family. But how did you frame a sentence that asked if a man had been cheating on his wife? As the wind whipped the snow in drifts across the road, the driver turned around, shaking his head.

‘Sorry, sir, think we’ll have to turn off at the next junction. The road’s totally blocked after Harthill. I think it would be best to call up a Land Rover if you still want to get to the capital today.’

‘Do what you can to have a vehicle standing by,’ Lorimer told him. ‘I need to be in Edinburgh today and back tonight if that’s possible. By train if need be.’