Alex Gray - Pitch Black

‘But do you think it’s necessarily the killer who’s done this?’

Lorimer was silent. That was the real question, wasn’t it? Niall Cameron hadn’t been afraid to ask it, either, he thought, appraising the tall Detective Constable loping along at his side. Cameron had fairly put in the hours on this case. He’d scoured the city for any sighting of Donnie Douglas and had begun to put out feelers further afield in the hope that someone would find the missing player.

‘D’you think we’ll find Donnie Douglas alive?’

‘God, I hope so.’ Lorimer sighed. ‘I’m beginning to believe the newspapers’ insistence that we’ve got some grade-A serial killer out there on the loose.’

‘Is Doctor Brightman …’ Cameron left his sentence unfinished. They both knew what he’d wanted to say. If Solly Brightman had been able to provide some sort of profile then at least that would have given them a direction. But Solly was still at Rosie’s bedside and nothing could prevail on Lorimer to try to prise him away from her.

‘We have to find Douglas.’ Lorimer stopped and turned to Cameron. ‘We should put something out on national television. Maybe that’ll flush him into the open. If he’s still with us,’ he added with a sour twist to his mouth.

News-stands around the city were enjoying a roaring trade, their vendors bawling out the Gazette ’s latest lurid headlines. The whole world and his wife seemed caught up in the Kelvin story, this latest bizarre twist serving to shock and amaze. By the time commuters had reached home, the affairs at Kelvin FC were on everybody’s lips. So it was no great surprise when the face of Chief Inspector William Lorimer appeared on their evening television screens.

Maggie Lorimer, hastily forewarned, was sitting staring at her TV, waiting for the news item that would bring her husband into their front room. It wasn’t the first time he’d appeared on television and probably wouldn’t be the last. Sometimes the job demanded a lot of public support and what better way to reach the masses than this.

There was a news item about the latest atrocities in the Middle East, then the newsreader turned towards a screen behind him. There he was. Maggie’s heart gave a little flutter seeing her husband standing at the entrance to Kelvin Park. He was frowning into the camera as the questions began.

‘Chief Inspector, rumours have been flying about, regarding this incident in Kelvin’s boot room. What is the official police opinion on this?’

Lorimer shifted from one foot to the other as he replied, making him seem uneasy. It was simply his restless nature, Maggie knew, but viewers might interpret his manner otherwise. Stay still, will you, she urged his image on the TV screen.

‘Strathclyde Police treats every incident surrounding these recent deaths very seriously indeed. Whether the reconstruction of a player’s murder was a hoax or not, still remains to be seen. Several forensic experts have examined the scene and so far there is nothing to suggest that anyone from outside the club was involved.’

‘This could be someone’s idea of a joke, then?’ The newsreader’s eyebrows went up and his voice sounded sceptical.

‘We can’t say anything for certain at this stage of our investigation, certainly not while we still have a missing person.’

‘Donnie Douglas, the Kelvin mid-fielder. Is he a suspect in these murder cases?’

‘That’s something I’m not at liberty to answer, I’m afraid,’ Lorimer replied, his mouth a thin line of disapproval.

‘Do you think there might be someone stalking the players?’

‘Conjecture isn’t very helpful-’

‘But surely the threats against Chairman Patrick Kennedy must be taken seriously?’ the man interrupted.

Maggie made a face at the screen. The interviewer was making it look as though the police were doing sod all, whereas the opposite was true. Lorimer’s team had been working flat out on this case.

‘As I’ve already said, we are taking everything seriously. Three people have lost their lives in the last few weeks. There have been extensive procedures undertaken, most of which I cannot discuss lest it jeopardise our investigation. Let me say, however,’ and now Maggie saw her husband turn to face the camera, ‘any person who has information that might help to find the perpetrator of the recent killings or who knows the whereabouts of Donnie Douglas should contact us immediately. No matter how insignificant you might think your information is, we need you to come forward. Anything you tell us will be treated in the strictest confidence.’

The Chief Inspector’s blue eyes glinted with determination, though his voice was quietly persuasive. Even the newsreader seemed impressed as he read out the number to call.

Then suddenly it was over. The screen behind him went blank as the man continued with other news stories. Maggie sank back, wiping her hands on her linen skirt. He’d not shown a bit of nervousness yet here she was, a total wreck just watching him. What would he be doing now? Was his working day over or would she have to console herself with the ginger cat for company once more? As if on cue, Chancer jumped up on to Maggie’s lap, purring, his face rubbing against her cheek. She smiled and cuddled him close, warmed by the animal’s spontaneous affection. It was okay. She’d hear all about it come bedtime.

‘I really don’t know, Chief Inspector,’ Pat Kennedy said slowly. ‘Enemies? That’s a strong word to use, surely? I mean, in the world of football you make friends and you fall out with others. Players have to be disciplined and sometimes dropped but that’s just the way it is. Nobody’s going to make a great scene about it.’

‘What about fans?’

‘Oh.’ For a moment the chairman was silent, tapping his huge fingers against the side of his seat. They had chosen to sit out on the terracing, away from prying eyes and ears. The evening sun was still high in the sky but deep shadows were cast by the overhanging roof on this side, providing a relief from the heat.

‘We have had a few problems,’ Kennedy began. ‘There are always some who take things to extremes. Bad-mouthing opposing fans is the norm, but sometimes there are fans who act … well, violently, I suppose I have to say.’

‘But surely the police officers at matches deal with that?’

Kennedy shrugged. ‘You’ve seen the reports from last year’s matches. Nothing to write home about, maybe. A few yobs who’d been drinking too much before games. No,’ he hesitated then turned to look Lorimer straight in the eye. ‘I was thinking about Big Jock.’

‘Who?’

Kennedy looked away again, shaking his head slightly. ‘Och, maybe I’m clutching at straws here. Big Jock’s a nutcase. Appears at home games and makes a bit of a fool of himself. But he’s funny, you know, really a comedian. Not right in the head, though. Says daft things, writes mad letters to the club.’

‘Why haven’t you said anything about him before now?’ Lorimer’s frown was etched on his forehead.

‘He’s a harmless big soul,’ Kennedy protested. ‘At least-’

‘At least you thought he was before all this began.’ Lorimer finished the sentence for him. ‘Better give me any details you have about this character, okay?’

‘You don’t really think anyone’s got it in for me, do you, Chief Inspector?’

Lorimer looked across at the chairman. He was a different man this evening, a troubled man whose arrogance had vanished under the weight of this latest incident. Was he afraid? It was hard to imagine the blustering Kennedy having any fears at all, but perhaps the sight of these blood-red painted words had finally unmanned him.

‘I think,’ Lorimer answered slowly, ‘someone is trying to frighten you. Whether your life is in any danger is another matter. But we’ll set up a CCTV system at your home if you want it.’