Alex Gray - Pitch Black

‘You’re gorgeous,’ he murmured into her hair.

‘Mm,’ came the reply, then she slipped from his grasp and turned back towards the sink. ‘Lobster salad,’ she said, indicating the array of foodstuffs she’d been preparing.

‘Oh? Any special reason?’ Lorimer asked, brow furrowed. Had he missed some anniversary? But Maggie was smiling and shaking her head.

‘No. Saw it on special offer and decided you and I needed a wee reminder of Mull.’

‘Good thinking.’

‘So, let me finish this while you open that nice Chablis I stuck in the fridge. Okay?’

‘Sounds great.’

Lorimer gave a sigh of satisfaction, ‘That,’ he said, raising his glass in salute, ‘was magnificent.’

‘Och, you deserve a treat. What with the hours you’ve been working.’

‘Does it bother you?’

Maggie shook her head. ‘Not really. Anyway, what’s new with this horrible murder case? No more bodies, real or otherwise, I hope?’

‘No.’ He paused, swirling the straw-coloured wine round his glass thoughtfully. ‘But I did have somebody in to see me today that would interest you.’

‘Oh?’

‘Strictly confidential, of course.’ He smiled. Maggie could be relied upon to keep his news to herself, but after his promises to Alison Renton he felt obliged to underline this.

‘Maybe you shouldn’t tell me, then,’ she retorted, with a shake of her dark curls.

‘Donnie Douglas: you know, the footballer who’s disappeared … well, his girlfriend came in to see me at our request.’

‘Hadn’t Niall and that new fellow visited her already?’

Lorimer nodded. ‘Thought a new face might impress her sufficiently to winkle out some information. Niall felt she was holding something back when her mother was there. And he was right.’ He took a swig of wine as Maggie watched him, her interest piqued. ‘She finally let on that she was expecting Douglas’s child.’

‘Wow. So, what…?’

‘They’d had a huge row about it. She wouldn’t tell her mother. Didn’t want anyone to know. Said she wanted money from him, to have an abortion. Douglas went ballistic. Screamed the place down, according to the girl. Said he wasn’t having any of it, that he’d marry her and they’d bring up the baby together.’

‘So, what was her problem?’

Lorimer sighed. ‘You’d have to see her. She’s just a wee lassie, probably ages with some of your sixth years. She just wanted to have a good time, hang around the footballers, get off with as many of them as she could.’

‘Sounds a right wee slapper to me,’ Maggie replied.

‘Hold on, though. She’s also a calculating young woman. According to her, she told Donnie Douglas that if he didn’t get her the money for an abortion she was going to contact the club and tell them everything.’

‘And she told you this of her own volition?’ Maggie’s tone was sceptical.

‘Aye, but guess what? She’d changed her mind. Typical woman.’ He laughed as Maggie made a face at him. ‘No sooner does Douglas do a runner and she can’t contact him on his mobile, but she decides she wants the baby after all.’

‘A case of “you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone”,’ Maggie sang the Joni Mitchell lyric lightly.

‘That about sums it up. Poor bloke’s off somewhere thinking he’s being blackmailed by a girl he really cared about and he’s worried, no doubt, about all the flak waiting for him back at the club.’

‘Why should the other players give him a hard time? Surely they’d be sympathetic?’

Lorimer shook his head. ‘Think of your kids in the playground, Mags. The ones who make life misery for a few of their mates; it’s like that. Imagine a crowd of daft lassies following the players around, making themselves available, let’s say. Well, the boys had them sussed. Gave them names like “groupie number one” and so on.’ He paused, deciding to leave out the more lurid details. ‘Anyway, Alison Renton was one of this crowd and Donnie Douglas fell for her. Simple as that.’

‘So,’ Maggie asked slowly, ‘do you think she had anything to do with the dummy incident?’

Lorimer shook his head. ‘No, I don’t. Had her prints taken, though. She was actually rather good about that, said she hoped it would help to find Donnie. No, I think whoever did this wanted to draw attention to something else. Using the number eight shirt was maybe just something to spice up the scene.’

‘Go on.’

‘I’m wondering if the real reason somebody broke into the boot room was to paint that stuff on the wall.’

‘ Kill Kennedy ?’

‘That’s what I think. There’s something odd about the man. Something that doesn’t feel right …’ He tailed off, eyes looking beyond his wife to a place only he could see.

Maggie Lorimer, knowing that look of old, slipped away quietly. She’d make some coffee, have it outside in the garden. He’d come and join her eventually, but right now her husband was back at work even while he sat at his own table, oblivious to everything around him.

Rosie dreamed that she was in a white room. Everything was white: walls, floor, furniture, even her clothes were made from some thin white stuff. She could feel the fabric cool under her fingers, the garment floating loose around her naked body.

But she was not alone in this room. There was a tall man dressed in a pale uniform who seemed to be waiting for her by an open door. He stood very still and Rosie thought to herself that he had a military sort of bearing; this seemed to be confirmed by the peaked hat tucked beneath the crook of his elbow and the clipboard full of papers he was consulting. She felt herself move towards him, curious to know what the papers contained. They were to do with what was to become of her, she knew that instinctively without having to be told.

‘You’ll go through there,’ he said, pointing to the doorway. Rosie looked up, prepared to smile, but his face was so grave that she looked beyond his outstretched hand to see where the door might lead. She didn’t want to leave this familiar whiteness behind but the man’s face told her that she had no option, so she moved through the doorway, shivering as she entered into a shadowy corridor. Blank walls on either side curved overhead to form an arch all the way along, so it was more like a tunnel than a corridor. The darkness did not intensify, rather the quality of twilight remained the same even when the white room was left far behind. On and on she walked until all sense of time had vanished. She never stopped travelling forwards, only hesitating sometimes to rub her eyes and blink in the dim light. Rosie felt no fear, only a growing curiosity as to where the tunnel would lead and what she might find at the other end. At last the stifling greyness gave way as pale light shone against a curve on the wall and she stepped out into a brightness so intense and dazzling that she had to close her eyes tightly and cover them with her hands.

A sudden babble of voices filled her ears, so loud that Rosie wanted to scream. The sound of her own voice came to her then, a high, thin sound like an infant’s mewling, and she felt helpless against the hands that lifted her up and away from the ground. For a moment she felt safe — these hands were strong — though they held her body in a vice-like grip. I’m just tired, she told herself. My body is weak, that’s all. But then the dream took on nightmarish proportions as everything happened at once. A hand pushed her down, hard, and her body was forced into a small cage. Rosie felt sharp edges graze her arms and something cold strike her bare feet. The snap as a lid was shut above her echoed all around, mingling with screams and curses. Before she knew what was happening, the world tilted sideways and then her whole body jarred as the cage came to earth with a thud. She tried to speak, but no sound came from her lips. Her neck was twisted into an awkward angle and then she felt her head thump against the side of the cage as if it were being pulled over rough ground.