Alex Gray - The Riverman

‘Oh God, I’m so sorry. It’s Duncan Forbes. He’s been killed. I mean he’s drowned but I didn’t mean it to happen. Truly I didn’t.’ There was a pause, then a sound like a smothered sob. ‘He’s over by the Finnieston crane. Near the Crowne Plaza. Oh God … There’s something you should know about-’ Then the line had gone dead. As if another hand had cut off her voice, Lorimer had observed.

Cameron screwed up his face as the CCTV footage showed black and white figures coming and going from the hotel’s main entrance. It was the obvious tape to begin with, Wilson had told him. The next one in the pile would be the tape covering the mezzanine corridor. Cameron yawned and tried to concentrate. It was a tedious but important part of the initial investigation. Should anything criminal come to light, they’d both be up in court giving any evidence these tapes might reveal.

There were several photographs of the deceased on the table in front of them. But it would be a darned sight easier if they had someone here who’d actually known the guy. Wilson grinned at the younger officer as he tried to stifle another yawn. They were in for a long session in front of the video screen.

Lorimer switched off the ignition and gave a sigh.

‘Hellish, isn’t it?’ WPC Annie Irvine shook her head. Meeting the relatives of the deceased was never easy, no matter how often you’d done it before. She’d made countless pots of tea in her years in the force. Annie Irvine liked to think it was her sympathetic manner that made her the usual choice for these jobs, but it was more likely that everyone else seemed to disappear into the woodwork whenever Lorimer was looking for a female officer to accompany him.

Lorimer didn’t reply. That was par for the course, Irvine knew. Yet he would open up to his officers whenever there was something to say. You just had to be a bit patient with DCI Lorimer; that usually reaped rewards.

As they stood together on the doorstep of Mansewood, Irvine glanced around. They had parked next to a sweeping lawn that lay opposite the wide driveway with shrubberies that screened the property from prying eyes. The owners probably paid a fortune for a gardener to keep it so neat and tidy. All the gardens they had driven past in this part of Bearsden looked well tended. The policewoman’s eyebrows were raised in admiration. It took Irvine all her time to remember to water the plants on her windowsill.

In answer to the shrill note of the doorbell they heard footsteps thudding down the stairs. The door opened and a young woman stood looking at them uncertainly. Her brown hair was scraped back into a ponytail and she was wearing a baggy shirt over a grubby pair of jeans.

‘You’re the police?’ she asked, glancing at the WPC’s uniform, her sharp question delivered in a refined accent.

Lorimer held out his warrant card. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Lorimer. WPC Irvine. We’ve come to see Mrs Forbes. She’s expecting us.’

‘You’d better come in,’ the girl said, holding open the door reluctantly. ‘Mum’s not feeling too great and I’m not letting anyone visit. But I suppose you people are different.’ Her face showed a defiance that Lorimer recognized as a mask to hide emotions that were not too far below the surface.

‘Thank you, Miss …?’

‘Mrs,’ she replied shortly. ‘Mrs Collins. Jane Collins.’ The girl saw Lorimer look pointedly at the space where a wedding ring should be and the faintest of smiles appeared on her face. ‘Can’t wear it just yet. Haven’t lost the post-baby flab.’ Jane Collins turned and led them through to the back of the house and into a pretty drawing room that looked over gardens that rose in a gentle slope ending in a row of leafless beech trees.

Elizabeth Forbes did not rise as they came into the room. She was seated on a cream-coloured recliner chair, her legs crossed on the footrest. A beige fleecy rug was wrapped around her body.

‘Mum, this is Chief Inspector Lorimer to see you.’ The girl had dropped to her knees and was stroking her mother’s hand.

Elizabeth Forbes raised her eyes to the strangers in her drawing room and nodded. Eyes puffy from hours of weeping looked blankly at Lorimer and Irvine. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then turned her head towards her daughter.

‘If it’s too much for you …’ Lorimer tailed off.

‘No.’ The word came out hoarsely. ‘No. It’s all right. Please sit down.’ She lifted a weak hand towards the easy chairs opposite.

‘Tea?’ Jane Collins asked, rising to her feet. Lorimer nodded. It would be better if the girl was occupied with something while he spoke to her mother.

‘Oh!’ she exclaimed as the sound of an infant crying came from another part of the house. ‘Looks like I’m needed upstairs.’ As the girl headed for the door, all thoughts of tea forgotten, Elizabeth Forbes caught Lorimer’s eye.

‘First baby,’ she confided in hushed tones, then gave a smile. ‘You know what it’s like, Chief Inspector.’

Lorimer returned the smile politely. He didn’t know and never would know what parenthood was like. If Elizabeth Forbes wanted to assume he understood about babies that was fine by him. The grandmotherly pride in the new infant had at least brought some colour to her ashen face.

‘We wanted to talk to you about your husband,’ Lorimer began.

The smile disappeared like a cloud obscuring the winter sun as Elizabeth Forbes dropped her gaze.

‘The sooner we can piece together Mr Forbes’ last movements, the more we’ll make sense of just what happened to him,’ he explained gently.

The woman nodded her understanding but still looked down at her hands, one fingernail working away at another. Lorimer’s eyes followed her small action, noting the well-trimmed, capable fingers devoid of any nail enamel. These were hands used to manual work he realized, and was surprised at the observation.

‘When did you last see your husband?’ he asked, the routine question sounding annoyingly clichéd as he spoke.

‘Yesterday. No. What day is it today?’ she asked, looking at Annie Irvine as if only a woman could keep track of such things.

‘Friday,’ Annie replied. Duncan Forbes’ body had been washed up on the shores of the Clyde the previous morning following that odd telephone call. They waited until the woman had worked this out for herself.

‘Duncan left for the office on Wednesday and was due to go to some leaving party that evening,’ she began.

‘At the Crowne Plaza?’ Lorimer prompted.

‘Yes. He said he might come home first to change but he didn’t.’ The woman considered for a moment before continuing. ‘So I suppose I last saw him that morning before he left for work.’ Her hand threw back the rug and it fell to the carpet. ‘He said he’d be home before eleven.’ She looked up at Lorimer accusingly. ‘He said he would.’

‘Mr Forbes didn’t contact you at all then after Wednesday morning?’

‘No. I was out for most of the day anyway.’

‘Did he leave you a message, perhaps? From the office or from his mobile?’

Elizabeth Forbes shook her head and looked down again. When she raised her face Lorimer could see her cheeks wet with tears.

‘Oh, if only he had!’ she cried. ‘At least I could listen to his voice on the tape. But now I’ve got nothing, nothing at all!’ And she sank her head into quivering hands, sobbing heavily from a throat already exhausted by too much weeping.

Lorimer watched as Annie Irvine knelt by the woman’s side, holding her arm and making shushing noises as though she were calming a child. At last the sobs gave way and Elizabeth Forbes took the proffered tissue, blowing her nose noisily.

‘All right?’ Lorimer asked, his body bent towards the widow so that their eyes were level. She nodded, still too full to speak.