Alex Gray - The Riverman

‘I have to ask you this, and I’m sorry if it upsets you, Mrs Forbes, but could you tell us if there was anything worrying your husband recently? Was he anxious about anything, do you know?’

The moment Lorimer saw the woman’s face stiffen, he knew he’d hit a painful spot.

‘What was troubling him, Mrs Forbes?’ he continued, his voice gently inviting her confidence.

Elizabeth Forbes glanced down into her handkerchief, deliberately avoiding his eyes.

‘We have to know what your husband’s state of mind was, you see,’ Lorimer told her. She shook her head as if trying to push away the implication of his words.

‘He wouldn’t …’ she began. ‘We were happy …’

‘Wouldn’t what, Mrs Forbes?’

She looked up again. ‘Duncan would never have taken his own life,’ she said, sniffing loudly. ‘He had far too much to live for. Janey, the baby … oh, everything.’

‘But there was something on his mind?’ Lorimer persisted.

Elizabeth Forbes nodded.

‘Can you tell us what that was?’

‘No. No, I can’t.’ She gave a shuddering sigh. ‘He never told me but I knew all right. I knew something was wrong. He was, well … preoccupied. More so than usual. And he was home late a lot more often from the office.’

Lorimer saw her bite her lip. To keep from weeping again? Or to stop herself from sharing her own thoughts on what might have troubled her husband?

‘That’s all I can tell you, Chief Inspector.’ The woman’s shoulders sagged under the weight of Lorimer’s gaze.

‘Are you certain?’ Lorimer asked. ‘Could there have been a reason behind this accident?’ he asked smoothly, giving no inflection to the word. It was not up to him to suggest that Duncan Forbes had died at his own hand or that of another.

Elizabeth Forbes shook her head again, but this time it was as if she were trying to reconcile herself with a sudden thought. ‘He …’ She looked away, biting her lower lip, then returned her gaze towards Lorimer. ‘He used to be an alcoholic, Chief Inspector,’ she said slowly. ‘But that was years ago. He never drank any more!’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s not how it happened. I assure you!’

Lorimer looked at her. The voice had no tremble now and her eyes were bright with anger as well as unshed tears.

‘We received a 999 call from a woman. She told us where the accident had taken place. You wouldn’t happen to know who that caller might be, Mrs Forbes?’

Lorimer saw her face as she sank back against the recliner chair. It was like watching the shutters coming down on a window.

‘No.’

The silence that followed hung heavily between them, the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece unnaturally loud.

‘I think I need to rest now, Chief Inspector,’ Elizabeth Forbes told them, her voice suddenly firm.

‘If we need to call on you again, we’ll let you know, Mrs Forbes. We’ll see ourselves out. Thanks. Don’t get up,’ Lorimer said, rising to his feet.

As they crossed the hall a voice could be heard singing somewhere in the house. Janey Collins was with her new baby, her father’s death temporarily forgotten in the need to comfort her child.

‘What d’you think?’ Wilson asked.

‘It’s him, all right. Looks a bit the worse for drink, too, if you ask me.’

Both men looked intently at the screen where the figure of a man weaved his way out of the Crowne Plaza and headed left, disappearing out of the frame.

‘Let’s see it again.’ Wilson pressed the rewind button and then stopped. Once again the dark shape of a man crossed the screen, coat flapping around his knees as if a sudden gust of wind had caught him unawares. Wilson pressed another button and the figure froze in wavy lines, forever stepping out of the shadows into a pool of artificial light. The man’s face was in profile, staring ahead as if he knew his destination. Then the DS released the captive image, letting Duncan Forbes step into the night and towards whatever fate had befallen him.

‘Aye. You’re right on both counts. Looks as if he’d had a skinful. Reckon he’d needed a bit of fresh air. Seems like he’s heading over towards the railings.’ Wilson shook his head in a world-weary manner. ‘Gets blotto, makes for the side of the river, spews up and falls in. Poor sod,’ he added.

‘You couldn’t just fall in like that,’ Cameron reasoned. ‘You’d have to climb over the rail, surely?’

‘Know that part of the river, then?’

‘Aye. I do. Cycled over Bell’s Bridge and the Millennium Bridge plenty of times,’ Cameron told him.

‘Oh, well. I’ll take your word for it. We’ll still have to record the way he was moving. It’s consistent with drunkenness and that’s what a court will ask for. If it comes to that. Personally I think we’re dealing with an accidental death.’

‘What about that phone call?’

‘Och, some woman sees the guy fall in and gets over-hysterical.’

‘The call was cut off rather abruptly,’ Cameron persisted.

‘Someone decided she shouldn’t be involved,’ Wilson answered, then, realizing what he’d said, he looked at the younger detective and both men raised their eyebrows in a speculative silence.

*

There was silence in the car as Lorimer drove back. He was thinking about what Elizabeth Forbes had eventually told them. That her late husband was a reformed alchoholic; that he’d never touched the stuff for years. There had been an angry insistence in her voice that worried the DCI. It was as if the lady did protest too much. When Lorimer had spoken of the 999 call, she had become tense and quiet again. Had it been the mention of a woman caller that had made her clam up like that? Or did she really suspect her husband had gone on a bender that had resulted in his death? She was in denial about something. And who could blame her? Lorimer felt a sudden pity for the woman they’d left behind in Bearsden. Whatever had happened to Duncan Forbes, there were other victims still suffering.

‘Okay, let’s leave this meantime. The toxicology report will no doubt give us the usual tale. Too much alcohol in the blood. Bad accident. End of story.’ Lorimer looked round at the officers who had spent no little time following up the mysterious telephone call. ‘Sorry about all of this. Our dear leader will probably blow a mild fuse but at least he can’t fault us for not following correct procedure.’ Lorimer grinned slightly as some of the officers shook their heads at yet another waste of time. Superintendent Mitchison was a stickler for going by the book and generating multiple reports for each and every bit of investigative work. In the few months that Lorimer had been acting superintendent during Mitchison’s sick leave, they had enjoyed a return to the old freedoms that certain European directives threatened to curb, as well as a rest from the endless paperwork.

‘What about the tapes?’ DC Cameron asked testily. His head ached from sitting in front of a VCR all afternoon and now the boss was telling them it was all a waste of time.

‘We retain them until the tox. report comes in. You can send them back after that. Sorry,’ Lorimer added, raising his eyebrows at Cameron’s scowl.

There were mutterings as the officers left the room and Lorimer couldn’t blame them. A suspicious death was just that until proven otherwise and it would be more than their jobs were worth to ignore the signs. Still, that was one of the frustrations about police work. He closed his desk drawer and sat back with a sigh. Tomorrow would bring other crimes, other lines of inquiry, but it looked as if he’d heard the last of Duncan Forbes.

The plane nosed up into the air and that familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach made Michael Turner grin with pleasure. He was off! The roar from the aeroplane seemed to mirror the excitement he felt, as if he too were screaming with the engines, his whole body vibrating with joy.