Alex Gray - The Riverman

‘That’s the other section. This lot are eager beavers. Trouble is I keep finding stuff that’s obviously copied straight off the Net. It’s a nightmare and I haven’t the time to source it all.’

‘You should have a school technician to do that for you,’ Lorimer told his wife.

‘Aye, and the day that happens there’ll be two blue moons in the sky!’ She stood up and stretched again. ‘Fancy a cup of tea?’

Lorimer nodded, looking up from the pile of papers on his lap. ‘Love one. Want me to make it?’

Maggie shook her head. ‘No thanks. Been sitting too long. Need to move myself.’

A few minutes later Maggie paused, the tea tray in her hands as she caught sight of Lorimer’s good coat. It was hanging over the banister, its hem caked with mud. Where on earth had he been? With a sigh she laid the tray on a side table and picked up the cashmere coat. A quick brush might be all that it needed, she told herself, examining the garment.

‘Damn!’ Maggie swore softly. There were dark stains above the mud. Whiffy stains, too. This would be a job for the cleaners. Making a face, she bundled the coat into the hall cupboard and shut the door. It would have to wait till the weekend and his nibs would just have to wear his old jacket. Picking up the tray, Maggie Lorimer dismissed the coat from her mind; she couldn’t be bothered making a fuss. Tonight had been so pleasant and relaxed. Why spoil it?

Lorimer smiled. It was good to sit for a bit with Maggie. How long that would last, though, was anyone’s guess. Iain MacKenzie had given him the go-ahead and Duncan Forbes’ death was now being treated as a possible murder inquiry. Between the taped phone call and the toxicology report, the Fiscal reckoned there was enough to justify Lorimer and his team digging deeper. Part of him experienced that old restlessness that wanted to be up and off, asking questions, seeing people and places. Then again, he was reluctant to let go of the comfortable routine that had been established since Maggie’s homecoming. Somehow Lorimer felt that this case would prove both tricky and time-consuming.

Tomorrow, he told himself, it could wait until tomorrow. Then he’d have the team primed and ready to begin a full-scale murder inquiry, starting with the accountancy firm on the banks of the Clyde.

JJ raised the gun and trained it upon his victim. He felt the kick on his shoulder as the bullet was fired straight into the man’s chest. He’d used a silencer, but the body made a muffled sound as it hit the forest floor and a scattering of crows took off from the trees, screeching their protest.

He stooped to retrieve the shellcase then walked calmly towards the spot where the dead man lay, hearing the crunch of oak leaves beneath his boots.

There was an acrid smell in the air that mingled with the earthy scent that rose from the damp ground. JJ took a deep breath then pushed the man once with his foot, hard. The body tumbled into a large hole and JJ stooped over the grave, looking for a moment at the sight below him.

The man’s face was turned towards the sky, his astonished eyes now for ever sightless. That was another problem taken care of, he thought. No ghosts would haunt him from now on, not if he could help it.

JJ gave a satisfied grunt then began to shovel earth back into the hole. A scattering of winter leaves and the grave would disappear into the forest floor, its newest inhabitant lost for good.

‘Are you sure?’

Jennifer Hammond stood in the senior partner’s room, one hand clutching the edge of the desk to steady herself.

‘His body was found this morning.’

‘I can’t believe it.’ The woman staggered into a vacant chair, her legs no longer able to support her.

‘We had a call from Strathclyde Police. The New York Police Department informed them last night.’

‘And they’re sure it’s Michael?’

‘Seems they found his credit cards and other stuff,’ Barr replied. ‘I’m sorry, Jenny. This has come a shock hasn’t it?’ The senior partner sat watching the young woman as she stared at him, her expression one of total disbelief. Then, as if it had only just occurred to him, he came round the desk and put his arm around her shoulders.

‘Don’t!’ She shook off his embrace and stood up, white-faced and shaken. ‘Don’t touch me!’ She glared at Barr then straightened up as if mustering some remnants of her dignity. ‘Don’t ever touch me again!’

Alec Barr stroked his chin as he watched the redhead slam out of his room. It was only natural that she would be upset, he told himself. Michael had been the latest in her string of office conquests, though, to be honest, she had seemed genuinely fond of him. You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone, he reminded himself wryly. Well, Michael Turner was gone and there was no bringing him back now. Jenny would just have to get over it. Give her time, a little voice told Alec, time to recover her usual, playful self. Maybe suggest some leave; a few days in the sun, perhaps? The villa was not occupied at present. Once she’d had a chance to calm down, his offer of a week in the Cyprus sun might be just the thing to bring his human resources manager back to her senses. And it would not be a bad idea to have Jenny out of the office while the police were nosing around.

Lorimer listened as his superintendent spelled out the choices.

‘The vacancy won’t be there for ever, Lorimer, and I really think you should consider it. Staying here is an option, of course, but we both know your promotion chances will be limited if you do.’ Mitchison nodded as he spoke.

‘What can I say?’ Lorimer began.

‘You can say you’ll think about it,’ was Mitchison’s reply. ‘But not for too long. I’m happy to recommend you for the post. I really think it’s something you would enjoy.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Lorimer stood up, gave the superintendent a brief handshake and left the room, his thoughts in a whirl.

He was under no illusion about why Mitchison had put him in this position. Having a DCI who had once coveted his own job wasn’t all that easy for the super. They’d never rubbed along since Mitchison had been promoted over Lorimer’s head, though, God knows, it had been less to do with the disaffected officers than the manner in which Mitchison chose to run his department. The paperwork was stifling them all to begin with but it was the man’s arrogant attitude that got under their skins, especially Lorimer’s. Now Mitchison had found a way out for his second-in-command. A job in the newly formed Unresolved Case Unit had come up, one that required an experienced officer of at least the rank of DCI. And Mitchison had as good as told him it was his for the asking. He felt a frisson of excitement: notorious cases that were unsolved when he’d been a wee boy might yet come within his reach. It was something …

Back in his own room, Lorimer sat contemplating the painting on the wall. Van Gogh’s Père Tanguy gazed back at him, his barely concealed eagerness to be up out of the sitter’s chair and back to work was, for him, the most appealing aspect of the painting. If he stayed here the paperwork alone might drive him mad. The new unit would offer him new challenges and more chances to be out and about, which was what Lorimer enjoyed most about his job. Then there was Maggie to consider. She’d made it only too clear how much she wanted his career to advance, not out of her own ambition for him but from an enthusiastic loyalty that he found hard to resist.

Well, he would consider it but right now he had some questions to ask the NYPD about a certain Michael Turner. The accountant’s body had been found in woodland in upstate New York. A hunter with his three hounds had found the grave. Lorimer read over the details again. A white male, shot once in the heart at close range. Identification in the form of credit cards found on the body showed it to be a British citizen, Michael Turner. The victim’s hands had been tied behind his back, leaving no room for doubt that this was a deliberate homicide. Turner had been missing for several days, following his departure from the UK. There had been no trace of the young man since his arrival at JFK airport. Flight lists confirming his departure from London Heathrow and Passport Control showed he had indeed made his way onto American soil but after that, nothing. The NYPD were asking for next of kin so that arrangements might be made for the transfer of the body back to Scotland. There was no immediate family as far as they could ascertain from current immigration records. Both his parents had been killed in a motoring accident years ago, Lorimer read. Then he frowned as the details took shape. His mother had been an American citizen and Michael Turner might have opted for dual nationality. But he hadn’t. Perhaps he’d been too young when the choice could have been made, he thought. Still, even such a tenuous link with the United States might throw something up.