Alex Gray - The Riverman

Lorimer found the block of apartments where Jennifer Hammond lived, right at the end of a curving road close to the water’s edge. He locked the car, turned his jacket collar against the now heavy rain and hurried towards the main door.

‘Yes?’ The voice over the security entrance system sounded sharp.

‘DCI Lorimer, Miss Hammond. May I come up?’

There was a pause then a buzzer sounded to admit him and Lorimer entered a square hallway with pots of leafy plants placed where they would catch the sun. The hall was carpeted and clean and the small lift free from any sign of graffiti, he noticed, as it glided upwards to the fifth floor of the building. There was no doubt that the human resources manager lived in some comfort and style. It probably cost the tenants a fortune in service charges. The days of taking your turn to clean the stairs simply didn’t apply to owners of modern apartments.

Lorimer had barely pressed the doorbell when Jennifer Hammond pulled open the door. Today her green eyes were cold and distant; it was hard to imagine that they had regarded Lorimer with such flirtatiousness on their first meeting. Michael Turner’s death had made an impact on her, he was sure.

‘I suppose you’d better come in,’ she said at last, opening the door wider. Lorimer stepped into a long, narrow hallway, almost stumbling over a suitcase against the wall. Its sides were bulging and an identity strap was secured across the case.

‘Going somewhere?’ he asked, eyeing the case then directing his gaze at the redhead.

‘Yes,’ she replied shortly. It was still early yet the woman was dressed in a dark-green trouser suit and was wearing high-heeled shoes, as if she were preparing to leave the flat. Just where was she going? Not work, he thought, glancing once more at the suitcase. Her name and a destination in Cyprus were scrawled across the luggage label. Jennifer Hammond turned on her heels and led Lorimer down a passage to a light and airy sitting room with picture windows that overlooked the river. Lorimer took a deep breath. The name Riverview Gardens was entirely apt. The view was positively panoramic. Towards the west he could see many familiar landmarks, including the spire of Glasgow University and the twin towers of Kelvingrove Art Gallery. The arc of Kingston Bridge showed cars and lorries whizzing across from north to south. And was that really a cormorant he could see flying low over the water? Lorimer tore his gaze reluctantly from the window. Inside, the sitting room was comfortably furnished with pale wooden tables and open shelving, a large glass table dominating the centre of the room. The pictures on the wall were Jack Vettriano prints, placed there more for the fact that they matched the decor than for their aesthetic qualities, Lorimer surmised.

‘Please sit down, Chief Inspector.’ Jennifer immediately sat on the edge of an armchair covered in pale gold fabric that faced a matching two-seater settee. Lorimer had no option but to sink his long frame into the squashy cushions. For a moment their eyes met and he thought he saw a hint of challenge in the woman’s expression as she waited for him to begin.

‘First of all, I have to say how sorry I was to have to pass on the information about the death of your colleague, Miss Hammond,’ Lorimer began. He paused but there was no pert smile and ‘Call me Jennifer’ this time around. ‘It appears that Michael Turner has no next of kin here in Scotland and so we are anxious to see who among his close friends might help with … arrangements.’ She stiffened slightly at the euphemism, but still did not speak. ‘You seem to have been good friends?’ Lorimer tilted his head and waited. Surely this time she would respond? He watched as the woman’s shoulders sagged in defeat.

‘He was my boyfriend before he went away,’ she said flatly.

‘Were you sorry to see him go off to America?’

Jennifer Hammond made a face. ‘We weren’t that sort of couple. Neither of us saw it as a long-term thing. Especially when Michael got the chance to transfer to Kirkby Russell.’

‘So there were no plans for you to join him over there? Or go for a holiday?’ Lorimer asked pointedly.

The woman shook her head, letting her long red hair fall over her face.

‘But you’re off on a holiday now?’

‘Yes. The firm has a holiday place in Cyprus. I was going to take a few days off.’ Lorimer heard the hesitation in her voice.

‘And now?’

‘I don’t know.’ She looked up at him. ‘What exactly do you want me to do?’

‘Tell me what you can about Michael Turner. His background. His family. Anything that might help us to trace any living relations.’

‘Oh, well, that’s easy. He hasn’t any, unless there’s a wife hidden away somewhere.’ She began to smile then her mouth twisted in a grimace. ‘Sorry, that wasn’t even remotely funny. Michael wasn’t ever married and he was an only child. His mum and dad were killed in a road accident when he was at university. There were no uncles or aunts. He told me this,’ she added firmly and Lorimer nodded, encouraging her to continue. ‘He had lots of friends, some from uni days and others from work.’ She paused, looking directly at Lorimer. ‘He was a nice man, Chief Inspector.’ Jennifer Hammond’s voice softened. ‘He deserved better.’

‘Is there anyone else you could suggest who would want to help sort out his estate?’

She frowned, thinking hard. ‘Can you leave that with me? I’d need to ring round various people and it won’t be easy once they know about the circumstances of … of his death.’ Lorimer saw her swallowing back sudden tears.

‘And Cyprus?’

She gave a self-deprecating smile. ‘I’m not in the mood any more. I’ll take a few days off work, though. See if I can rally some of Michael’s buddies.’

‘I’d appreciate that, Miss Hammond,’ Lorimer told her, sensing the change in the woman’s mood.

‘Jennifer,’ she reminded him, and he nodded as he rose, acknowledging her renewed cooperation. He was almost at the front door when he turned towards her again. ‘Jennifer,’ he began, ‘that tape. Are you sure you didn’t recognize the caller’s voice?’

The eyes that met his did not flicker for an instant. ‘Quite sure, Chief Inspector Lorimer.’

Lorimer hesitated then fished out a card and pen from his inside pocket. He scribbled on the back of the card before handing it to the woman.

‘Here. I’ve added my mobile number. If you think of anything at all, please call me.’

Jennifer Hammond took the card and turned it over in her hand, one eyebrow arched in an unspoken question. Then her eyes met Lorimer’s. ‘Thanks,’ she said, ‘though I don’t expect I’ll use this.’

The woman breathed a long sigh as she closed the door and leaned against it. That was that, then. She turned the card over and over in her fingers, wondering about the tall policeman who was now making his way back down to the car park. There was something about him that kindled a spark within her. She smiled and moved towards the hall table where her mobile lay. Wouldn’t do any harm to put in his numbers, she thought. He was a good-looking guy was DCI Lorimer. Maybe she could call him up sometime, a little voice suggested. She hadn’t noticed a wedding ring on his finger, but that hadn’t stopped her before, had it? Her green eyes shone with a host of possibilities as she laid down her phone, Lorimer’s numbers safely logged away for future use.

JJ whistled along to ‘Little Old Heartbreaker Me’ as he drove the big van along the freeway. He’d paid cash for the Chevy after settling that final job, cleared out his bank account and told his cleaning lady he was off to Europe for a long vacation. Fat lot she’d care, lazy bitch that she was. Her long face was going to miss the extra money, not ol’ JJ, despite what she’d said. Once she’d left the apartment building, JJ had gone to work on his disappearing act. That final shot in the woods had burned his bridges with New York. And with his employers. JJ gave a soft laugh as he remembered the body thudding onto the forest floor. Well, he’d killed a man in cold blood one last time, as professional an execution as you could find. There were plenty who would want to thank him personally for that job, but he knew they’d never have the chance to shake his hand. Not if he could help it.