Alex Gray - The Riverman

From Forbes Macgregor’s offices it was a fifteen-minute walk along the river to Jennifer Hammond’s flat and less than that by car (or cab, in Solly’s case) to the Crowne Plaza Hotel. The psychologist had walked the pathway all the way back to the city centre, his eyes absorbing each and every aspect of the riverside. Much of these banks had undergone a regeneration process since Solly had made Glasgow his home and he was intrigued to see so many cyclists and dog walkers in this part of the city. There was something prestigious nowadays about owning a property that had a view over the river and Solly could see the attraction. Foxes had been spotted regularly along the walkways, and cormorants were a familiar sight. Graham West’s own residence was in the penthouse flat of what was known as the Butterfly Building. Its two triangular shapes looked like a butterfly from the air, the riverman had told him. Solly had passed several other modern blocks of apartment buildings before crossing the Squinty Bridge to the river’s south bank to the complex of flats where Jennifer Hammond’s body had been found.

George Parsonage had told him stories about the bridges and the several attempted suicides that he had saved from drowning. His job was not just about fishing sodden corpses from the depths of the Clyde. An April night might have seen any number of people wandering around the bridges including the usual derelicts who tended to doss down under the Kingston Bridge; Solly had looked upwards at its concrete span as he’d stood by the gateway to Riverside Gardens. Traffic filled the busy link between north and south, a constant dim roar above his head.

The offices at Carlton Place were secured at night by an elderly janitor, but every member of the senior staff could access the building at any time if they had a security pass. There were at least thirty people who might have been in and out of that office after hours on both the night Duncan Forbes had died and the evening Jennifer Hammond had been murdered, Solly had discovered. All the partners and managers could come and go as they pleased: staying late was a common occurrence and the managers were well paid for overtime. Solly had looked into the taxi fleet that had taken members of Michael Turner’s going-away party to their homes afterwards; its records showed a surprising amount of Forbes Macgregor’s staff had not availed themselves of the taxis’ services. Michael Turner had gone back to his own home by taxi with Jennifer Hammond. But he had noticed that none of the partners had been driven home. Possibly they’d taken their own cars, whether drunk or sober, he thought grimly. Solomon Brightman had never known any desire to drive. The attraction of fast cars was simply beyond his comprehension, but he did understand the prestige many attached to owning and driving a luxury car. Even Lorimer’s old Lexus had some cachet in that department, though its enormous mileage rendered it of little value in monetary terms. Some potential eye witnesses to Duncan Forbes’ death could be ruled out from the staff that had been at Michael Turner’s party then, as they were well on their way home, but not all.

The last dregs of soup congealed in the mug as Solly’s mind turned round and around, following a shadowy figure along that pathway by the Clyde.

‘That’s all, is it? An officer to accompany you to the City Inn and a search warrant for Forbes Macgregor’s offices? Oh sure.’ Lorimer’s sarcasm came thickly over the line. ‘I don’t think so. Well, not the warrant at any rate. That’s for the Fiscal to provide.’ There was a pause as the two men remained silent, one waiting for a response, the other trying to figure out what he had achieved by asking for more than he actually required. If Lorimer had guessed the psychologist’s simple tactic he was not showing it. Maybe Mitchison was breathing down his neck? Solly grinned. That wouldn’t affect the senior investigating officer’s decision, he told himself.

‘So who do you want to ask the questions at the City Inn?’ Lorimer asked shortly.

Solly’s grin widened. The DCI wasn’t happy that this particular line of inquiry had been overlooked, that was all. ‘Oh, anybody,’ Solly answered airily.

‘Tell you what,’ there was a pause as Lorimer considered, ‘why don’t we meet there in, oh, about an hour, say? You don’t have any classes today, do you?’

‘No.’

‘Okay. I’ve some stuff to clear up here then I’ll see you.’

The Australian barman was replacing empty bottles above the optics when Lorimer and Solly strode into the City Inn’s coffee bar.

‘Hi.’ The smile appeared instantly on the barman’s face. ‘What can I get you gentlemen to drink?’

His smile fell a little as Lorimer placed his warrant card on the counter, asking, ‘May we have a quiet word, please?’

Rick Murray sat between the two men, glancing at each of them in turn. Luckily the coffee bar was empty at this time of day but it wouldn’t be too long before he’d need to set up the tables for lunchtime.

‘What’s this all about, guys?’

Lorimer took out a photograph and placed it on the table. It was a photocopy of a page from Accountants’ Magazine showing various members of Forbes Macgregor’s staff, including all their Glasgow partners.

‘I wondered if you had ever seen any of these people before,’ he began. ‘We particularly want to know if any of them checked into the hotel on the night of 7 April this year. Take your time,’ he added as the barman opened his mouth to speak. One look at Lorimer’s steely glare and Rick’s mouth closed again. It would be the easiest thing in the world to deny having ever seen anyone, heard anything, said anything like the wise monkey he should be. But that pair of blue eyes was fastened on him, forcing the barman to look at the paper on the table. Rick scanned the faces smiling up at him. Some of the people in the photos were standing outside a building, others were seated around a large table. He looked intently, wondering which of them had ended up in the Clyde. Finally he met Lorimer’s gaze and shook his head. ‘Not sure about any of the men there, sorry,’ he shrugged, then hesitated. ‘But there’s one face I do recognize,’ he said, pointing to a dark-haired woman in the middle of one photo. ‘Her.’ He looked up and grinned. ‘Don’t usually forget the lookers, do you?’

‘A regular, was she?’

‘Nope. In fact I only saw her the one time, but I do remember her.’

‘When was that?’

‘Oh, couple of months back. More towards the beginning of February, I’d say.’ He frowned as if trying to remember. ‘See, she was meeting this younger guy for lunch.’ Rick glanced at Solly to catch his eye. ‘I like to watch the couples, y’know, see how they interact, watch their body language.’ He nodded towards the psychologist. Solly’s impassive expression yielded nothing so he turned back to Lorimer. ‘Gets a bit boring in here otherwise.’

‘And did you recognize this younger man?’

‘Hey, let me see these pics again.’ The barman picked up the photocopy and turned it to the light. ‘Yeah, that’s him there. The one at the back. Not such a great photo of him, but I’d seen him in here a few times after office hours.’

Lorimer froze as the barman chattered on. ‘Never came in for a drink with the woman, though. Just lunch that one time. Don’t know who the guy was though and, come to think of it, haven’t seen him in here recently.’

‘Did you think he might be her boyfriend?’ Solly asked.

Rick grinned. ‘No chance. He was way too polite to her. No, I reckoned she was his boss. But I tell you what. He was pretty excited after she’d gone. That’s something I do remember.’