Alex Gray - The Riverman

‘Nothing. I just felt a bit faint when I bent down, that’s all. No breakfast. Probably low blood sugar, shouldn’t have worked out at the gym so early …’ he gabbled. ‘Did you want something, Alec?’

Barr frowned as if he were about to speak, then gave his head a tiny shake. ‘Just to let you know the police will be in at two-thirty this afternoon. We’re meeting them in the boardroom. Okay?’

Graham West swallowed hard. Police. He’d forgotten about them but as Barr’s eyes bored into his face, he replied. ‘Fine. Fine. Thanks.’

Barr nodded then, turning at the door, he paused. ‘Sure you’re all right, Graham? Anything troubling you, you just need to come to me. Okay?’

‘Of course. Thanks.’ West felt the moisture trickle down the back of his shirt as Barr finally left the room. What had he done? Why hadn’t he taken the opportunity to tell Alec about the message that lay mixed up in all these papers?

Sinking back into the chair, he knew the decision had been made. He’d follow up this poisonous demand and this time he’d do it on his own.

‘Ha! We’ve landed a fish!’ JJ chuckled and rubbed his hands with the sort of glee that reminded Michael of the pantomime villains of his youth. Only this man wasn’t playing a part. His antics were for real. ‘One of your old bosses, isn’t it?’ he asked.

The two men were sitting side by side, gazing at the laptop between them. Graham West’s reply had appeared on the screen: give me time, it said. A short response but one that told Michael Turner plenty. He was scared, that was one thing. And he’d probably have to involve other people. But would he come up with the sort of money JJ was demanding? Michael Turner’s head was spinning. JJ had revealed the price that he’d been paid for Michael’s execution, chuckling, ‘Who wants to kill you that bad, son?’

Who indeed? Michael wondered. Duncan Forbes had assured him that everything would be fine. And he’d believed him. But after the last few days anything was possible, even the thought that Duncan had sent him into the arms of an assassin.

So why hadn’t he returned this email? Why had the answer come from Graham West? Michael glanced at his companion who was busy tapping away on the keyboard. There were things JJ wasn’t telling him.

‘Just how much do you know about all this?’ Michael asked.

The older man tapped the side of his nose. ‘Enough,’ he said, then smiled to himself as his attention was taken up once again with the information on the screen.

Michael sighed. He’d dropped out of the world days ago, or was it weeks? No newspapers or radio had come his way, only that endless stream of country music that JJ had insisted on playing all the way down from New York. A hunger to know what was happening on the other side of the world was gnawing away at him. There was a land line here. The laptop was plugged into a wall socket so there had to be a telephone but so far he’d been unable to find any trace of a handset or even a mobile phone, though he was certain JJ had one somewhere. One call, that’s all he wanted to make, just one call to see if there was any way out of this crazy mess.

Detective Chief Inspector Lorimer and Dr Solomon Brightman stepped into the foyer and hurried across to the lift just as it was closing. A young woman carrying a bundle of buff-coloured files avoided making eye contact with these two strangers who had so abruptly invaded her space. Lorimer pressed the button and felt the lift shudder a little as it ascended. It was an old building and not every attempt at modernization had succeeded, he thought, stepping out as the lift doors opened again. Solomon, glancing behind, caught her curious stare before the young woman dropped her gaze.

Forbes Macgregor’s reception area consisted of a wide lobby flanked by a pair of two-seater settees and an easy chair on one side with a pair of half-glass swing doors on the other.

‘Chief Inspector Lorimer,’ he announced to the woman who was sitting behind a modern reception desk bearing the name Forbes Macgregor and the company’s logo, a combination of the letters F and M. ‘And Dr Brightman,’ he added, indicating the figure standing to his right. ‘Mr Barr is expecting us,’ he said, though that was not strictly true. Solly’s presence had been an afterthought and the DCI had deliberately left him out of the picture until now. He didn’t want any of them to think too much about a psychologist sitting in on their meeting. The woman smiled at them and came round from her place behind the desk.

‘Please take a seat. Can I take your coats?’ she asked, lifting Lorimer’s off his arm before he could reply and hanging it on a stand behind her desk. Solomon smiled and shook his head, but unravelled his enormous knitted scarf from around his neck, letting it fall in two garish strips either side of his shoulders. The receptionist frowned at Solly then pursed her mouth in disapproval. ‘I’ll let Mr Barr know you’re here then,’ she said firmly, motioning the visitors towards the seating area.

Lorimer listened as she spoke into the telephone, noticing how her Glasgow accent changed to a more formal tone. The woman caught his eye to let him know their arrival had been dealt with and he smiled back at her. She reminded him of someone, but for the moment he couldn’t think who it was. Lorimer studied the receptionist as she continued to answer calls. She was a slightly built, middle-aged woman whose sharp features and determined mouth brooked no nonsense. Her short grey hair and olive cardigan were neat but unprepossessing. Most receptionists nowadays seemed turned out from the same sleek mould of perfect makeup, sharp suits and long, straightened hair so it was interesting to see that Forbes Macgregor had deviated from that image. It showed something like confidence, Lorimer thought, as they waited for the managing partner to appear. Perhaps it was a deliberate attempt to show their clientele that this was an old-established firm with traditional values. He smiled to himself at his attempt to read something into a seemingly insignificant situation. Maybe it was Solly’s influence. They were probably short-staffed and the woman was merely filling in.

The movement from the swing doors alerted Lorimer and he looked up to see the managing partner coming towards them, the smile and outstretched hand tokens of welcome.

‘This is Dr Brightman from the University of Glasgow. He’s helping us with our investigation,’ Lorimer explained. The two men shook hands briefly and then Barr turned abruptly on his heel.

‘Good to see you, Chief Inspector … Doctor,’ Alec Barr began. ‘We all hope this dreadful matter can be resolved as soon as possible.’ The man’s voice lowered in deference to the dead woman, reminding Lorimer of the first time he had seen Jennifer Hammond. Her red hair and winning smile suddenly flashed through his mind. Following Barr into the main office area, Lorimer was aware of his fists clenched in anger at whoever had taken away the life of such a vibrant woman. He took several deep breaths. This was going to be a difficult meeting and he required clarity, not passion, in order to focus on each of Forbes Macgregor’s four remaining Glasgow partners.

‘After you, gentlemen.’ Barr stepped aside and ushered Lorimer and Solly into a wide room with double windows that faced out onto the river. Around a massive oval table sat three people who all looked up as he entered the room. There was a certain wariness about each of them, Lorimer thought, noting the two men on either side of the table, one rising from his chair to shake the detective’s hand, the other sitting motionless, following the action with eyes that seemed sunk into his head.