Alex Gray - Never Somewhere Else

‘But he said …’ Solomon trailed off, trying to clear the fog in his brain. ‘He said William Lorimer.’

‘Then it certainly wasn’t me. I only use my Sunday name in court.’

A light dawned in Solly’s eyes and Lorimer noted the sudden tension in his face muscles.

‘Then who?’

‘I hate to think,’ replied Lorimer. ‘But once you’re fit to go home you can go through your things and see if there’s anything missing.’

‘Did he make much mess?’

‘Afraid so. Oh, nothing disgusting, thank God. Just pulled stuff out of drawers and dumped it. Seems he was looking for something.’ Lorimer looked at the white-faced figure under the covers and his eyes narrowed in speculation. ‘What can you remember about your own movements during the evening?’

‘I had supper, soaked in a hot bath, then sat down to type up my notes.’

‘Did you have handwritten notes, then?’

‘Some. The rest are in here, I’m afraid.’ His grin was weak as he indicated his sore head.

‘Did you have any phone calls, or any other visitors?’

‘No.’ He paused. ‘Sorry. Yes, there was one call but it rang off when I answered.’ He looked up at Lorimer as they both drew the same conclusion. ‘Not a wrong number?’

Lorimer shook his head. ‘I doubt it. How long after that call did it take for the doorbell to ring?’

Solly shut his eyes as if the effort of thinking hurt his head.

‘Sorry. I don’t have a clue.’

‘Okay. We’ll just assume for the present that you had a visit from an intruder. It may have nothing at all to do with the case. On the other hand,’ his blue eyes blazed with a light that made Solomon shiver, ‘it could be that we’re closer than we know to some guy who prefers female scalps.’

‘If it was … Why didn’t he kill me?’

‘Perhaps he thinks he has.’

Solly settled back on his pillows, exhausted.

‘I think I really will fetch that nurse now,’ Lorimer said softly and slipped quietly from the darkened room.

Alone with his whirling thoughts, Solly tried to remember. But all he could see was a giant shadow on the wall: a shadow with no substance.

Twenty-four hours later Lorimer, accompanied by his wife and Solomon, drew up outside the psychologist’s flat. Maggie had insisted on coming with him to the hospital.

‘He’s on his own, poor soul, and someone has to give him a hand.’

She had warmed to the younger man from the first, her woman’s sympathy bridging the gap of any possible strangeness. Solomon, a lifetime of Jewish mothering behind him, accepted Maggie taking charge without demur.

They had driven in silence, apart from asking the necessary directions to Solomon’s house in Park Circus, out of respect for his still throbbing head. Lorimer looked up at the graceful Victorian buildings then at the vista beyond and gave a low whistle.

‘Some view you’ve got here!’

Even from street level the panorama of the city was exceptional. Solly managed a weak grin.

‘Even better from upstairs.’

‘Top floor?’

‘Yes. Sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise,’ Maggie broke in. ‘I need the exercise. Been sitting all day.’

Eventually they stood at Solly’s front door. Maggie and Lorimer exchanged glances as they noticed how the psychologist’s hand shook as he turned the key. Lorimer hadn’t exaggerated about the mess. A snowstorm of papers littered the living room carpet; desk drawers lay upturned on the floor. Even the bookshelves had been emptied, their contents now a jumbled heap.

Maggie’s face fell at the shambles but ‘Tea?’ she asked aloud, with a brightness in her voice that Lorimer was sure she did not feel. Solly responded with a grateful smile.

‘Camomile, perhaps?’

‘Just ordinary tea for me,’ Lorimer butted in.

‘You’ll find everything in the kitchen.’

‘Right-o.’

Left to themselves, the two men surveyed the room, wondering where to begin.

‘Is there any reason for this other than the Lucy Haining case?’

Lorimer clasped his hands and leaned forward, trying to read Solomon’s expression. The younger man sat staring impassively at the swirl of papers on the carpet. Lorimer waited. He had realised during his visits to the hospital just how little he knew about the young Jewish psychologist. His home and family background had been of no interest whatsoever until Maggie, with her woman’s instinct, had asked all the pertinent questions. He hadn’t even known if the fellow was married or not, for heaven’s sake. Now a dozen thoughts whirled around the policeman’s head.

Solomon sat back in the sagging armchair and sighed a small sigh.

‘I’m afraid not,’ he said at last. ‘I rather wish there were.’

‘No jealous lovers or belligerent students with a grudge?’

Lorimer’s tone was deliberately light and the young man smiled as he shook his head.

‘The students like me, it seems and, alas, there are no beautiful women in my life to be fought over.’

‘Well, there should be! I can’t imagine why they’re not queuing up at your door!’

Maggie set down a tray on the desk.

‘Thank you for these kind words, Mrs Lorimer.’

Solomon’s tone was self-deprecating though he smiled his sweet, boyish smile and Lorimer saw for the first time what his wife had seen immediately. Solomon Brightman was indeed a striking man, his pale face, dark beard and bushy hair at once exotic and intriguing.

Lorimer took the mug of tea from his wife and sipped before continuing with his questions.

‘Can you think of anything you had in here last night that someone might have wanted?’

‘Someone who knew we were working together. And someone who wanted me to think they were you,’ added Solomon, thoughtfully.

‘Right.’

‘I visited Lucy Haining’s tutor at the Postgraduate Centre,’ Solomon began slowly, his hands warming around the ceramic mug. ‘She gave me certain information that I was going to pass on to you today. Or was it yesterday? I’m afraid I’m rather losing track of time.’

He paused. Maggie was trying to catch her husband’s eye but failed, her gaze wandering back instead to the young man whose brown eyes still seemed fixed on a pattern on the carpet.

‘Janet Yarwood is not quite what she seems. Her statement described her as a fellow student of the victim but she’s a postgrad Art student, in fact. Specialises in life drawing and portraiture. She was’ — he paused once more then continued as if deliberately choosing his words — ‘a friend of Lucy’s. One of her tutors in her final year. It seems that Lucy had been helped to set up a children’s life-drawing class by this woman in order to make a bit of extra cash. Ms Yarwood apparently took a special interest in her.’

‘But I thought that Lucy Haining was a jewellery design student?’ Lorimer objected.

Solly nodded. ‘You’re right, and I thought that was a bit odd too. Janet Yarwood had asked specially to be Lucy’s tutor and help her with obtaining materials and things for her bangles and what not.’

Maggie smiled discreetly at Solomon’s description of the dead girl’s designer jewellery. She doubted if he had ever taken any interest in anything so worldly as the stones, settings and metals for female adornment. She glanced down at her own sapphire and diamond engagement ring, letting the gems flash against the lamplight.

‘I would say,’ Solomon frowned as he paused, ‘that Ms Yarwood’s interest in Lucy Haining was not altogether healthy.’

He glanced swiftly at Lorimer and Maggie.

‘Go on.’

‘She doted on that girl. Oh, I don’t know for sure what her sexual orientation may be but, allowing for that, her relationship with Lucy verged on the obsessive. In fact,’ his voice trailed off as he expressed his thoughts aloud, ‘I wonder if young Lucy had some kind of a hold on this woman.’