Alex Gray - Never Somewhere Else

There were glances exchanged between a few of the officers, then Alistair Wilson spoke up.

‘Sir, if it was Thomson who did in his girlfriend, then what about the MO?’

‘I’m there already, Alistair. Was the lad capable of cutting her up like that? We’ll need to talk to him again. If he’s in a fit state to be questioned,’ he added.

Lorimer ran a hand through his hair. The team were as anxious as he was to make an arrest. But there was always the danger of an over-enthusiastic officer mucking things up. He swept his eye over the individuals he knew so well. Wilson he’d trust under any circumstances. Young Cameron had a lot to learn but Lorimer would temper his keen-asmustard approach with plenty of basic plodding.

‘We still don’t know the whereabouts of Sharon Millen’s murder. But let’s assume for now that it took place somewhere similar to West George Lane.’ He turned to Cameron. ‘Anything on the buses yet?’

The DC straightened up under Lorimer’s direct gaze.

‘Not a thing, sir. There were several passengers who came forward but they all say the same thing. Nobody remembers the girl that night.’

‘Right. Keep circulating her photo meantime. Someone’s memory just might be jogged.’

‘We’ll go up to the Royal,’ he nodded to Wilson, who merely raised his eyebrows in acquiescence. ‘I want to see the boy if he’s awake.’

As they dispersed to go about their various duties, the others exchanged surprised glances. But nobody voiced the opinion that they all shared. If Lorimer was going up there himself, did that mean he suspected James Thomson of his girlfriend’s murder?

The Royal Infirmary sat on the Glasgow skyline overlooking the drearier part of the main Glasgow to Edinburgh motorway. Its dark spires and filthy chimneys were a reminder of earlier days when the city revelled in its industrial glory. Despite its grim exterior, however, the hospital had been thoroughly modernised and the ground-floor reception area was more like that of an airport lounge than a medical centre.

‘Which ward?’ Lorimer asked.

Alistair Wilson told him and they made their way towards the bank of lifts that would take them to the boy’s bedside.

‘He’s been in theatre to have his stomach pumped,’ the PC outside the room informed Lorimer. ‘His mum and dad are in there with him just now.’

Lorimer waited at the door while Wilson spoke to the sister on duty. She glanced up at the Chief Inspector warily.

‘The doctor says he’s not to be disturbed,’ she said, her lips firmly pressed together.

‘Oh, we’ll be very discreet, sister,’ Wilson assured her, turning on his most charming smile. The nurse failed to return it.

‘You’d better be,’ she retorted, clearly unimpressed by any authority outside the medical world.

At a nod from his Detective Sergeant, Lorimer slipped inside the private ward. Both parents looked up as he entered. Linda Thomson had been crying. Her eyes were dark smudges where she’d rubbed away her mascara. Beside her, James’s father sat holding her hand. There was a depth of pain that Lorimer could only guess at behind those expressionless eyes. He’d never known the agonies of parenthood. Or the joys, whatever they might be.

‘Mr Lorimer.’

Joe Thomson started to rise but Lorimer motioned him to stay where he was.

‘How is he?’

‘We think he’ll be all right. It wasn’t paracetamol, thank God. Just aspirin.’

Lorimer nodded, taking in the boy’s waxy face.

‘He’ll feel like he’s got one hell of a hangover when he comes round,’ he joked.

Linda Thomson managed a watery smile.

‘Can you talk about it?’ he asked gently.

Linda gave a huge sigh and nodded.

‘Not in here, Mr Lorimer. Can we go outside?’ Joe Thomson whispered.

‘I’d rather stay,’ Linda pleaded. ‘In case he wakes up.’

‘All right, love. We won’t be long.’

He gave his wife a tremulous smile and slipped out behind Lorimer. Hospital corridors figured prominently in police investigations. Glasgow, like any other large city, had its share of violent crimes. Assault to Severe Injury often necessitated these impromptu interviews. Or, as in this case, attempted suicides.

‘Mind if I smoke?’ Joe asked.

‘Nothing to do with me but the duty sister looks like she eats razors for breakfast,’ Lorimer remarked, indicating the NO SMOKING sign. ‘We could go outside, if you like?’

‘Better not. Don’t want to be too far away. Just in case.’

‘Well, let’s sit over here.’

Lorimer indicated an empty row of respectable padded chairs. Joe Thomson sat down heavily and leaned forward, head in hands for a few moments. When he sat up again, Lorimer could see that he was trembling. Also, he avoided the Chief Inspector’s eye.

‘You’d better tell me all about it, Mr Thomson.’

‘What is there to tell? The boy was okay one day and the next he’s trying to do himself in.’

‘When you say he was okay, do you mean he had been behaving normally since Sharon’s death?’

‘What’s normal? Oh, I don’t know. He was very quiet. But then he’s always been a quiet lad. Never any trouble at school or that. It fair broke his heart, that lassie’s …’ He hesitated then whispered the word. ‘Murder.’

‘And more recently?’

‘Well, the wife said he’d never get over it. But he was back at school. Doing his Advanced Highers no problem.’

‘Did he talk much to either of you?’

‘Not really. Not what you’d call a real talk, you know. But he was studying in his room. Or listening to music most of the time. What they call music. We had no idea.’

‘No idea about what, Mr Thomson?’

‘Well, you know …’ The man’s eyes widened as if Lorimer had missed the point somewhere along the line. ‘About blaming himself.’

‘For Sharon’s death?’

‘Of course.’

Thomson stared at Lorimer.

‘Just let me get this straight, Mr Thomson. Did James actually say he’d killed his girlfriend?’

‘For Christ’s sake, man, what do you think he is?’ Joe Thomson exploded. ‘He never saw her on any bus that night. He’s been too bloody terrified to tell anybody. Him and Sharon had an argument and she stormed off in the huff …’ The man’s voice rose in indignation, then broke off. ‘My God, that poor wee lassie.’ His head sunk into his hands once more and Lorimer waited for the storm of emotion to pass.

‘It’s a hellish situation, so it is, Mr Lorimer.’

Lorimer caught the other man’s eye at last.

‘How do you know about this quarrel, Joe?’

‘He left his mum a note. It was on her bedside cabinet. We found it when Linda called the doctor.’

‘And did you give it to the officer here?’

Joe Thomson shook his head wearily. ‘What was the point. We never knew if the boy was going to die or what. It didn’t matter at the time.’

Lorimer gripped the man’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Joe. But he’ll be fine. He’s young and he’ll heal. Even emotional scars can be treated these days.’

‘Aye.’

‘We’d like to speak to James, though,’ Lorimer added gently.

‘Oh, I was expecting you to say that, Mr Lorimer. I was expecting that the minute we found him in his bed.’

‘Come on, let’s get back. Your wife’ll wonder what’s been going on.’

Linda Thomson looked up anxiously as they came in.

‘It’s okay. I told him. He’ll speak to James when he’s better.’

Lorimer hadn’t agreed to these terms but he let it pass. This was simply another near-tragedy sparked off by a monster with a taste for blood. A monster in their city whose acts of brutality had been like hurling rocks into a calm pool. And the ripples were still trembling shorewards.