Alex Gray: Never Somewhere Else

Young DC Cameron opened his mouth to protest, but one look at Lorimer’s face quelled him. Lorimer could have guessed the lad’s thoughts easily enough. It was conceivable that being picked up by the police had given Carruthers a shake and that the old man had wandered off out of the city.

‘Right. His record shows convictions for indecent assaults on minors. South of the border.’ Lorimer stabbed the air with his finger as he added, ‘Served his last prison sentence nine years ago and then nothing!’ And in that nothing, Lorimer added to himself bitterly, his life had presumably taken a downward turn after doing time and he had ended up in Glasgow amongst the other flotsam and jetsam to be found on the shoreline of every big city. ‘Okay, the old man might not have had much to add to his comment about the ambulance anyway. But I’d liked to have tied up his statement with this one from Alison Girdley.’

Lorimer brandished the file at the officers then turned on his heel.

The girl had obviously had one hell of a fright, but there was a strength in her which had made her calm enough to answer questions sensibly. Even now a photofit was being made up on the memory she had of the face in the dark. Some of her tape recorded comments were in his mind now, chasing each other around like gerbils on a wheel as he strode down the corridor.

‘He opened his mouth as if …’

‘As if?’

‘As if he was yelling at me. But there was no sound.’ Then later: ‘I saw his teeth in the dark. They were so white.’

Gently DS Wilson had asked questions. He had led the girl back into the depths of her experience, patiently going over details once again when she faltered. His fatherly smile and reassuring voice would have helped her to know that here she was safe. Despite re-living the dark and terror she had been able to give some description.

Wilson had asked questions about his features. ‘Very short hair. Cropped. Stylish, I suppose. And dark, I think. I didn’t see too well. He had dark hairs on his arms. I remember that. They were bare under the white coat.’

Lorimer tried to picture the snarl, the vicious lunge with the chain. If Alison Girdley hadn’t had such swift reactions … but then she was coming home from her karate club.

‘As if he was yelling at me.’

Didn’t they do that in combat sports? Wasn’t there some underlying psychological instinct which made an attacking warrior yell at his opponent? Thundering cavalry charges had screamed as they approached their enemy.

Lorimer smiled slightly as he pushed open his office door. Psychological instincts indeed. Well, he knew who could make something out of that.

Solly was patiently explaining the theory of behaviourism to his first-year students.

‘You see it’s learned behaviour. It’s a process of cause and event, or what you might call mental association. The rat associates lever-pressing with pellet-receiving. Press a lever: a pellet appears. If the pellets were not to appear then the rat’s behaviour would change. It could no longer associate the lever-pressing with receiving a pellet.’

‘But wouldn’t he remember ?’ one student enquired.

‘Ah, now, memory. That would come under a different topic,’ began Solly. At that moment the telephone rang and five pairs of eyes watched Solly’s face as he picked up the receiver.

‘Ah … yes … well …’

The students sat mutely, ears strained to pick up any crumbs which would give them a clue to the nature of the conversation.

‘No … that’s quite all right.’

He listened for a few moments more then replaced the receiver.

‘Yes, quite a different topic altogether …’

The students sighed in unison. Solly’s single-minded approach was legendary. He was impossible to divert once he had taken an idea down a particular road.

Sometimes, Solly thought, people were afraid to look for the obvious. There was something endearing about the human mind which hared off in the direction of the tangled thicket when there were open spaces to gaze at instead.

‘Yes, Chief Inspector, American Indians.’ Lorimer’s eyebrows had shot up in scepticism at the psychologist’s suggestion. ‘A warrior brave would certainly do his utmost to appear terrifying: face paint and body paint carried symbols of ancestral spirits which were believed to give the warrior power. But it’s more than that. It’s the disguise which can overpower the enemy. The face-painting dehumanises the warrior.’

‘And the yelling?’

‘Oh, the war cry. Yes. Of course they took these cries from the animals. That’s why so many of their names are like Lone Wolf, Little Bear, things like that. The cries were in imitation of the animal’s way of intimidating its prey.’

‘I see.’

‘What Miss Girdley saw was just the same, only with no sound.’

‘But isn’t that the whole point, to make the sound and frighten the prey?’

Solly smiled. His eyes behind the round spectacle frames were kindly.

‘Ah, but he couldn’t afford to be heard. He might alert someone. His yell was unheard but effective nonetheless. The face became a wolf mask, if you like. No need for paint. Just make the grimace of a snarl. In some ways it can be said that Miss Girdley did hear that cry. Subliminally, of course.’ Lorimer nodded, then shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Then, of course, it explains a lot about the murders themselves.’ The psychologist paused, gazing dreamily into the middle distance. Lorimer looked irritably at his watch.

‘Go on.’

Solly looked up, an expression of mild surprise on his face, then continued where he had left off.

‘Warrior braves scalped their victims and kept the hair as evidence of their successes. My guess is that this killer has behaved exactly like that. His behaviour shows a pattern very like the brave.’

‘Are you trying to tell me that we have an American Indian out there on the loose?’

Lorimer’s tone was hovering on the derisive.

‘No. Not at all. Or at least yes, but only in one respect.’

Lorimer sighed. Make up your mind, he thought silently to himself.

‘Our killer displays this pattern of behaviour and therefore it follows that he has some knowledge of American Indians, some association with them, perhaps from childhood, or even through literature.’

‘In other words anyone who watched The Lone Ranger could end up scalping young women?’

‘ The Lone Ranger rather gives your age away, Inspector,’ laughed Solly. ‘Miss Girdley describes a younger person.’ He paused then stared into space again, talking more to himself than to Lorimer. ‘A real knowledge of the ways of warrior braves might not even be essential. The aggressive behaviour displayed by the open mouth could be quite instinctive. However, I feel there is a genuine association.’

Lorimer’s thoughts strayed to the other approach his investigation was taking, the coverage this case was to have on Crimewatch . He was glad that he had instructed Dr Brightman not to talk to the Press. They would have a field day with his theories. He could just imagine some of the headlines: ‘Apache in the Park’, ‘Police Seek Redskin Warrior’.

‘Our man has to have a deep-seated reason for scalping these poor young women.’ Solly paused again, considering for a moment. ‘This man’s profile will contain the motive for what appears to be a series of senseless acts. You would look for a motive, of course?’

‘Among other things.’ Lorimer steeled himself against giving this odd little man a lecture on investigative procedure. He would concentrate on trying to follow his argument. ‘Motive is a great indicator. Financial gain. Deep emotions. Things like that are a great help in finding a murderer.’