Alex Gray - Glasgow Kiss

‘I do, actually,’ Lorimer replied, keeping his tone as level as he could manage. He’d like to have taken the man by his Armani lapels and shaken him. What price can you put on the lives of three young women and bringing their killer to justice? he wanted to demand. But with Mitchison it paid to be cool and distant, a tactic that suited the DCI perfectly. His superior officer would just love Lorimer to lose his temper, any excuse to record one more black mark against the man whose presence within the Division irked Mitchison so much. They’d never rubbed along since Mitchison had been promoted over Lorimer’s head and the officers within the Division continued to show a marked partiality towards their DCI. He should probably have moved by now, Lorimer thought absently, tried for promotion elsewhere within Strathclyde or further afield. And it might come to that yet, but real life — in the form of serious crime — had a habit of getting in the way of any plans he might make for his own career prospects.

‘I’m not happy that you took so long to hand over the Fraser case,’ Mitchison began again, his eyes cold with suppressed anger.

Lorimer sighed, not caring to hide his feelings this time. ‘I thought we’d agreed on this,’ he said, shaking his head slightly in disbelief. ‘Kim Fraser wanted me to continue as SIO and I wasn’t about to let her down with a thump. DI Grant has taken over the running of the case now but I still have an overview of the proceedings.’

‘Sounds a tad egoistic to me,’ Mitchison scoffed. ‘You’re not the only senior officer who thinks they’ve been endowed with people skills.’

Lorimer felt his jaw tighten; he wouldn’t rise to this bait. It simply wasn’t worth it.

‘Public opinion in the shape of the press might easily turn against us if it looks as though we’re giving up on finding Nancy,’ Lorimer reminded his superintendent.

A gruff noise in Mitchison’s throat that might have been the sound of acquiescence was all the response Lorimer had before one final glare was shot in his direction. The DCI’s sigh of relief as the door closed behind his senior officer was tempered with a sense of irritation. With two major cases ongoing among his team, Lorimer didn’t need his time wasted like this. And surely Mitchison knew that?

‘Strathclyde Police,’ the man had announced, showing his identity card and a paper that he said was a warrant to take the car away for examination.

Eric Chalmers stood in his doorway for a moment, his brain trying to focus on what was going on. ‘But why. .?’

‘Got orders to take this vehicle away, sir. All part of our inquiry. If you’ll just sign this receipt and let me have the keys, that’s right, just here.’

It was over so quickly that Eric still stood on his doorstep, a feeling of unreality sweeping over him as he watched the stranger back his Fiat out and drive away, followed by the second officer in a black Citroлn. The sound of his baby’s cry made Eric turn back into the house, but before he closed the door a flash of curtain from across the street drew his attention to the fact that at least one of his neighbours had been watching this little scene. Part of him wanted to slam the door shut, but another more mischievous side urged him to put up two angry fingers. Eric Chalmers did neither, closing the door quietly and making his way upstairs with a heaviness in his step that was nothing to do with yet another sleepless night from Ashleigh’s constant crying.

‘What is it?’ Ruth looked up from where she was standing by the baby’s changing mat. ‘Someone at the door?’

He looked at her pale face, as sleep-deprived as his own, and shook his head. ‘It’s okay. I’ll tell you later. Can I do anything to help?’

‘I’ve a load of baby things to get from the supermarket. Can you drive over for me?’

With a sinking heart, Eric shook his head, suddenly aware that he had no car to fill with the endless lists of stuff that seemed so necessary for this tiny person. And now he was going to have to tell his wife exactly why that was.

‘Do I have to?’ Samantha Wetherby lifted a tear-stained face to her mother.

‘Yes, darling. You must tell us everything you can,’ Mrs Wetherby said, her own eyes brimming full of unshed tears.

‘It’ll help us find whoever did this to Julie,’ the policewoman explained gently. ‘Just tell us who else Julie had been going about with over the summer, where she had been hanging out, that sort of thing.’

Sam looked from one woman to the other, her expression still full of doubt. Then, swallowing hard, she gave a little nod. ‘Julie was seeing Kyle,’ she whispered. ‘But they’d broken up.’

‘Kyle Kerrigan?’ Mrs Wetherby sat up ramrod straight. ‘That boy whose father was in prison for murder?’

Sam rolled her eyes, ignoring her mother’s tone of disapproval. ‘Kyle’s been in our class since Primary. We’ve known him for ever,’ she added, clicking her tongue in exasperation.

‘When exactly did she split up from her boyfriend?’ The policewoman’s tone was even, not betraying any sign that she may have hit upon something that might make her SIO’s eyes light up.

Sam shrugged. ‘Can’t remember. After she’d come back from camp, I think.’

‘And had they been an item for long?’

‘Not really. Just since the end of last term. He’d got off with her at the Third Year disco.’ Sam shrugged, feigning a nonchalance that was at odds with her white face and trembling hands.

‘I wouldn’t have thought he’d have been Julie’s type,’ Mrs Wetherby stated, arms folded across her thin chest, ‘a boy with that kind of background.’

‘Mu-um!’ Samantha protested. ‘Kyle’s okay. Just because. .’

‘Perhaps you could tell me about the places Julie went over the summer holidays?’ the policewoman cut in, sensing the tension between mother and daughter. ‘And a wee cup of tea would be very welcome, Mrs Wetherby,’ she added, smiling. A quiet word with Samantha was what she needed right now, without an overwrought mother putting in her tuppence worth.

‘I remember when she told me. .’ Samantha broke off, frowning. ‘When she told me about Mr Chalmers. .’ The girl looked up at the policewoman. ‘Julie looked scared,’ she said at last, her lower lip trembling. ‘And I didn’t know why.’

They were sitting at the kitchen table, Maggie pouring tea into two mugs that were decorated with dancing sheep, a holiday souvenir from one of the craft shops in Mull. Lorimer watched as she laid down the teapot, her slender fingers uncurling from its handle. Everything about Maggie was fine and graceful, he thought; from those high cheekbones and her slight figure down to the bare feet that were swinging back and forward as she sat sipping her tea. Yet, like so many women, Maggie Lorimer failed to see just how lovely she was, choosing instead to focus on what she thought of as her bad points: a tumble of dark, unruly hair, those small breasts Lorimer loved that she lamented as being too unwomanly and long slim feet that turned shoe shopping into a terrible chore. The very fact that she was so unaware of it was part of her own loveliness.

‘How are the kids at school? Still a lot of tension?’

Maggie gave a sigh. ‘You’d think the school routine would help. A bell after every class, you know. Gives a shape to their day. But some of them. .’ She trailed off, shaking her head. ‘There’s one girl in my Fourth Year English class. Kept her head on the desk all through the period,’ Maggie told him. ‘Couldn’t see her face but we all knew she’d been crying.’

Lorimer nodded, covering her hand with his own.

‘She’s been off school, like some of the others in Julie’s year group.’