Alex Gray - Glasgow Kiss

As they filed out after the bell, Kyle hung back.

‘Yes, Kyle,’ Maggie began briskly, trying to hide the anxiety that was gnawing at her innards.

‘This careers officer,’ Kyle began, then paused, biting his lower lip.

Maggie looked at him for a moment. What was wrong? Why was the boy acting so nervously?

‘Would she know anything about forensic medicine?’

‘Why?’ Maggie frowned. ‘What do you want to ask her?’ Was this something to do with Julie? A sense of pity swept over her. Following the girl’s tragic death, had they lost sight of the need to take care of this troubled boy?

‘I’m. . you might not like this, Mrs Lorimer.’ Kyle hesitated, a flush of red gathering at his neckline. ‘It’s just that. . you know how we talked about me doing English at uni? Well, I’ve kind of changed my mind about doing English past Fifth Year.’ His voice tailed off in a mumble.

Maggie felt her shoulders relax as the truth dawned on her. ‘You want to concentrate on your science subjects instead so you can study forensic medicine? Is that it?’

The boy nodded, suddenly looking like the fifteen-year-old that he was.

‘You’ve certainly had good marks in physics and chemistry, Kyle, and though I must admit I’m sorry you won’t be following my subject, there’s no reason why we can’t see our doctors being well read in contemporary literature.’ Maggie twinkled at him and was rewarded by a tentative grin.

‘So this careers woman. .’

‘Miss Munro,’ Maggie supplied. ‘She’ll give you all the information you’ll need. In fact,’ Maggie hesitated as a sudden thought struck her, ‘I have a friend who is a consultant forensic pathologist. Would you like me to ask her if she’ll give you some pointers? She’s actually off her work for a while, so maybe she would have some time to speak to you. What do you think?’

The answering beam on the boy’s face was enough. ‘That’d be great, Mrs Lorimer. Thanks.’

And as Kyle sped off down the corridor to his next class, Maggie allowed herself a long exhalation of relief. Her own silly conscience was all that had made her think — what? That this boy had guessed she was doing some snooping of her own into Julie’s murder? Maggie shook her dark curls. Too much imagination: that was all that was wrong with her. Gathering up the papers on her desk, she watched as the noisy movement of pupils in the corridor outside began to disperse to the next class.

She would talk to the kids, to Julie’s friends, although that was easier said than done. There was always the Scripture Union club, she remembered. And a chit had been put into all their pigeonholes asking for someone to fill in for Eric while he was away. Maggie looked thoughtful for a moment. Could she do it? Surely it was simply a matter of singing a few choruses and giving Bible readings? And she was good at reading aloud, wasn’t she? The kids were always saying how she brought stories to life for them. Yes, she decided. If no one else had offered yet, Mrs Lorimer would step into that particular breach; she had to start somewhere after all and Eric’s SU club was as good a place to begin as any.

The corridor leading to Eric’s room was painted a pale, cold blue. Maggie glanced absently at the wavy line where some naughty child had taken a pencil for a walk along it, the curves suddenly taking an upward flow and breaking off: she could just imagine the offending pencil being pocketed as a teacher turned the corner. She paused outside the RE teacher’s room. It wasn’t fair, Maggie told herself for the hundredth time. There was no way the man was guilty of any terrible crime. He’d never interfere with an underage pupil, nevermind try to silence her in the most evil way. Eric just wasn’t like that. But is that simply what you want to think? a little voice asked. Was she trying to convince herself of Eric’s innocence simply because she couldn’t handle the idea of actually knowing a killer? Suddenly she recalled the personal accounts of a particular serial killer’s life from his friends. He’d been quiet but harmless, one had reported; a little brusque sometimes but never in a million years had anyone thought him capable of such terrible acts of cruelty, others said.

Brushing down her skirt as if she were ridding herself of these thoughts, Maggie stepped into Eric Chalmers’ classroom. Somewhere in his filing cabinet she would find the SU folder.

There it was, decorated by a single silver cross stuck on the front, the words Scripture Union written in Eric’s flowing hand. The contents consisted mostly of sheets of paper with lists of names and little mini sermons that he’d headed ‘stories’, but as Maggie flicked over the sheets, a few photographs fell out on to the desk. Curious, she picked them up.

At first Maggie was shocked to see Julie’s face laughing out at her from the group surrounding Eric. Then the feeling was replaced by one of immense sadness. She should still be here, laughing or crying, making a nuisance of herself whispering in class, flirting with the boys.

‘Oh, Julie,’ Maggie Lorimer said softly, turning the photos over one by one, her eyes picking the girl out as she posed on the beach, smiled with the rest of the group or made daft faces for Eric’s camera. But it was the final photograph that made Maggie take a sharp intake of breath.

It might have been taken by a professional portrait photographer, this picture of a young girl — no, Maggie thought, correcting herself — a young woman . Julie was sitting sideways, long blonde hair flicked casually over one shoulder, her eyes focused on the cameraman, a look of sleepy sultriness in her eyes and a smile that could only be described as sexy. Had Eric taken this? And if so, why had he kept it here in this folder? Maggie turned the photograph over but there was nothing written on the back. It was so out of keeping with these other images of youngsters having fun, larking about at SU camp, that Maggie found herself shivering.

Then another thought occurred to her and she looked back at the group photos, her eyes scanning each pupil to see who had been at the summer camp. One by one, familiar faces looked out at her until she came to the tallest boy standing right at the back. It was Kenny Turner, one of her Sixth Years. Kenny? Maggie raised her eyebrows in surprise: fun-loving, football-daft Kenny Turner? Well, that was a turn-up for the books, seeing him at SU camp. Maggie cast her mind back to her class’s subject choices; she was sure Kenny didn’t take RE, so why had he been at Eric’s summer camp? Slowly Maggie laid out the photographs and examined them more carefully until she found what she had been looking for. Yes! That group photo with Eric in the centre didn’t have Kenny in among them, so had he been behind the lens? And if so, had this photo of Julie with those come-to-bed eyes also been taken by Kenny?

Maggie Lorimer experienced a little frisson of delight at her discovery. Maybe her idea wasn’t quite as mad as she’d thought and perhaps she had the makings of a decent detective after all.

He heard his name spoken aloud, the words punctuated with a question mark, words spoken by the taller of the two men outside his door. They stood with polite expressions on their faces, betokening something other than the usual salesman trying to offer double-glazing or a new kitchen. And the other one, gazing keenly at his face, told him that it wasn’t the Mormons either. Besides, he knew exactly who they were. One of his neighbours, passing the ground-floor window, had caught sight of him then made a face, pointing a thumb upwards and mouthing the word, police . So he’d had to open the door to them after that. It just wouldn’t do to avoid being part of the normal run of things.