Alex Gray - Glasgow Kiss

Lorimer clenched his teeth. He’d have been happier for Solly to have said nothing at all at this stage than to waffle on in his ‘it might be but on the other hand it might not’ manner. He was used to this but there were some in the room who were not, and the DCI could sense their scepticism. It was with some relief that the meeting ended and Solly left, pleading another appointment.

Back in his room, Lorimer paced around, his mind considering all the possibilities that he had laid before the team. At last he sat down heavily in his chair, rubbing his hands across his eyes as the beginnings of a tension headache manifested itself. God, he was tired! There were days like this when he almost prayed for a breakthrough, the stultifying impasses in each case causing a build-up of frustration and wasted energy.

He could do with a drink, something to deaden the awareness that they weren’t making headway with either of the investigations. But ‘that way madness lies’, he quoted softly to himself. No officer had ever really found what they were looking for in the bottom of a whisky bottle.

He’d buy a whole damn crate of the stuff to celebrate, though, if they found little Nancy Fraser alive, he thought suddenly. And as Lorimer recalled the earnest expression of that young mother as she’d placed her last hope upon his shoulders, something inside banished the fatigue that had threatened to overwhelm him. While he had breath in his body he’d make sure his officers put in every hour that God gave them to find that child.

‘Thank you,’ the woman said, ‘and may I ask who’s calling?’

There was a short silence then a name was mumbled. ‘This is confidential, right? It won’t get back to me, will it?’

Barbara Cassidy arched one well-plucked eyebrow as she replied then asked for details of the caller’s address. After all, she told him, they had to know where to send his fee.

When she put the phone down at last, Barbara Cassidy was intrigued; this one was surely at odds with their Senior Investigating Officer. Nobody would give a journalist that kind of juicy titbit off the record without there being some sort of grudge involved. Still, it wasn’t her lot to reason why, just to type up some good copy and hope that her editor would see fit to place it on the front page. They’d already run a few column inches on the DNA subject in the past; a couple of high profile cases had been turfed out of court on the strength (or lack) of this new sort of testing. If this Jesus-loving Chalmers were to be let off because of concerns about the validity of forensic evidence before the case even came to court, there would be a public outcry against Strathclyde Police. And against DCI Lorimer, she thought grimly, remembering the way the tall policeman had looked at her as though she were dirt on his shoes. Sort him out good and proper, she would, and have a blinder of a story to tell into the bargain. It didn’t take much to whip up resentment against the Christians these days, given all their sins against wee altar boys and shenanigans among Kirk elders and their ministers. Some salient reminders of these in a well worded feature could begin a stream of invective in the letters page. And keep her editor happy.

Eric turned on his side, feeling the edge of the sheet cold against his flesh. Ruth was sleeping now, her head burrowed into the pillow next to his, and the monitor opposite their bed sounded only the rhythmic breathing of the little child next door. It should have been a relief, this respite from the baby’s girning and Ruth’s exhausted sighs, but somehow the silence in the house only enlarged Eric’s awareness of his wife and child, his two responsibilities. It scarcely seemed possible that in the space of two years he had become a married man and a father. Before, he had been able to choose his own destiny, or at least to follow the calling he felt had been mapped out for him. But he’d still had choices to make then, choices to heed his father’s urgings and study for the ministry or to take flight to a distant land and join a mission team.

Now, as he lay watching the shadows flicking past the gap in the curtains, Eric Chalmers felt as though his life had narrowed into this small house and his little family. His job, that had once meant a real joy and an opportunity for witness, was now an essential factor in his life. It kept the mortgage paid and put food on their table, didn’t it? And without that, what would happen to them all? Biting his lip, Eric knew such thoughts were born of self-pity and depression. God would provide, he knew that; he’d told Ruth as much whenever things looked difficult.

‘Take no thought of the things of the morrow,’ he quoted softly to himself.

And he believed these words. Didn’t he? A sort of dark mist came over his mind and with it the pain of doubt. If it was all a delusion. .

Suddenly he wanted to turn towards Ruth, to hold her tightly, to kiss her lips then bury himself deep inside her warm, unyielding body. No, it was too soon since Ashleigh’s birth for that and, besides, Ruth was sleeping so peacefully that it would be cruel to disturb her.

As he closed his eyes, hoping for sleep to quieten his mind and release the tension in his body, another image came unbidden: Julie’s young face looking up at him, her eyes sweet with expectation.

But Julie was dead and never again would he see her smile as she turned into his classroom, even though that memory lingered in his brain.

‘Today would be fine. Not much happening down here. Aye, bring him in whenever you like,’ the mortuary superintendent said.

‘Thanks, it’ll probably be after school hours. Say around four-thirty? Okay, I’ll call if there’s any change.’ Rosie put down the telephone and smiled. Right, that was one matter out of the way. She’d call Maggie at morning interval time and let her know what was arranged. Young Kyle Kerrigan was welcome to make this visit if he wanted to come into town. For some reason Solly had expressed an interest in the boy’s visit to Glasgow City Mortuary and so they’d take a taxi there together. Or was he wanting to nosey around the mortuary for reasons of his own? Once into a case, her fiancй was fairly inscrutable, his thoughts centred on things like routes and possibilities as he sought to create the killer’s profile.

Rosie pulled absently on the waistband of her linen skirt. She’d lost weight during her time in hospital and hadn’t put it back on again yet. The pathologist pulled a face; it would be the law of natural cussedness if she were to gain a few pounds before the wedding and have to have the dress altered. Catching sight of herself in the mirror above the fireplace, Rosie considered what she saw: a slightly built woman with a halo of blonde hair above a heart-shaped face that looked paler than usual. She stuck out her tongue at the reflection, mentally telling herself that she’d need to spend time putting on some make-up before allowing that pinched-looking wee face out of doors.

It would be good to see the mortuary again, even just to say hello to all the technicians. Everyone had been lovely — sending cards and flowers — so she’d be able to thank them in person and assure them that she’d be back among them as soon as she was permitted. And there was that matter of this murder case, she told herself. If she could just have a wee squint at the body. . It wasn’t mere curiosity on her part, Rosie told herself, simply a professional interest. Wasn’t it?

‘I’m going to my mother’s,’ Ruth told him as she folded the muslins into small squares and packed them into Ashleigh’s bag. ‘She said she’d come over and take us in the car.’

Eric let his hands drop to his sides. It was sensible, given all that was happening; the smashed glass would be repaired today and that meant an upheaval in the baby’s room, and then the police were going to arrive with their search warrant.