Alex Gray - Glasgow Kiss

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Ruth turned to face him, her eyes wary.

‘Why should I? It’s the best thing for you and Ash. And your mum will enjoy having you both.’

Ruth hesitated for a moment. ‘She said we could stay for a few days. What d’you think?’

Eric pasted a smile on his face and gave his wife a reassuring hug. ‘Great idea. Give you both a good rest away from all of this nonsense.’

But if he held Ruth close to him for a bit longer than she had expected, she made no comment, simply laying her head on her husband’s shoulder and patting his back as though he were a child in need of comforting.

When the car drove off, Eric stood in the doorway watching till they were out of sight then turned into the house, biting back the emotion he’d hidden so well. The silence made the place seem bleak, so he switched on the radio, letting his favourite station blast out a current number-one hit. There was plenty to do, Eric told himself, picking up a discarded bib from the arm of a chair and adding it to the pile of laundry that lay in front of the washing machine.

It was while he was sorting through the coloureds and whites that the doorbell rang.

‘Mr Chalmers?’

The woman smiling at him seemed a friendly sort and for a moment Eric wondered if she or the chap just behind her would produce a warrant card and ask to be admitted.

But the sudden flash from a camera told him these were not police officers.

As he tried to shut the door he could hear the woman’s voice demanding, ‘Tell us what you know about Julie Donaldson’s murder!’

Then she was shouting, ‘What d’you think, Mr Chalmers? Was it an act of God?’

Just as Eric’s fingers touched the handle, he felt as if an invisible hand had clasped itself over his own, drawing him back from the impulse to throw open the door and angrily protest his innocence to this woman and to the world at large. And a small voice in his head reminded Eric that she was simply trying to provoke him into a response that she could publish, that was all.

He was still standing there minutes later when a second knock came and one of the voices outside called, ‘Strathclyde Police.’

‘Want to come back with me after school?’ Jessica King asked casually, flicking her dark tresses over one shoulder. She and Manda were sitting in the library, side by side in the same study carrel, an open laptop showing diagrams of the human body in front of them.

‘Sure. Parents still away?’

Jessica nodded, focusing her attention on the arrangement of glands within the endocrine system that they were supposed to be learning for a biology test. Manda’s presence at home would help to banish whatever ghosts were lingering there, she thought. Her best friend had a knack of making everything seem fun, even their homework.

‘Stay for tea if you like,’ Jessica offered with a shrug that said she didn’t mind whether Manda took up her offer, though her careless gesture concealed the unspoken hope that she would have company at least into the hours of darkness.

‘Sh!’ Manda hissed suddenly, nudging Jessica’s elbow. ‘Don’t look now but guess who’s just walked in?’

It took several seconds of self-control before the dark-haired girl glanced up from the computer screen to see Kenny Turner passing by. For a moment their eyes met and the boy grinned then dropped a wink before settling himself at a vacant laptop.

‘What did I say? He fancies you!’ Manda breathed into her friend’s ear, stifling a giggle.

But instead of smiling or acknowledging the possibility, Jessica felt something inside her freeze: what if it were true? What if Kenny did fancy her? Could this Sixth Year boy have been the silent shadow dogging her footsteps the other night? And was it Kenny Turner, the school joker always doing mad things to make people laugh at him, who’d breathed into her ear as she’d listened for a voice on the other end of a telephone line?

Or was she now so paranoid that every attention paid to her came tagged with some sinister overtone?

Kyle crossed the road, the river Clyde behind him and the city centre ahead. This wasn’t a part of town that he knew well and the sweep of tenement buildings, with their small shops hugging the pavements, came as a surprise. Saltmarket and High Street had only been names before. Glasgow University had been in this area long before the buildings in Gilmour Hill had made their presence felt and wasn’t this just along the road from the place where folk had been hanged in years gone by? In a different century that could have been his father. . Kyle shivered slightly as his imagination took him back across the historical divide. But now he was standing outside the building where more of life and death took place in reality than he could ever imagine. Mrs Lorimer had instructed him to go all the way round to the rear door.

‘You’ll see the front of the High Court,’ she’d told him. ‘Cross the car park opposite, knock on the back door and someone will let you in.’

Following her directions, Kyle strolled around the building and stopped. The High Court was a magnificent modern building in blonde sandstone, its steps and portico elegant yet austere as befitted the centre of Judiciary. Some of his mates wanted to be lawyers and were going on a visit to the courts. He couldn’t see the attraction of striding around bewigged and in a black robe pontificating on the fate of some criminal or other. No, it would be much more interesting to be an expert witness whose knowledge might lead to a conviction.

There was a large van taking up most of the car park and the back door of the mortuary was open so Kyle climbed the few stairs, peering inside. Ahead of him he could see two orderlies carrying a stretcher between them. For a moment he hesitated, his glance falling on the covered figure underneath the waxed cloth. A dead person, he told himself; dead and cold. But then the reason for this visit reasserted itself and he stretched out a hand to knock on the door.

Solly Brightman stood a little apart from the three other people: the pathologist, the mortuary supervisor and the young lad who was doing his best to take in all that Rosie was telling him. It hadn’t been strange at all, Solly had told Rosie when she’d mentioned Maggie Lorimer’s request. The boy’s science grades were excellent and he obviously had an enquiring sort of mind, perfect for a career in forensic medicine. Yet Solly had been astute enough to lag behind them, observing the young man’s behaviour, for the psychologist was interested in a boy who wanted to see where post-mortems took place in the aftermath of his girlfriend’s murder. Was he using this visit as a way of dealing with her death? Or did death itself hold an unhealthy sort of fascination for him?

Just as he ruminated upon these thoughts, Rosie came to a halt beside the wall of refrigerated containers.

‘This is where we keep the cadavers before their post-mortem examinations.’

‘And afterwards?’ Kyle asked.

‘Perhaps. It depends on whether the Fiscal releases them for burial or cremation,’ Rosie countered, shooting the boy a look. They’d already shown him the post-mortem room, the viewing room and the areas where staff worked on computers or drank scalding cups of tea. ‘To warm you up after dealing with stiffs,’ the supervisor had joked.

‘Is Julie still in there?’

The sudden silence that followed made the boy’s question seem all the more macabre.

‘Yes, yes she is.’ Rosie was staring at Kyle, and Solly took in the lad’s quiet, almost impassive demeanour. It hadn’t bothered him to ask and there was nothing callous about his tone.

‘Can I see her, please?’

The psychologist caught the enquiring glance that Rosie threw at the mortuary supervisor and the slight shrug of the shoulders that was an eloquent reply of assent.