Alex Gray - Glasgow Kiss

‘It’s what I see in the paperwork that’s available to us at present,’ Solly replied primly. ‘If I knew more about the first two victims. .’ he paused, ‘it would certainly give me far more to go on.’

‘Right, let me get this absolutely straight.’ Lorimer sighed heavily. ‘You think the women have been targeted by the same man and that he is some loner who is looking for. . what did you say?’

‘I didn’t actually give it a name. I don’t really know what he is looking for. We know he didn’t have sex with the Donaldson girl but that doesn’t mean he didn’t want to. He may be trying to find fulfilment-’

‘That was the word you used!’ Lorimer pounced on it. ‘Fulfilment. Isn’t that the same as sexual satisfaction?’

‘It might mean the same to him, but he may not necessarily have to resort to rape or assault to achieve his aims.’

‘That’s fairly unusual in multiple killings, isn’t it?’

‘Highly unusual,’ the psychologist replied. ‘There are scores of textbooks written about sexual motivation — rape escalating to murder — but I think this is different.’

‘And you’re trying to tell me that we’re barking up the wrong tree with Chalmers?’

‘I think,’ Solly replied slowly, ‘that whoever carried out these killings may be someone who displays psychopathic traits. And he might even be in our medical system already. That doesn’t fit what I’ve been told of Eric Chalmers,’ he said, looking gravely at Lorimer.

The Detective Chief Inspector slid off the desk and began to pace back and forwards, in and out of the pool of sunlight. Watching him, the psychologist could see the deepening lines around Lorimer’s eyes and the way he bit the waxy skin around his index finger: sure signs of the man’s growing anxiety. There was pressure on him to come up with answers, and soon, or a review team would be put in place, taking over the whole investigation. Solly could only sympathise with the man whose tall, spare frame seemed confined within these four walls. Curiously, Lorimer’s behaviour reminded him of Rosie. Hadn’t she been restless recently? But was she really ready for the demands that her full-time job as a consultant pathologist demanded? Perhaps some involvement on the fringes of this case might ease her in gently, he thought.

‘Are there any more forensic reports yet?’ Solly asked.

Lorimer was standing over him now and Solly could see the grim expression on his face.

‘So far we’ve not achieved very much from forensics to definitely link all three victims. The killer may have taken them to a place where there’s been a lot of gorse, before their trip to the woods. Where? Why? And what’s he doing with them?’ Lorimer had resumed his pacing back and forwards. ‘If you’re right, we have to get our skates on. Look in all the records of mental hospitals — though we’re probably going to be scuppered by patient confidentiality — for a man who has some predilection for gorse bushes and young women. That’s going to be a breeze, right?’ His sarcasm was so palpable that the psychologist winced.

The DCI stopped suddenly. ‘Do you know how many officers we have deployed on this case right now? And how many others are trying to find a missing child? And I’ve got the press on my back too.’

He sat down heavily in the chair beside Solly. ‘We are on the point of arresting Eric Chalmers. I just have to have one more piece of evidence to present a case against him. And if we find it in his house, well, what do I do with your emerging profile?’

‘Do you think Chalmers guilty of the girl’s murder?’ Solly asked quietly.

Lorimer ran his hands through his hair. ‘I don’t know what to think any more. The last thing I want is an unsafe conviction. You know that. And, if I’m honest, Maggie’s opinion has coloured my view of him. She can’t see past all his decent qualities.’

‘But you’re worried she might be wrong about him,’ Solly added.

‘Worried? More like bloody terrified.’ Lorimer gave a short laugh. ‘How would you like to be in my shoes, arresting one of my wife’s friends for murder?’

‘Let’s look at the timescale,’ Solly began. ‘The first killing takes place during the school holidays, three years ago, then nothing — so far as we know — until last year and then this latest victim. What was he doing in between these times? And why is it only in the summertime that he carries out his activities?’

‘What are you trying to suggest?’

‘If I were you,’ Solly said slowly, ‘I’d begin to look at anyone who had been around Dawsholm Park at that time: temporary rangers, students on a summer job at the Vet School. Anyone,’ he paused, ‘with a history of mental illness or behavioural problems.’

‘Well, if you’re right, it’s going to be a race against time before we’re landed with a review team from outside,’ Lorimer told him. ‘And if that looks like happening, Mitchison may well put pressure on us to arrest Eric Chalmers.’

Jessica closed the door and slipped on the chain. It was better to be safe than sorry, she told herself. Now that Manda was gone the house seemed too quiet. It would be dark soon and she could close the curtains against the night, light the lamps and put on the telly, cosy down for the remainder of the evening. Mum and Dad had texted her earlier. Their plane would be arriving in Heathrow the day after tomorrow but there was someone they had to see in London so they’d be staying over. That meant three more nights all on her own, Jessica told herself. Three nights of waiting for the phone to ring and listening to that empty space where an unknown caller breathed into her ear.

As she pulled the curtain cord beside the downstairs window, the girl tried not to look at the trees across the road and the shadows under the street lamps, yet her eyes were drawn towards the spot where she had been sure a man had stood looking back at her. But there was nothing there, not even a movement in the empty pavement.

As Jessica cleared the remains of the pizza she’d shared with Manda the doorbell rang, a single shrill sound as if someone was putting their finger on the buzzer and leaving it there.

Jessica froze where she stood in the hallway. She was just feet away from the front door, the empty cardboard carton gripped in one hand. The girl’s other hand was pressed against terrified lips as if to stifle the scream that was rising up in her throat.

The ringing sound seemed to last for ages. Then it stopped and she listened intently. At last she heard it; the sound of footsteps walking away from the door.

But, instead of a sense of relief, the girl felt only a rising panic and, trembling, she sank on to the floor, tears streaming down her face.

When the car door slammed she rose to her feet, dropping the pizza box, and sped up the flight of stairs that would lead to the landing window. All she saw was a pale grey vehicle, its red tail lights disappearing down the cul de sac. It was too dark to make out much but Jessica thought she could see the shape of a man in the driver’s seat.

It was the same shadowy figure, she told herself. She knew it was. Heart pounding, Jessica ran further up the stairs to her bedroom and grabbed her digital camera. He’d have to turn and come back to reach the main road, she told herself.

By the time she’d returned to the landing window, the car was parallel with their house and just as she raised the camera, it slowed down.

The face that looked out at her from the driver’s window gave a knowing smile that changed to one of anger as he saw her intention. Then he raised a hand against the flash and the car accelerated into the night as she tried to take further shots.

She looked down at the final photograph: all that was visible on the tiny screen was a blur of grey and a streak of red wavy lines.