Alex Gray - Glasgow Kiss

‘That would screen the garden from any prying eyes, wouldn’t it?’ Weir remarked.

Cameron nodded then turned to the glazed kitchen door and window, obscured by Venetian blinds that were firmly shut against the outside world.

‘Looks like she’s away,’ Weir remarked, his words receiving only a stony silence from Cameron. Stating the obvious wasn’t massively helpful and they were further frustrated by having to wait until the search warrant came through.

‘Hello there,’ a gruff female voice made them both turn around, ‘can I help you?’

Standing by the gate was a large woman in a florid print dress, an expression of belligerent curiosity on her face.

Cameron flicked an appraising eye over her: sensible woman not to come too close to two strangers, keeping her escape route handy, and was that a hefty walking stick tucked under one arm?

‘DS Cameron, DC Weir, Strathclyde Police,’ he told her, warrant card open for inspection.

‘Oh dear, nothing’s happened to Lorna, has it?’ The woman’s face grew suddenly anxious, though the pair of grey eyes staring at them showed a shrewd intelligence.

‘We’re just carrying out routine inquiries, Miss. .?’

‘Mrs Jones. I live next door.’ She pointed the stick to a direction beyond the expanse of greenery. ‘Saw you arrive in your car and when you didn’t come back to the front of the house, well, what was I to think?’ Her walking stick was now lowered to the ground and she limped heavily forwards, one hand extended.

‘Not keeping an eye on the place, officially, you understand, but we are in a neighbourhood watch scheme, at least we are. Lorna’s a funny sort, keeps herself pretty much to herself, never bothers with community activities,’ she added.

‘And do you know where Miss Tulloch is at the moment?’ Cameron asked.

‘No idea. Like I said, she keeps herself to herself. Doesn’t work as far as I know. Travels a bit, likes to go up north to that cottage of hers.’

Cameron tried to keep control of his expression at this last bit of information, asking in the mildest of voices, ‘Whereabouts might that be, do you know?’

‘Oh, way off the beaten track. Back of beyond if you ask me. Turn right at Ardrishaig and go along the Kilberry road until you reach some cottage or other. Hamish and I went up once, just out of interest, you know. Had some friends over from the States. Thought we’d show them a bit of the Scottish landscape. Stuff you don’t see in all those tartan-trimmed calendars-’

‘So she might have gone there?’ Cameron broke into the woman’s flow of speech before she could digress any further.

‘Suppose so. I say, what has she done? Run off with the bank manager?’ A sudden guffaw made the woman’s several chins roll with merriment. ‘Can’t see it myself, somehow. A bit long in the tooth for that sort of malarkey, I’d have thought.’

‘As I said, we were hoping that your neighbour could help us with our inquiries,’ Cameron repeated. ‘If you should see her, please let her know we called, will you?’ And handing over his card, he gave a brief old-fashioned nod before ushering them all out of the garden.

Mrs Jones turned to Cameron and Weir as they made their way towards the pavement. ‘She’s done something, hasn’t she? I can tell,’ she added, tapping the side of her nose in a mocking way.

‘She hasn’t had any visitors to stay recently, has she?’ Weir asked.

‘No idea. Sorry. Hamish and I have just got back from Tenerife. Haven’t seen Lorna for over a fortnight. Why? Is she harbouring terrorists or something?’

Cameron shook his head and smiled politely, but he flashed Weir a look that told the younger man to close his mouth, a mouth that was already open to say an awful lot more.

‘Crikey! She sounded just like that woman off the telly,’ Weir stated as they fastened their seat belts. ‘Looked like her, too. Whatshername? You know, the one that does the cooking and hunting and all that.’

‘Aye, I know who you mean,’ Cameron replied. And although he could remember the celebrity’s name perfectly well, he chose not to enlighten Weir, for the DS’s mind had made an interesting connection: Mrs Jones had exactly the same keen intelligence and awareness that shone out of the eyes of the TV celebrity, Clarrisa Dickson-Wright. And if this neighbour’s estimation of Lorna Tulloch was correct, perhaps they had found the woman who had abducted Nancy Fraser. And it would be only a matter of hours from now that a search warrant would allow the scene of crime officers to search this house in Southbrae Drive, ready to take any traces for analysis. Kim Fraser had supplied plenty of material so Nancy’s DNA profile could be matched. Now, thought Cameron, as they drove back to HQ, it was down to the SOCOs and their painstaking colleagues in forensics to provide evidence that the child had been here.

‘Mrs Lorimer, can I have a word, please?’

Maggie looked up from the stack of jotters on her desk, trying not to sigh. It was halfway through the third period and her only non-teaching time that day.

‘Yes, Jessica, what can I do for you?’ Maggie’s words were out, bland and impersonal, before she realised that the girl was physically trembling. ‘What on earth? Sit down here. Jessica, what’s wrong, dear?’

It had taken only a little persuasion for the Fourth Year girl to let Maggie telephone the police. ‘It’s not something we can ignore, Jessica,’ she told the girl as they sat together in the guidance room.

‘Won’t they think I’m being a bit of a scaredy cat?’ the girl asked, anxiously biting her lip.

‘Someone stalking you and making nuisance calls is taken very seriously by the police,’ Maggie assured her. And if he’s the same person who lured Julie Donaldson into Dawsholm Woods, they’ll want to know every last detail, she thought. But Maggie Lorimer was not about to voice that sudden idea, at least not yet.

‘I thought it might be Kenny Turner from Sixth Year at first,’ she told Maggie. ‘He’s been hanging around me and Manda since the beginning of term,’ she added. ‘But it wasn’t Kenny, it was an older man.’ The girl shuddered so violently that Maggie automatically reached out a comforting hand and patted her arm.

‘It’s okay. And you don’t have to stay on your own till Mum and Dad get back. I’ll have a word with Amanda’s parents if you like.’

‘Thanks.’ Jessica attempted a tremulous smile. ‘But I’ve already asked Manda and she says I can stay over at her place after school today.’

Maggie Lorimer keyed in the number on her mobile. It was Bill’s direct line, but even if he wasn’t at his desk there would be someone to help them. And that was an interesting little snippet of information about Kenny Turner. Why, if he’d been so adamant that he’d had no hope of a relationship with Julie Donaldson, had the boy been making overtures to the two best-looking girls in Maggie’s registration class?

‘I’m going up there myself,’ Jo Grant told the team of officers assembled in the muster room. ‘A woman with a man walking around the countryside in late summer will appear far less threatening.’

‘What about back-up, ma’am?’ someone asked.

‘Police from Lochgilphead will be on hand whenever they’re needed, but I don’t anticipate having to call on them until we’ve made an arrest. As far as we know this Tulloch woman is on her own. Unless, of course, the child is actually with her,’ she added. There was a definite sense of optimism now that the SOCOs had found traces of Nancy Fraser in the house at Jordanhill, though the fact that the DI was preparing to drive all the way to this remote part of Argyll did make some of them wonder why she didn’t simply hand it over to the local force. As if reading their thoughts, Jo Grant turned a hard stare on the assembled officers. ‘The press are expecting results on this one and we are not going to let ourselves down after all the work this team has put into finding Nancy,’ she told them.