Alex Gray - Glasgow Kiss

He wasn’t hiding himself away, this man, whoever he was. He’d followed Jessica on foot as well as arriving at her home by car. So did this mean he was a local man?

There was something twitching at the edge of his brain, a memory flickering from the TV report on the Soham murders. Hadn’t the killer appeared at the crime scene, unable to keep away from what he had done? And was there any possibility of creating a circumstance that might bring this particular killer out into the open?

As he drove up St Vincent Street, past the grand pillars dominating the Physician and Surgeons Hall on the rise of the hill, Lorimer gazed at the skyline ahead of him. The blue was fading over the city, pale grey clouds appearing just above the river. He was out there somewhere. Several summers had brought him into the parkland and the woods, and this summer wasn’t over yet.

And if Lorimer didn’t have the chance to find him now, how many more young women might he lure towards their death in summers still to come?

‘He’s guilty as sin!’ The man’s voice dominated the babble in the closely packed staffroom.

‘How can you say that?’ Sandie Carmichael protested. ‘He’s one of your own colleagues! How are you going to feel when he comes back to school and knows what you’ve said?’ she stormed at Herriot.

‘Could be he’ll never set foot in this building again,’ another voice piped up.

‘Aye, and even if he is found innocent, who’d want to come back here after all of this muck raking?’ someone else remarked, in a tone of disgust.

‘What happened to good old-fashioned loyalty? That’s what I want to know,’ Sandie continued hotly. ‘Eric’s been a great colleague to all of us. And I dare anyone to say otherwise!’ The Business Studies teacher picked up her bag and marched out of the room, leaving a low buzz of talk behind her.

‘Oh, Maggie, thank God for someone sane,’ Sandie began as she fell into step with her friend. ‘You should hear that lot in there.’ She cocked her head back at the staffroom door. ‘Soon as they scent something vulnerable they’re howling their heads off like a pack of jackals.’

Maggie sighed. ‘I know. It’s horrible.’ She paused. ‘Did they say anything about me? After that newspaper article. .’

Sandie laid a hand on Maggie’s shoulder. ‘Remember what you’re always saying to the kids? Don’t believe everything the papers tell you. Look, Maggie, they’re not really out to get Eric. Or you. They’re in the business of selling newspapers and all they want is the biggest sort of scandal-mongering they can legally get off with.’

‘I suppose so. It’s just that I feel so personally involved now.’ She broke off, unwilling to reveal the news about Jessica.

‘Don’t worry.’ Sandie patted her kindly. ‘That husband of yours will find out who killed Julie. I know he will.’

But as Maggie Lorimer turned into her own classroom, she failed to conjure up a similar feeling of optimism. If her husband and his team didn’t find another suspect, what was to become of Eric Chalmers?

The database containing DNA profiles was not something that Lorimer searched on a regular basis but it hadn’t proved too difficult to find what Kyle had asked for, he thought, tearing off the relevant sheet of perforated paper from the machine. Kerrigan Senior was Kyle’s father in name only, not his biological father at all. But how was the boy going to react to this news when he found his birth certificate at the registry office? And what use would he make of it? Lorimer folded the paper and put it in his inside jacket pocket. If he could only bend the rules just this once? He gave a snort of derisory laughter, making the uniformed policewoman passing by look up at him, a question in her eyes. No, what he’d told Kyle was true; he simply couldn’t reveal privileged information like this.

‘Sir?’ DC Irvine was approaching him from the other end of the corridor, a look of excitement on her face. ‘We’ve got an ID on the stalker’s car,’ she told him, waving the sheaf of papers she held in her hand. ‘And a name and address. Adam Russell. And see the address? It’s the same street as Julie Donaldson!’ she exclaimed as DS Wilson joined them, peering over Lorimer’s shoulder.

‘He’s already been questioned in a door-to-door,’ Wilson remarked.

‘Aye, and so was Peter Sutcliffe before they caught him,’ Lorimer retorted. ‘Come on, get a back-up organised. We’re going after him right now!’

T he shadows were beginning to lengthen, he noticed. It would soon be time to leave and move back to a warmer place for the winter months. Even his dreams had begun to take on elements that they’d say were not in keeping with reality. He sniggered. Reality! It was a word they loved to use as if he were not in touch with life in all its forms. He knew more about the real world than they ever would, these closeted academics with their white coats and theories.

Perhaps it was a sixth sense or his own heightened awareness of things, but before he even heard the car door slam, he was out of the house, all he needed in one capacious overcoat pocket. Smiling to himself with the thrill of it all, he headed down the flight of stairs leading to the back court, away from the two figures that had turned into the close.

They’d come for him several times before and he’d let them lead him away, limp and unprotesting between their solicitous arms, some drug working swiftly in his veins.

He wasn’t going to let himself be trapped like that again.

It might take them less than three minutes to find that he’d gone. But in that short time he could be round another corner, through a lane and into the maze of back courts, zig-zagging his way from Crow Road all the way to the Botanic Gardens and the safety of his secret place.

A whinny of laughter left his lips as he sped along the dusty pavement, his coat flying behind him.

Turning another corner, a gaggle of school kids gaped at his mad dash along the street, one shouting out an obscenity that he pretended not to hear. Once on the main road he would slow down, he told himself. Then he’d simply disappear. For who would notice someone like him among the mass of humanity going about its lawful business?

‘He’s gone,’ Irvine said, swinging the heavy door back and forward in her hand as if testing its weight. ‘Didn’t even bother to lock it behind him.’ She broke off as Lorimer raised his hand then put one finger to his lips.

How long have you been away? Lorimer thought, entering the empty living room. As he looked around, the desolate, sagging furniture seemed to tell its own tale of a life that was past caring about the comfort of material things. But perhaps it could tell him something else. Hunkering down, the detective ran his hand lightly across the surface of the nearest sofa, years of use permanently moulding the seat cushions into twin craters. The side of his mouth gave a mere twitch as he felt one side of the settee warm, the other stone cold.

‘He’s been here just minutes ago,’ he said quietly, making DC Irvine spin round then look warily over her shoulder at the door to their left.

She opened her eyes wide, motioning towards the doorway.

Lorimer nodded once and stood up slowly. He would go in first.

‘Police!’ The word burst from his mouth as he slammed through the bedroom door, fists ready to repel any attack.

‘Shit!’ Lorimer turned back into the room. ‘Let’s look in the other rooms. No, you stay here!’ he commanded, already halfway through into the corridor.

His footfall was entirely silent as Lorimer crept into the bathroom, but there was no sign of Russell. The kitchen too was empty, but he prowled around anyway, eyes devouring the work surfaces until he spied a kettle. It was still warm and further inspection found a dirty mug in the sink and an ashtray with one fag end still smouldering.