Alex Gray - Glasgow Kiss

‘Anyway, all these notes tell us is how he responded to such-and-such a diagnostic test; how well he did jumping through their various hoops. There’s nothing to suggest that he might be a stalker, or anything more sinister.’

‘Well, why would his case workers look for things that weren’t there?’ Solly replied mildly.

Lorimer looked at him sharply. ‘Listen to what I found out last night. Every summer this man’s been employed by an agency to help with the overseas students who went to various schools, including Muirpark Secondary. Acting as chauffeur, taking them around the city to familiarise them with the place and seeing that they were conversant with things like automated cashpoints and transport facilities,’ Lorimer told him, watching as Solly’s eyes grew wide with understanding. ‘Then, as the summer came to an end, Russell’s health always seemed to take a turn for the worse and he was back on some form of medication.’

‘Right,’ Solly agreed, nodding his dark head sagely, ‘that’s interesting. And this agency. . they didn’t check up on his background?’

Lorimer shook his head. ‘They spoke about him like he was their favourite employee; Russell seems to have been a plausible sort of character, right enough.’

‘Hm. Plausible and someone who liked to play the system. There have been cases where-’ He broke off as he caught Lorimer’s exasperated sigh.

‘Listen. Each summer there was a different group of students to show around. And I’m certain that two of them were murdered.’ This time it was Lorimer who paused to let his words sink in.

‘If it is Anna and Jarmila whose remains are lying down in the City Mortuary, then are you trying to say this establishes a pattern? What about the missing summer?’ Solly asked doubtfully.

Lorimer fixed his blue gaze on the psychologist. ‘Maybe we simply haven’t found a fourth body yet,’ he said.

‘Right, you know what you’ve to do,’ Lorimer told them. ‘We’ve got less than a day before a review team takes this away from us so get cracking. I want Russell found and I want him brought in.’

There was a murmuring of approval as they all left the incident room. Something was happening at last and the collective adrenalin rush was almost tangible.

He’d handed the team a variety of actions: to find out what else Russell’s neighbours knew about the man, to make a search among his GP’s records and more detailed enquiries about his parents, as well as looking for clues about where he might have gone. The car Jessica King had photographed was also missing and if they could trace that it would give them something else to examine. Not for the first time Lorimer breathed a prayer of thanks to whatever authority had decided to create such a plethora of CCTV cameras in and around the city. And, he thought, if he could swing it, a TV bulletin would also be going out at lunchtime today with a picture of Russell and a plea to the public to come forward if they had any sightings of the man.

As he waited for the line to connect him to the Chief Superintendent, Lorimer drummed his fingers on the desk, thoughts racing about his new suspect. If he had his way, the lunchtime news would have an exclusive feature, something that would piss off the press, though it might just make their evening editions. Eric Chalmers had suffered trial by media for so long now that his was a household name and letters to the Gazette had poured in, showing a marked division of opinion. At Muirpark the teaching staff seemed to be at one another’s throats arguing about his involvement in this murder case, Maggie had told Lorimer sadly, her voice tight with emotion. So she would be jubilant if he could finally prove that her friend was innocent.

Suhayl scratched his head, wondering. Had that been the same man he’d served during the wee small hours: the one with the big black coat and the unsmiling eyes? Suhayl, who was a poet by choice and a greengrocer by necessity, regarded the television screen closely then scribbled down the telephone number on the brown paper bag he’d snatched from the end of the counter. It was him, he was sure of that: same height, same face, same pale washed-out complexion. Nodding to himself, Suhayl picked up his mobile from its place by the till and began to punch out the number.

‘Where did you say you are, Mr Kamar?’ Lorimer swung his chair around, studying the map of Glasgow on his wall as he listened to the Asian grocer’s words. ‘And you saw him crossing over. .?’ Lorimer’s eyes took in the area around Great Western Road where the Botanic Gardens met the junction of Byres Road and Queen Margaret Drive.

Suhayl Kamar stood in the doorway of his shop, one hand holding his mobile against his ear, the other describing patterns in the air as though he were explaining things to a visible companion. ‘Yes, he went up to the side of the gate and disappeared just like that. One moment he was in the street under the lamp post, the next he had vanished. So he must have gone into the gardens, sir. There is no other explanation.’

Lorimer put down the telephone. They were having a fair number of calls but this was the first that had merited being put through to him personally.

It only took a few minutes to establish the grocer’s claim. CCTV footage had three sightings of Russell — one near to the grocer’s shop, one within the park itself and the third way over near the disused railway track. Grabbing his jacket, Lorimer swung himself out of his chair and headed for the car park.

He knew that area, he thought, heart pounding. He’d spent time there as a youngster, snooping around the old tunnel with his pals. But he’d always been too afraid to enter the claustrophobic darkness after that first time.

Now was it some strange quirk of fate drawing William Lorimer back to a place that had haunted his dreams ever since?

Kyle sat down heavily on the bed. Packing all his belongings into that battered case had taken longer than he’d thought. Twice he’d yanked the whole lot out again and twice he’d repacked it more carefully, folding things smooth so they would fit. He hadn’t realised just how much stuff he actually owned. But now it was done and the case was on its side next to a bulging duffle bag and his school satchel. It only remained to do one last thing.

He’d imagined this moment over and over again, remembered Jamesey’s words. Pit the heid in him , he’d told his wee brother, grinning. Wee half -brother, Kyle reminded himself. Not a full-blood relation. And he knew he could do it. Knew he could take the man on, hold him back and smash his own head against that girning face. In his mind he could hear the crunch of bone as Tam Kerrigan’s nose met the impact of his head: a real Glasgow Kiss. He could almost smell the blood, see the look of surprised anguish in those piggy little eyes as he stood back, triumphant over the man at last. He knew he could do it.

‘Whit’s goin on?’

Kyle looked up, his reverie vanished in an instant. Da stood there, hands by his side, a belligerent expression on his unshaven face.

‘Whit’s a this?’ Kerrigan pointed at the luggage on the floor.

‘I’m going to live at Gran’s,’ Kyle told him, standing up, surprised at how calm he felt now that this moment of confrontation had actually arrived.

‘Oh, aye? An who says you can?’

‘I do,’ Kyle replied, watching the man before him. Was that a look of uncertainty in his eyes? He’d been taught to look for signs of weakness in an opponent and he could see plenty right now. Tam Kerrigan’s awkward stance, the looseness around his jaws that spoke of recent hours at the bottle, but, above all, a sort of wariness in those bloodshot eyes as if he was seeing something in Kyle that hadn’t been there before.