Alex Gray - Glasgow Kiss

His face struck the edge of the rail, teeth smashing against the metal, and then another kind of darkness began to descend as he heard a voice somewhere far away calling his name.

Lorimer sat outside the tunnel, waiting. It had taken all his strength to drag Russell’s inert body out into the daylight and now he was lying on the grass next to the DCI. His face was a right mess, streams of blood pouring from the wound on his forehead, covering his neck in one dark red patch, his teeth jagged and broken in places.

But he was breathing all right. Lorimer had felt a pulse. The ambulance was on its way and in a matter of minutes he would be joined by a squad car.

He looked up to see an old man approaching them across the expanse of grass, his elderly dog loping by his side. It looked like a cross between a black Labrador and a greyhound, Lorimer decided, gazing dispassionately at the animal’s greying muzzle.

As he saw them, the old man stopped, hesitant, unsure what to do, what to say.

‘He’s had an accident,’ Lorimer explained, seeing the fear and doubt in the old man’s eyes. For a moment the policeman wondered what he was thinking, this vulnerable stranger who had come across such a bloody scene. Did he think that Lorimer had attacked the man lying on the ground? Well, he supposed he had, flinging himself sideways into the darkness, taking the man by surprise.

‘Now see here.’ The old man brandished his walking stick at Lorimer, taking a brave step towards the place where the policeman was sitting. But just at that moment he turned as the ambulance’s siren whined close by and Lorimer stood up.

‘It’s all right, sir.’ Lorimer took out his warrant card and held it so the old man could see. ‘Everything’s under control.’

The man’s face cleared and he gave a stiff little nod. ‘Right, officer,’ he said, touching a finger to his forehead. ‘Come on, Holly, good girl.’ Then Lorimer watched as the pair of them moved away as the sound of the siren grew louder.

What was courage? Was it being brave enough to face your worst nightmares, or something like this: an old man with a stick facing up to some stranger who might have been a violent mugger? Lorimer shook his head, pondering as the ambulance drew up.

If he lived to be as old as the man walking sedately across the grass, dog by his side, he’d still have things to learn about humankind.

Lorimer parked the car at the end of a long line of vehicles snaking all the way from Clydebank Crematorium to the garden of remembrance over the hill. Keith Manson had gained the permission of the educational authorities to close Muirpark today and, judging by the crowds already outside the low-lying grey building, most of the senior staff and pupils were in attendance. Lorimer glanced across at his wife, clad all in black as befitted the occasion. Maggie’s head was bowed and she didn’t look at him as he clasped her hand. There was nothing left to say between them. Every suspicion that had pointed towards the RE teacher had proved unfounded. Maggie had been right in her unwavering support of Eric all along.

They had arrived fifteen minutes before the funeral was due to begin but it was obvious that they would not even come close to the crematorium, never mind gain access to the building. Luckily the Glasgow weather was on its best behaviour and a late summer sun warmed them as they took their place beside the line of mourners. Others were walking back from the overflow car park to join them and Lorimer could see that any latecomers would have to stand across the path from the main drive, a good fifty yards from the main entrance.

It was unnaturally quiet given that so many young people were assembled in the crowd but then the solemnity of the occasion had probably rendered them silent. So much had already been said about Julie; now was the time to give her some respect.

Lorimer’s height allowed the advantage of seeing over the heads of the other mourners and he began to pick out a few familiar faces. In among a crowd of other lads, Kyle Kerrigan stood facing the place where the funeral cortиge would arrive. There was something different about the boy today, Lorimer thought. Perhaps it was the dark suit, making the boy appear so much older. Or was it that quality of stillness in his manner? So much had happened to Kyle over the past few weeks that it was no wonder the DCI noticed some indefinable change in the lad.

His eyes roved past the youngsters and Lorimer caught sight of some of Maggie’s colleagues from school. There had been such a bitter division of opinion among them. Were any of these people, standing so silently, examining their consciences and regretting harsh words spoken against Eric Chalmers? Or were they too ashamed to show their faces today? Attendance at Julie’s funeral wasn’t compulsory, Maggie had told him, but from the hundreds of people lining the pathways, it did look as if the entire school population had made an effort to turn out.

At last the hearse glided into view, followed by two shiny black Daimlers. All that could be heard were the murmurs from the funeral directors as Frank Donaldson and his family were ushered from the cars. As Julie’s flower-covered coffin was carried inside, Lorimer could feel Maggie’s fingers tighten on his grasp.

It was not until the funeral party had made their way inside, leaving the crowds to wait patiently on the paths, that Lorimer heard the first sounds of girls weeping. Then the loudspeaker allowed them all to hear something of the service beginning with the Twenty-Third Psalm. At first he thought it was coming from a distance, but then the man beside him began to sing and gradually the entire crowd had joined in the familiar words, their voices growing in strength, resounding in waves until the organ within the crematorium could no longer be heard.

‘Wow!’ Rosie said softly, the glass of water halfway to her lips. ‘That sounds awesome.’

Maggie nodded her head, still too full of the morning’s events to articulate her feelings. It had been Lorimer who had described the funeral service at Clydebank to Solly and Rosie and he had tried hard to capture the unique atmosphere as all these people had raised their voices together.

‘It was,’ he agreed. ‘And afterwards it took an hour for us to get out of the place. You wouldn’t believe how many folk were there.’ He shrugged as if to say that it had been beyond him to judge the numbers of mourners. Silently he recalled the aftermath of the funeral.

An attendant had come along to speak to the drivers, telling them it would take a good while to have the place vacated and not to keep their engines running. Maggie had sat in the car, the window rolled down to give her some air, her face pale with the strain of it all while Lorimer had strolled up the hill away from the lines of vehicles waiting their turn to leave. Up there in the garden of remembrance, he’d stood looking out over the river Clyde and the span of the Erskine Bridge. To his left the City was shrouded in haze but further west the river glinted in the sunshine, the hills beyond etched against a sky the colour of forget-me-nots. It had only been days since Cameron and Jo had made that journey, bringing the little girl home with them. But standing there on the day of Julie Donaldson’s funeral, Lorimer had felt it was another lifetime ago.

‘What’s happened to Lorna Tulloch?’ he asked Solly, his mind suddenly back to the here and now.

‘My sources at the university tell me that she is still undergoing assessment. But,’ the psychologist paused, looking directly at Lorimer, ‘they don’t expect her to be fit to plead.’

‘Poor cow,’ Rosie said suddenly. ‘What kind of existence can she expect to have for the rest of her life?’