Alex Gray - Sleep like the dead

'Aye, fine,' Annie replied.

'Well you don't look fine,' Fathy persisted. 'How about a coffee before we tackle Frances Donnelly again?'

'No, you're okay. C'mon. Sooner we get this over With sooner we can give the boss something to go on, eh?'

'You think she had a key to his house?' Fathy asked as they descended the stairs to the back door.

Annie shrugged. 'Doubt if she'll let on until we can tell her that fingerprints have been found.'

'Well, maybe it was her,' Fathy went on. 'And another thing.

We don't know for sure that it was Scott behind that camera.

Maybe it was his girlfriend?'

Annie looked at him in disbelief then shook her head. 'No chance,' she said at last. 'That was Scott all right. Anyhow, why d'you want to make it more complicated than it already is?'

Fathy opened the door and stepped aside, saying nothing.

'Right, Sir Galahad,' Annie grinned suddenly, her good mood restored. 'Let's get going.'

Lorimer put down the phone. It was all set, then. By the end of this week he would be appearing on national television, appealing for information on the case, asking for Marianne Scott to come forward.

If they hadn't found her by then, he reminded himself.

He heaved a sigh. Was she a frightened woman? And if so, who did she fear? Not her husband: he was dead. Her brother, then?

But the photograph in Brogan's flat scotched that idea. The two of them had been close. Well, was she avoiding detection because of something else? Her whereabouts had been unknown for much longer than the short time since her ex-husband's death, he reasoned.

Had she only gone into hiding since that event, then the finger of suspicion might well have fallen on her.

Had she been stalked by her ex-husband? Almost certainly. Lorimer frowned as he remembered DC Irvine's impassioned little speech. She was well up on the law concerning stalkers. A coincidence? Or had she been involved in something personal?

Lorimer tried to recall a case that might have sparked off such outrage in the time that Irvine had been in the force – and under his command – but nothing came to him. Well, if she had a friend who had been stalked, she might tell them about it. It was her business, he reminded himself.

The telephone ringing cut off his thoughts, as it so often did, and he picked it up, giving his head a shake as though to clear his mind.

'Lorimer.'

'Call for you, sir. From a call box. Putting you through, now,' the operator said.

'Detective Chief Inspector Lorimer? I have some lovely news for you, sir.' The voice on the line was definitely that of an Asian, Lorimer realised. Second generation, perhaps, but still with echoes of another tongue. Hindi? Urdu? 'To whom am I speaking?' he asked, but the voice on the other end simply chuckled.

'You know who this is. Just listen, Chief Inspector. You want to find Billy Brogan?'

Lorimer picked up a pencil ready to jot down the information as the man continued.

'Here is where he has been seen,' the Asian said. 'Someone from Glasgow spotted him.'

Lorimer listened carefully, his eyebrows rising in surprise as the details were given.

Lovely news, his informant had said. Well, maybe it would be if he could verify that it was true, his more cautious self reminded him.

'Jaffrey? Is that you? How did you get this information?' Lorimer asked. But the click at the other end told him the question was destined to go unanswered.

'Hello?' he said. 'Hello…?' but even as he spoke, Lorimer knew that the call had been terminated and he was left with a feeling of frustration that whoever had been in touch knew an awful lot more than he was letting on.

'Call box from the south side of the city, sir. Pollokshields. We're pinpointing the location as I speak,' the operator informed him.

'Okay. And we'll need to run a check to see if there are any CCTV cameras nearby. But I have a feeling this chap's been taking no chances,' Lorimer sighed. What was Jaffrey hiding? And how on earth did he know about Brogan?

They might well find out which particular call box had been used. But by the time they did their caller would have slipped away into the area that had been largely taken over by the Asian community, mingling with his own folk. Glasgow had become home to many different races, some fleeing oppression in their homelands, many integrating well alongside the Glasgow people. And certain areas had become enclaves for them. But this man might well be on the shady side of society, Lorimer told himself. How would he have been able to supply this kind of information? Why else would he have failed to give his name? Surely that had been Sahid Jaffrey, one of his occasional informants? Who else could it be?

He studied his computer screen; in a couple of minutes he would have the number of the hotel he had just been given, then he could verify this information. And if it was correct, his next call could be to the Spanish police.

'Billy Brogan's been seen in Spain,' Lorimer was standing opposite Superintendent Mitchison who was leaning back in his chair, regarding the DCI with only a faint interest.

'We have his hotel room number and an officer from the local police who is going to see if they can apprehend him on our behalf.'

And the caller was anonymous,' Mitchison drawled.

'Yes, sir, Asian. Educated voice. Spoke clearly. Asked to be put through to me so he obviously knew who was in charge of the case.' Lorimer crossed his fingers behind his back. There was no way he was going to reveal his sources to Mitchison.

'Reads the Gazette, then. Or watches the evening news on television,'

Mitchison said in a dismissive tone that set Lorimer's teeth on edge.

'Well, Brogan can't get very far on an island, I suppose,' the superintendent continued. 'And if he's your prime suspect, then perhaps you'll have this case wrapped up before the week's out.'

He smiled, baring a set of perfectly capped teeth. 'Once Brogan is extradited from Spain there will be no need for your little performance on Crimezoatch, will there?'

Lorimer refrained from answering. The man's dislike of him was palpable and the less fuel he gave him for stoking the flames of his enmity, the better.

As he left the superintendent's room, Lorimer managed to smile. Brogan was almost in their clutches! Perhaps by this time tomorrow he would be facing the drug dealer in one of the interview rooms, asking questions about the deaths of three men.

His eyes narrowed as he recalled that Asian voice. Someone in the city knew all about Brogan and was grassing him up. And if it was Jaffrey, why was he doing this? Somehow that question took the edge off his present excitement. There was more to this than he could read right now But would Brogan be able to supply the full story?

The thin linen shirt was sticking to his skin as Brogan made his way back along the esplanade towards Gala Bona. He'd left some of his stuff back in the hotel room; dirty clothes and a few toiletries, just so it looked as if he was going to return. He shouldered the new backpack that contained his possessions. All he needed was in here. He gave a grin remembering the mantra that his pals recited before they left for holiday: money, tickets, passport. Well he still had enough money to keep him going, some of it already changed into American dollars, the favoured currency in North Africa, he'd been told. His passport was tucked inside his trouser pocket and as for his ticket? Well he'd paid his new mate, Carlos, for that trip, hadn't he?

The sun was a red ball in the sky, sinking towards the edge of the sea when the receptionist looked up to see two officers from the local police.

'Can I help you?' the girl smiled at them. But as they motioned her to a back room out of the hearing of several guests who were gazing at them with unashamed curiosity, the receptionist's face became grave.