Alex Gray - Five ways to kill a man

Suddenly she was so tired and glad to have the quietness of this room to herself. Tomorrow they’d be moving her to a main ward, one of them had told her, with other stroke patients like herself. With a small sigh, Alice Finlay turned her head to the pillow and closed her eyes. Tomorrow would bring so many unfamiliar things but at least it would also bring her Maggie.

It was an odd feeling to cycle past the gates of the house. No lights were shining along the driveway any longer; the fire had destroyed all of the electric cables that had fed the twin rows of lamps along the curving path to the mass of rubble. Nodding to myself, I took in the shapes that remained: parts of turrets etched from the backdrop of clouds scudding across the moon; the humps of rhododendron bushes encircling the lawns.

A sudden movement drew my eye and there, in the moonlight, was the small rounded shape of a rabbit, nibbling at the turf, oblivious to the destruction of the house beyond. For a moment I watched it, wondering at the warm heart beating inside its tawny fur.

And, as I watched, I felt my fingers twitch with the desire to extinguish that spark of life.

The journey down by the river was going to be one of the best things about this secondment, thought Lorimer as he allowed his glance to drift towards the estuary. He’d left the city behind in darkness but now the water gleamed like pale grey silk in this early dawn light. From the moment the road opened out to show the Clyde and the hills of the west, Lorimer felt his spirits lift. Now, with the village of Langbank to his left, he was parallel with the widening river and the mudflats that were home to so many wading birds. A quick glance gave him the sight of a flock of redshank and a couple of easily recognised oyster catchers. It would be good to come down here sometime with his binoculars and see what else the place had to offer. All too soon, the growing traffic made Lorimer wrench his eyes back to the dual carriageway and concentrate on the journey.

There was Finlaystone Estate to his left, tall fronds of pine trees outlined against a milk-white sky. He’d been there a few times with Maggie, but not for ages; spotting fallow deer within the depths of the woods had been a golden moment. Now he slowed down as the roundabout approached. He would have to take a left hand turn here if he was going to head for the scene of the crime at Kilmacolm. But that would have to wait. His primary duty lay in K Division, further along this road, past Port Glasgow and into the heart of Greenock itself.

The town was a ferry terminal not just for the MacBrayne’s boats that skimmed from the Inverclyde shore to Dunoon and beyond but it was also the terminal for the massive cruise ships that docked on a regular basis, their white hulks dwarfing every other craft in these waters. But it was the ships with their billowing sails flocking like white birds floating on the water’s surface that he loved best. It had been years since the last Tall Ships race had made the old town their destination, some time back in the nineties, if his memory was correct. And it wouldn’t be long till the next one, he thought to himself, seeing a hoarding proclaim 2011 as the date for the Tall Ships to grace Greenock’s harbour once again.

They’d taken Maggie’s mum and dad down for a glorious day, he recalled. The whole weekend had been blessed with the sort of warm summer sunshine not often enjoyed by west coasters. That, and the array of ships from all parts of the world, had given their day a holiday atmosphere. The Finlays had been persuaded to have a fish supper and stay on for the firework display later on; thank goodness we listened to you, his mother-in-law had told him later after the stunning display that had been set to classical music. They’d walked back to the car park in silence, the sounds of the crowds buzzing in their ears, too full of the sights of these cascades of gold, silver and ruby that had burst against the night sky.

Now Pop Finlay was gone and Alice was lying in a hospital bed. But, on this chilly February morning, the memories of that day still lingered like warm reminders of summer.

Detective Superintendent Lorimer arrived well before any of the other members of his select review team. It was up to him to set the standards and being first to arrive was one way of showing them that he meant business. There was, in any case, so much still to do. He’d have to establish if there had been issues in the identification of any suspects, something about which DI Martin had been worryingly hazy. Also he needed to find out the whereabouts of key witnesses to the fire; they could disappear all too quickly once an investigation appeared to have run its course. He’d have to talk to Colin Ray at some point as well, he knew. The former SIO’s views about this case were of tantamount importance and he hoped he’d be able to see Ray on his own without Martin hovering over their shoulders. One aspect that he did relish was being in communication with Dr Rosie Fergusson, who had carried out the post-mortem examination on the victims. She had also seen the next-of-kin and that was something he wanted to talk to her about before he made personal contact with the brother and sister. He’d need to speak to the family liaison officer as well, but if he could do some groundwork of his own it might make things a bit easier for all concerned.

Lifting the phone, Lorimer decided that his first priority was DCI Colin Ray. He’d be in a rotten enough situation right now with Grace’s death and the loss of his job without the feeling that he was being sidelined.

‘Colin? Bill Lorimer here. How are you?’

There was a lengthy pause as Lorimer waited for a response. Had his question been too trite? Over-hearty? How was he? Bloody awful, probably, but he’d not want to admit that, would he? They were west coast males, used to hiding their feelings beneath a veneer of macho gruffness; and being police officers meant that they were used to bottling up their emotions.

‘Lorimer. Aye. How’s it going down there?’ Colin Ray spoke at last, choosing to sidestep the actual question.

‘Just started yesterday. Hoped we could have a bit of a chat about the case before I began delving into the paperwork.’

‘Aye. Well, there’ll be plenty of that, I suppose.’

There was another pause that became too long for comfort. He’d have to say something, now, wouldn’t he?

‘Maggie and I were really sorry about Grace,’ Lorimer said, lowering his voice to a tone of quiet sincerity.

‘Thanks,’ Ray replied. Another pause followed but this time Lorimer could hear the former police officer blowing his nose and he guessed at the sort of trial this must be for Ray. All the more reason why he needed to meet up and talk about other things, Lorimer told himself.

‘Any chance of seeing you today? I could come over to your place if you’d rather not come down here,’ he suggested.

There was a snort of derisive laughter from the other end of the line. ‘Naw, the place is a tip. And I’d rather not have you over, if you don’t mind. How about somewhere down the coast? Say Cardwell Bay Garden Centre. D’you know where that is?’

‘Sure. I can be there in less than twenty minutes. What time suits you?’

Again the pause as Colin Ray considered the proposal. Lorimer wondered what state the man was in, whether he was even up and dressed properly at this time in the morning.

‘Make it another hour, eh? Would nine-thirty be okay? Meet you in the tea room.’

‘Fine. See you there.’

‘Aye, an’ you’re paying.’

Lorimer could just discern the faintest trace of humour in the retired DCI’s tone as he put the phone down.

Leaving a message for the staff, Lorimer grabbed his coat and headed down to the car park. Swinging the dark blue Lexus out into the dual carriageway, he felt a slight sense of playing hookey as he left the divisional headquarters behind. But, he reasoned, the other officers would surely appreciate him giving Colin Ray his place? At least, those whose loyalty to their old boss was not in question.