Alex Gray - Five ways to kill a man

Satisfied, Rhoda snapped the bag shut and gave her reflection a grin. Maybe it was time to let Detective Superintendent Lorimer know who really counted around here. They hadn’t really got off on the right foot, had they? He seemed to be one cool guy, but she hadn’t yet met any officer who was totally immune to her charms, should she choose to turn them on.

‘Jackson Tannock Technology Systems. What do we know about them?’ Lorimer asked. The faces of his team regarded him with some interest as he looked at them one by one. Young Dodgson seemed more at ease now and the older DS, Robert Wainwright, had put a hand to his chin as if seriously considering an answer to this question. But it was DI Martin who gave the first response.

‘One of the biggest employers in the area,’ she began, a smile on her face that made Lorimer look at her a second time. Had she changed her appearance today? Something was different, but he was at a loss to see just what that was. Or was it that softer quality in her voice? Narrowing his eyes, Lorimer gave the woman a little nod of encouragement.

‘Hugh Tannock is the whiz-kid of the outfit,’ Martin went on. ‘Jackson had the money and together they founded the company about five years ago. Floated it on the stock exchange and somehow managed to weather the credit crunch. There were some redundancies but nothing too dramatic.’

‘Nobody so pissed off that they’d harbour a grudge for that length of time and set fire to Jackson’s home,’ Wainwright added.

‘And no malcontents within the firm more recently?’ Lorimer asked.

His question was met by an uncomfortable silence.

‘Not something that seems to have been a part of the initial investigation, then?’ he added, knowing that the question was simply rhetorical. ‘Well, that’s an area I believe to be worth examining, ’ he told them, once more attempting to keep any trace of criticism from his voice.

‘Absolutely, sir.’ DI Martin was looking his way, her face quite serious. Her head was tilted to one side as if listening to Lorimer was the most important thing in her life. For some reason it only made him distrust her more, and he experienced a moment of annoyance at himself for this irrational thought.

‘Forensics suggest that the fire was started in the kitchen area: a burning chip pan. But there were traces of accelerant closer to the main entrance outside the house and so the case was then believed to be one of wilful fire-raising. Okay so far?’

The faces concentrated on the DCI’s all nodded in agreement.

‘Thanks to Constable Dodgson we may have a new piece of evidence. He has kept fumes from a site close to the main source of the fire and these are now being tested. If we find a different type of accelerant from the one already identified, then perhaps this investigation will take a new and interesting turn. You all follow what I’m saying? The source of this accelerant would also suggest that whoever began the fire had some way of gaining entry into the house itself. Late at night.’

‘Are you saying this was a burglary gone wrong?’ Katie Clark asked, her face screwed up in puzzlement.

‘Course not,’ DI Martin immediately retorted. ‘It was definitely a case of wilful fire-raising!’ Then, perhaps realising that she’d sounded somewhat disdainful, she turned a sweet smile towards Lorimer. ‘That’s right, sir, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘There’s no question in anyone’s mind: that fire was started deliberately. The fire officers’ and forensic boys’ reports show specific patterns around the windows in both the kitchen and upper bedroom where the fire was seeking oxygen, so we have some evidence that there were two points of origin. What we have to find is not only how it was begun but why anybody would want to carry out a savage attack like that. We don’t always begin with motive in an investigation, as you all know. But here we should look at anybody who had a reason to hold a grudge against Sir Ian Jackson. Or,’ he added, more quietly, glancing at them all to see their reaction, ‘his wife.’

He let the murmurs break out among them for a few moments at this suggestion. Investigating Lady Jackson’s background was something that had never occurred to Colin Ray or any one of the original team. But Lorimer was used to looking at cases from unusual angles. And here, with a case to review, he’d turn the damn thing upside down and inside out to see what he could find.

‘The business aspect is the most obvious, I’ll grant you,’ he continued. ‘But what needs to be done is a thorough examination of every bit of the Jacksons’ personal lives.’ He paused for a moment. ‘The file on their background is sadly lacking in content. Perhaps I could have someone volunteer to cover the initial administration of that?’

‘I’ll do that, sir.’ Kate Clark’s hand was up and he had the instant impression of a chubby schoolgirl trying to please her teacher. But she was nobody’s fool and this action would probably suit the pregnant woman better than a lot of slogging around the district. And her colleagues would surely realise this as her motivation, Lorimer thought, though he did not fail to see the flash of irritation crossing DI Martin’s pretty face.

‘Thanks, DC Clark. And someone else to take over any out-of-office work?’

DS Wainwright raised a hand in his direction.

‘Right. And we’ll need someone to go over the fire service’s reports again.’ He saw another hand raised and nodded his acceptance.

‘I’m going to see Hugh Tannock myself,’ he told them. ‘Apart from anything else, I think he has the right to know that the case is being reviewed.’ And, he might have added, it would be interesting to see just how the death of Jackson had affected the man. He had lost the co-founder of their business, after all and nobody from the original investigation had noted the man’s reaction in any of the reports.

Jackson Tannock Technologies was situated high above the town, overlooking the sweep of Greenock harbour and the rows of houses that hugged the hillside. As he drove the Lexus up the increasingly steep gradient, Lorimer saw a familiar landmark jutting out of the earth; the Free French Cross, a symbol from World War Two. He hesitated for only a fraction then swung the big car across the road into the parking area and got out.

It was a view that never failed to impress, even on this grey, murky day. Images of the celebrated landmark upon calendars and tourist guides would always show the stark white cross of Lorraine, its stem firmly rooted into an anchor, against improbably blue waters and a cloudless sky. But even today the monument towering over that grand expanse could move him. Slate-grey clouds lowered right down to the horizon’s rim, obscuring the hills of Tighnabruaich and beyond, but below him Lorimer could see MacBrayne’s car ferry ploughing over the waters like a wee toy boat. Few other craft had sought the sheltering arms of the harbour and from this distance the fluorescent marker buoys resembled a handful of orange confetti scattered over the surface of the water.

Up here it was quiet, almost lonely, reminding Lorimer what it might have been like to have stood on the bridge of one of these French boats sailing through banks of mist and out into the dangerous waters of the Atlantic. And it was here, at the tail of the bank, that other huge liners had turned from the river to head out to sea, their destination often the great port of New York.

He turned away from the view and examined the inscriptions on the monument. To the roadside, the words proclaimed:

‘This memorial was designed and erected by the officers and men of the French naval base at Greenock with the help of subscriptions raised among the crews of the Free French naval forces.’