Alex Gray - Five ways to kill a man

A yawn caught him unawares, making his eyes water. He needed to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be another demanding day at work and he would simply have to put other thoughts on hold.

As he climbed the stairs, Lorimer paused to look out of the window on the landing. Down on his street some lights were still on. Were some of his neighbours awake, worrying and wondering about their own families? He was no different from any of them, was he? Life threw such things at you and you simply had to cope as best as you could.

Neither of them had spoken about Maggie’s mum before they’d left for work. Instead the radio had filled the silence between them with the morning’s news bulletin and the road report. Only Chancer had miaowed for his breakfast, a familiar yowl that had made them both smile. Animals and small children were immune from the problems of the grown-up world, demanding instead attention to the basics of life. As he’d passed the cat on his way out, Lorimer had bent to stroke the orange fur, experiencing a pang of gratitude as the animal purred loudly and rubbed himself on his trouser leg.

That small incident came to mind as he stood at the entrance of the flats he’d come to visit. A large white cat was regarding him from a downstairs window, a haughty expression in its green eyes. A prized breed no doubt, he thought, noting the fluffy coat and delicate ears. But he’d rather have their Chancer with his doubtful pedigree any day.

Serena Jackson lived not all that far from the burned-out house in Kilmacolm, just a few miles further west, on Greenock’s esplanade. The flats were only a few years old, their raw newness contrasting with the neighbouring rows of fine dark-red sandstone tenements looking across the water. Given the choice, Lorimer would have opted for one of the older properties himself, but these gems rarely came on to the market. Each of these modern flats had a metal balcony facing west and he supposed it must be pleasant to stand up there on a summer’s evening, catching the sun’s last rays.

As he glanced behind him, taking in the sweep of the esplanade and the widening waters of the Clyde, another memory came back to him. Maggie’s parents had been there with them as they’d stood at the railings all those years ago among crowds watching as the flotilla of tall ships had left the harbour, folk waving and cheering as each ship had sailed past them. Lorimer gave a sigh. Next year there would only be Maggie and himself coming back down here to see the Tall Ships, unless they were accompanying a frail old lady in a wheelchair. He blinked, then the image of those crowds and that summer evening was gone. All that he saw was an expanse of choppy water, the hills on the other side partially obscured by a low cloud.

Pressing the buzzer next to the name Jackson, Lorimer turned his thoughts to the young woman who had lost her parents in that blaze. She’d not be able to stand side by side with them watching as the ships left harbour next year, would she? He felt a wave of pity mingled with rage at whoever had committed this senseless act, his resolve to find that person hardening as he heard a female voice utter a quiet hello over the intercom.

‘Detective Superintendent Lorimer,’ he replied, shifting from one foot to the other as he uttered the words. He still wasn’t used to this new title and somehow it didn’t come easily from his lips.

In a matter of minutes Lorimer was standing by a grey-painted door, listening to the rattle of a security chain being drawn back. He frowned. Serena Jackson was expecting his visit, so what was this young woman afraid of? Or was she habitually cautious? Hugh Tannock had told him how hard the daughter had taken her parents’ deaths. Was she a nervy type by nature, perhaps? His first impression of the woman dispelled that notion the moment he saw her.

Lorimer found himself staring into a pair of amber-coloured eyes belonging to a tall, slender female whose light blonde hair was swept into a ponytail. She had the sort of face that one might find on the pages of some glossy magazine, he thought, a perfect face: flawless, luminescent skin with high cheekbones and a wide mouth that was only lightly touched by something cosmetic. She was tall and carried herself like a model; there was no rounded back or slumping shoulders that might indicate an individual weighed down with the burdens of life.

‘Miss Jackson?’ he asked and she gave a slight nod in reply then stepped back, motioning that he should enter the flat. Lorimer muttered ‘Thanks’, as she closed the door, then followed Serena Jackson along a white hallway into a square room that should have looked on to the river. A quick glance showed that the linen blinds were closed, obscuring any sort of view, and he found himself oddly disappointed. Yet it didn’t seem as if the young woman had been unprepared for his visit or had just rolled out of bed. A quick glance showed him that the girl was fully dressed in soft beige slacks and a cream knitted sweater belted at the waist with a heavy dark brown leather belt; expensive clothes whose very simplicity showed their quality.

The woman still had not uttered a word since his arrival and she stood regarding him silently, her face devoid of any expression that he could interpret. His first instinct was to wonder if the girl was still in shock, but then she waved a hand towards a honey-coloured sofa and walked out of the room again. Instead of taking the seat she’d offered, Lorimer followed her and found himself in a kitchen that looked as though it had been lifted straight out of a stand at the Modern Homes Exhibition, all chromes and dove greys with a plethora of gadgets parked at various electrical points upon gleaming worktops. It was immaculate and rather impersonal, he suddenly realised, like the room next door.

‘Oh!’ Serena Jackson spun round, her hand grasping a kettle jug as she heard Lorimer’s footfall.

‘Sorry.’ He smiled. ‘Didn’t mean to startle you. May I?’ And taking the kettle out of her unresisting hand, he stepped over to the sink and began to fill the kettle with water. A glance in her direction showed him what he had begun to suspect. Her mouth was half-open in surprise, but the vacant expression gave an indication that it was not shyness that left the woman nothing to say but a mental vagueness. Again he recalled Tannock’s words about the youngest Jackson and that he had given Lorimer the impression that her part in the business seemed to have been more decorative than anything else.

‘Tea or coffee?’ The question came as a surprise as it dawned upon him that these were the first words he’d heard her speak since his arrival. And even her voice had a limpid quality, soft and clear but with a politeness that spoke of good breeding rather than a genuine wish to please this new visitor from Strathclyde Police.

‘Coffee, please. Black, no sugar,’ he added. Lorimer watched as Serena Jackson went about the business of preparing a cafetiere of coffee, spooning three generous measures of Taylor’s finest Arabica into the glass jug. He wasn’t going to be treated to coffee from one of the gadgets, then, he thought. Perhaps a policeman was somewhere further down the pecking order in this wealthy young woman’s life, he wondered, immediately ashamed of himself for such a thought. Wasn’t she making the coffee herself? Yet it was an activity that seemed to wholly engross her to the point where she appeared to be ignoring him. It was a bit odd, though, this lack of small talk and the Detective Superintendent found himself becoming disconcerted by her silence. It was far more usual for someone to prattle on through sheer nervousness during a visit from a senior police officer. And for the moment he couldn’t think of anything to say that would break the tension that he felt building up between them. Has the cat got your tongue? his mother-in-law was used to saying. Well, maybe just at this minute, he admitted and watched the graceful curve of the woman’s back and the way she lifted the kettle jug, her wrist so slim and frail. Was she usually so thin? Or had she suffered physically after the loss of both her parents? It was hardly a question he could ask her right now, was it?