Alex Gray - Five ways to kill a man

Once the coffee was made, Lorimer gave an encouraging smile and carried the tray back into the lounge. He laid it down on a glass-topped table and sat back, allowing the girl to pour coffee and hand it to him. He watched, fascinated as her long white hands gripped the handle of the coffee pot, the fingernails perfect ovals of pearly pink. Again he had the impression that he was seeing some otherworldly creature, not a flesh-and-blood woman whose parents had been left to die in that dreadful fire.

‘Now, Miss Jackson, I’m afraid I will be asking you quite a lot of questions relating to the death of your parents,’ he told her gently, leaning forward as if to ensure that she understood him. ‘Do you think you can cope with that?’

‘Yes,’ she told him, meeting his blue gaze. ‘I can cope, Superintendent.’ She sat back, her expression both cool and impenetrable. Perhaps that deliberate silence had been a ploy calculated to compose herself or to control her emotions? Lorimer had seen so many different personalities in his professional life. But he had never come across anyone quite like Serena Jackson.

Now she was looking at him over the rim of her coffee cup and he could swear that there was a flicker of intelligence expressed in these topaz-coloured eyes.

‘The family liaison officer has explained to you why I am taking over this case?’

Serena Jackson set her coffee cup down carefully then looked straight at him.

‘It was an accident. That’s what Daniel and I believe. We don’t really see the need for you to come and talk to us all over again,’ she told him, her mouth closing in a firm line as if there was no more to be said on the subject.

Lorimer cleared his throat and swallowed. This was going to be more difficult than he’d expected. But then, what had he expected? A woman ready and eager to discuss her parents’ murder? No.

‘There is some forensic evidence that suggests the fire was started deliberately, Miss Jackson. And we are now looking into the possibility that someone had broken into the house to use an accelerant. It wasn’t just the chip pan, you see.’

‘Acc…?’

‘Some sort of fluid — like petrol — that would instantly combust when set alight. Whoever did that knew perfectly well that the blaze would begin in minutes and that anyone inside didn’t stand a chance of escaping.’ He heard his own words sounding brutal, but there was no easy way to explain the truth. Besides, she needed to understand why he was here.

‘It wasn’t an accident that someone spilled it, then?’ She was looking down at her hands now, clasping and unclasping them in a gesture that he recognised as anxiety. If Serena Jackson and her brother had been convincing themselves that this had been a tragic accident, then what he was telling her was like opening a horrible wound that had only just begun to heal.

‘I’m really sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘It seems not. That’s why I have to ask you questions about your late father and mother.’

She looked up at him again then, as though she were unable to meet his eyes, she turned away with a sigh.

‘We have to know from those who were closest to them if there was any reason for their deaths,’ he continued, hoping that she was hearing what he said.

‘My parents were very ordinary people, you know,’ Serena began, her eyes fixed on something in the middle distance, making him wonder if she was reliving some memory of them. ‘She played golf every other day, went to the local art class every week. The sort of thing that loads of Kilmacolm ladies do. None of her friends ever said anything bad about her, as far as I know.’ She tailed off.

‘And you father?’ Lorimer’s interjection was dropped quietly into the ensuing silence, encouraging her to continue.

‘Just the same, I suppose. He worked at the office, took business trips, played golf. All the same stuff as everyone else’s father did around here. Well, I mean, up there.’ She made a face as she realised her mistake. ‘I suppose I’m still not used to being away from home.’

‘You moved here very recently then?’

‘Yes. I got the keys the week before…’ She tailed off again and this time Lorimer did not press her.

It struck him as a trifle odd, though. Serena Jackson was an independent young woman in her mid-twenties and yet had only just left the parental home. Perhaps that explained why everything here looked so new and shiny; things were only just out of their boxes and with the advent of her parents’ deaths she would hardly have had the energy to personalise her own space. Taking a quick glance around confirmed his thoughts; there was not even a single photograph on display — nothing to remind her of her mum and dad, only such memories as she had locked up in her head.

Something told Lorimer that he was not going to get anything else useful from the girl. She seemed to have faded into another silence that left him feeling like an outsider. And yet he couldn’t let himself leave it like that.

‘Are you intending to return to work?’ he asked.

The rise of one shoulder signalled what? Indifference? Uncertainty?

‘You don’t mind living here on your own?’

The eyes Serena turned upon him were at once large and vacant as if something had taken away her innermost spirit and Lorimer wondered if she were even taking in these simple questions.

‘Do you miss them?’ he asked softly, leaning forward so there could be no chance of her missing his words.

For a moment she didn’t move, then he saw the slight nod of her head and the way she bit her lip as if to stop herself from weeping.

‘Would you excuse me?’ she asked and rose suddenly, crossing the room in a couple of strides and disappearing into the hall. He heard the hollow sound of a door closing and guessed she had gone to the bathroom rather than show any sign of grief in front of a stranger.

Lorimer looked around the room, trying to see anything that would give him more of a clue about this young woman and the sort of life she was now living, but there seemed to be no personal things at all, not even a magazine in the metal rack beside the coffee table. But he did recognise something there. The turquoise cover of a square-shaped folder caught his attention. He bent down and picked it up, reading the familiar words on the front cover: Information for Bereaved Families and Friends Following Murder or Culpable Homicide. So, she had already been given this by Family Liaison. Why, then, was she insisting that it was an accident? A refusal to acknowledge something more dreadful, he supposed. He’d come across denial like that before, he thought, flicking open the folder until he came to the section headed Important Contacts. There, against the box for the name of the SIO was the name Detective Chief Inspector Colin Ray. But it had been scored out with a single line and beneath it a different hand had written Mr William Lorimer. There was no change in the postal address or telephone number of the HQ at Greenock, though. Lorimer frowned for a moment. He was not being dignified by any title other than plain Mister. Then he shrugged. Maybe there simply wasn’t enough space under the original name.

Hearing the sound of a toilet being flushed, Lorimer put the folder back where he had found it and stood up ready to take his leave.

Serena Jackson didn’t seem surprised to see him standing waiting for her.

‘Thanks for seeing me this morning. And for the coffee,’ he added.

She gave a sight nod and headed for the front door at the far end of the hall, opening it wide as if to ensure that he really was leaving. Then, before he could say goodbye, she caught his sleeve, making him turn to face her.

‘Do you like being a policeman?’ she asked, her tawny eyes wide, like that of a curious child.