Alex Gray - Five ways to kill a man

Giving a nod to the commissionaire, Lorimer headed for the stairs and the office that David Isherwood presently called home.

It had been a little while since Lorimer’s previous visit, when he had held a press conference down in the assembly hall. That was the area most usually recognised by the public on television during serious cases, the prominent thistle badge on the wall always reminding the viewer of the Force’s duty towards them. Lorimer’s invitations to see the Chief Constable had been far less frequent than those from other colleagues in Pitt Street wanting his input into various cases of vicious crime.

David Isherwood was a man of middle height, broad-shouldered with a large, square-shaped head that had required Strathclyde’s uniform department to find a way of creating an outsized hat that would fit their new Chief Constable. It lay on his desk now, its silver braid gleaming in the cold afternoon light that slanted from the window behind him. As Lorimer entered the room, Isherwood stood up, came around from behind his desk and on two swift strides was clasping his visitor’s hand, a quick up and down.

‘Take a seat, Lorimer.’ Isherwood gestured to the pair of comfortable chairs placed to one side of the room, a small wooden coffee table between them. ‘How are things progressing down at K Division?’ he asked, without any preamble.

Lorimer nodded. This was one of the busiest men in the Force so there would be no messing about or wasting precious time in discussing niceties.

‘I’ll come straight to the point, sir. I want to know why DCI Ray was warned off investigating certain areas of Sir Ian Jackson’s life.’

Isherwood’s grey eyes widened and he leaned forwards, his two meaty hands grasping each kneecap. ‘Warned off? By whom?’ he asked in a tone at once aggressive and blustering.

‘Yourself, sir,’ Lorimer replied, keeping his gaze fixed on the Chief Constable’s face. He would not let the man go from his penetrating stare, a technique that he was well used to employing during difficult interrogations. But an experienced officer like Isherwood surely knew all of these tricks and more besides, Lorimer thought. Nevertheless, he continued to keep his eyes focused on the man as he spoke again.

‘It appears to me that there was an attempt to divert attention away from Sir Ian’s home and business life.’ He spoke the words slowly and quietly, watching as Isherwood’s jaw hardened and a faint flush of dark red crept over his spade-shaped chin. ‘And I would like to know why,’ he added.

For a long moment the two men stared at one another, then Isherwood dropped his gaze and gave a short sigh.

‘Do you know, Chief Inspector,’ he said, examining his hands as he spoke, ‘I have never come across an officer who has questioned me like this before.’ His eyes flicked back to meet Lorimer’s and there was a different quality in them, something akin to a slow, smouldering anger. ‘My motivation in directing Ray to a particular area of inquiry was perfectly in order and you have no business coming here asking questions like that!’

‘Perhaps living in Kilmacolm, so close to the scene of the crime, has something to do with it?’ Lorimer suggested, his hands clasped loosely on his lap, his expression both calm and unruffled.

‘Preposterous! What gives you that notion?’ Isherwood thumped the arm of his chair.

‘There must be some reason that you told Colin Ray to stay away from certain areas of Jackson’s life, sir,’ Lorimer continued, knowing that his reasonable tone was probably infuriating the Chief Constable.

‘And I suppose you have begun to poke around in these areas, as you call them!’

‘I’m sorry if this sounds offensive, sir, but I have to remind you that I was appointed by the Procurator Fiscal to undertake this review,’ Lorimer told him quietly. ‘And since I have been attempting to fulfil that objective I have to tell you that the inquiry has taken on some more serious dimensions. The forensic evidence now suggests that whoever began the fire may have had access to the interior of the house. A deliberate step like that was not what I would call a random act of vandalism.’

Isherwood sat back, his hand rubbing his chin. And for a long moment he seemed to consider Lorimer’s words. Then, clearing his throat, he began, ‘I think, Detective Superintendent, that you must do what you think best in this case. But remember, Sir Ian was a well respected member of the community and it would not be to anyone’s benefit to have his name sullied in any way.’

‘You mean by revealing his overseas connections?’

‘Precisely. Nobody is very sure just what these involved. Tax evasion, possibly. But that was a long time ago and what the man achieved for society more than made up for any irregularities.’

‘So you want me to brush anything dirty under the carpet? Is that it?’

‘I want you to do what you are told to do!’ Isherwood roared suddenly. ‘And without casting any aspersions in the direction of this office! Find out who began that fire but don’t drag the good name of Ian Jackson through the mud in the process, is that clear?’

He stood up, obviously considering the meeting at an end. This time there was no handshake. The scowl on his face as he thrust open the door might have deterred a lesser mortal, but Lorimer nodded politely and checked a small salute before turning to leave.

‘ Well, what of it?’ The tall, blonde policewoman looked down at DC Kate Clark, one hand on her hip.

‘I thought you’d be able to help!’ Kate protested. ‘You have got some inside knowledge about that sort of stuff,’ she raged, adding, ‘Ma’am,’ as Rhoda Martin’s eyebrow rose menacingly. It didn’t do to forget who was boss around here when Lorimer wasn’t around, the DI’s expression seemed to be reminding her.

‘So?’ Rhoda Martin countered. ‘Everyone knows I’m a cyclist. I just don’t see what being in the cycle club has to do with the investigation. After all, the only thing our witness can tell us is that it was a bloke riding without any lights on.’

‘He thought the cycle was silver,’ Kate mumbled.

‘Ha! If I had a pound for every silver cycle in the district I’d be retiring next week!’ Martin snorted. ‘Come on, Kate. I mean, there’s not a shred of evidence to go on, is there?’

The DI’s derisive tone made Kate Clark seethe inwardly. Lorimer doesn’t think that, she wanted to tell the woman but mentioning the Super’s name was like a red rag to a bull these days. Kate was ready to bet that Rhoda Martin hadn’t managed to charm the pants off this particular officer. Lorimer had more sense than to fall for the DI’s usual tricks, she thought, remembering his keen blue eyes appraising each one of them during recent meetings.

‘What about the other folk in your cycle club? Would any of them have been up there at that time of night?’

For a moment DI Martin’s face became thoughtful. Kate waited, wondering what her colleague was going to say. But then the woman shook her head and gave a shrug as if to dismiss whatever idea had occurred to her.

‘Is the son still bothering you?’ she asked instead.

‘You mean Gary Wilson? The man whose old mum died?’

Martin nodded. ‘Yes. All that stuff about a stalker seems a bit like clutching at straws to me. Okay, you have to feel for the guy, but don’t let yourself get too involved. It’s a matter for family liaison to deal with, DC Clark. It’s not your job to mop up Mr Wilson’s tears. Besides, I’d have thought you had other more pressing things on your mind these days,’ she smirked, her green eyes flashing with mirth as she pointed to Kate’s belly.

Kate gave a half-smile in return, her hand moving instinctively to the swelling bump as she felt the baby kick. The DI was right enough, she supposed. Becoming too involved with the victim’s family was a bad idea. And she didn’t have all that long to go now until her maternity leave. Maybe this cyclist thing was just a bizarre coincidence. Loads of people rode bikes, after all, and maybe the bloke in Kilmacolm had simply forgotten to switch on his lights that night.