Alex Gray - Five ways to kill a man

‘Want to read this, young Dodgson?’

The lad was out of his chair and beside Lorimer’s outstretched hand in a shot.

‘Good grief, Sir!’ he said at last. ‘This could…’

‘Bring us a lot closer to finding out who killed them,’ Lorimer finished for him. ‘How far have you got with the investigation into local cycle clubs?’

‘Well, we’ve been concentrating on the two main ones, Inverclyde Velo and Johnstone Wheelers. The Wheelers tend to go out for practice rides with other club members and so although it’s got a huge membership, they all seem to know one another quite well. Davie McGroary didn’t belong to either club,’ he added.

‘Didn’t think he would. Not the type,’ Lorimer said.

‘But we do have some familiar names, sir. Mr Tannock is a member and so are the two Jackson children.’

‘Anybody else from the Kilmacolm area?’

‘Aye, quite a few. But most of the members are from the Paisley, Johnstone and Elderslie areas.’

‘Names? Addresses?’

‘We’ve got a whole list of them compiled, sir, but there hasn’t been any authorisation of a home visit to them. We just haven’t the time to do that sort of thing — unless it’s justified,’ he added, glancing at the paper in his hand.

‘We want to know the whereabouts of all these cyclists on the nights the three women died. And,’ he added with a sudden stern look that made Dodgson take a step back, ‘I want the date of the Jackson fire included as well.’

The young officer stood speechless for a moment, taking in the enormity of Lorimer’s words.

‘You don’t think it was the same person, sir?’ he asked at last. ‘I mean, oh, dear Lord…’ Dodgson’s eyes widened in astonishment.

Lorimer did not answer but his mouth became a hard, thin line.

Dr Solomon Brightman had suggested this to him only yesterday. And, although the theory had chimed with Lorimer’s own thoughts, the psychologist’s words had had a converse effect on him, making him question it all the more.

The police constable nodded as their eyes met. It was a long shot. A hunch, maybe. He’d heard of senior officers acting on such things before. Police lore was full of stories like that. Up until now the young man had only experienced the hard graft that police work demanded and he felt a sudden thrill as he stood beside this tall man whose very presence spelled out authority.

‘I’ll have a word with DS Wainwright,’ Lorimer murmured, ‘but expect me to take over as SIO on this one. At least until DI Martin turns up,’ he added with a twinkle in those piercing blue eyes.

As the morning wore on, it became evident that Rhoda Martin was not going to come in to Greenock for work on time. Wainwright had chuckled that she’d be roasted for her absence when she finally did appear. It was clear from his attitude, thought Lorimer, that there was no love lost between the older man and his senior officer. For the hundredth time he found himself wishing to be back in his own division in Glasgow where the officers around him were more than mere colleagues. With Kate now out of the team Lorimer felt that sense of loneliness he had experienced on his arrival in Greenock. Or was it simply a Monday-morning feeling after an enjoyable weekend with his wife and mother-in-law at home?

Alice’s arrival had made the house feel more alive, somehow. They’d watched television together on Saturday evening like a normal family and he’d even played a couple of games of Scrabble after one of Maggie’s Sunday roasts.

With a frown he suddenly recalled where Rhoda Martin had been going at the weekend: Serena Jackson’s house-warming party. Searching through another buff-coloured file, Lorimer picked up Serena’s home details and dialled her number. He let it ring out until the answering machine clicked on, giving a female voice that to his ears always sounded like an automated Barbie doll. He waited impatiently until the sing-song message had finished.

‘Detective Superintendent Lorimer for Miss Jackson. I’d be obliged if you might call me at Police Headquarters, Miss Jackson,’ he said, giving the Greenock number before ringing off. He looked at the telephone thoughtfully. If Rhoda Martin had spent her weekend down in Serena Jackson’s flat then where were they both now?

The black car drove slowly along the cul de sac then turned, stopping right outside the house with the white painted door. For a moment the driver sat still, hand on the steering wheel. A blackbird pecked at some unseen prey below the surface of the grass, worrying it in a series of jabs. The sound of a lawn mower could be heard round the back of the houses, its drone competing with an airplane overhead. But the street itself was deserted, just as she had expected; not one single person strolled along the pavement to witness her arrival. Slipping a black leather bag over one shoulder, she left the car.

At the back of the house Flynn walked up and down, the din of his mower a vague noise behind the sounds from his iPod. His head moved in time to the beat as the grass was swallowed up by the blades of the machine. This was a satisfying sort of job, he thought, watching the stripe of bright green appearing in the overgrown lawn. The Lorimers wouldn’t know the place by the time he’d finished.

Flynn had been glad when the other gardener had agreed to drop him off with the mower for a half-day. Jimmy had owed him, he chuckled to himself, thinking of the man driving the pick-up truck back to the park. He had still looked a wee bit worse for wear after the weekend when he had been through to Edinburgh for the rugby and Flynn had covered his Saturday shift.

Flynn would be able to cut and strim the grass and still have time for a wee blether with Maggie’s mum before Jimmy picked him up later. He began to sing tunelessly to the words of a song as he turned at the end of the lawn, whisking the machine in an expert arc and beginning a new strip. He didn’t glance towards the kitchen window where the orange cat sat, washing its paws. Nor did he hear the metallic thud of a car door closing or the sound of the bell shrilling through the house.

Alice rose slowly from her chair. This recliner was going to make her so lazy, she thought, feeling the stiffness in her back as she tried to straighten up. This must be the nurse coming in to visit. ‘Hope you’re as nice as the ones in the Southern,’ she muttered under her breath, edging towards the far side of the room, grasping at the backs of Maggie’s dining room chairs to steady herself. They hadn’t given her an exact time so she had been slightly agitated all morning, waiting for the sound of the doorbell. She shoved the door open wider with her stick and shuffled out into the hallway.

Chancer gave a purr and slithered down from his patch of sunlight on the windowsill as soon as he heard the front door being opened.

‘Oh, hello, I’ve been expecting you. Come away in,’ Alice began, looking up at the blonde woman on the doorstep. But the figure standing there made no move to enter the house. Instead she held up a plastic card for a moment then pocketed it again.

‘Detective Inspector Martin,’ the woman told her, unsmiling. ‘I’m afraid there’s been an incident. It’s Detective Superintendent Lorimer,’ she added gravely. ‘Can you come right away, please?’

Alice tightened her grip on the walking stick, one hand thrust out against the wall for support. She was aware of her heart hammering uncomfortably in her chest. When she tried to speak, to utter some sort of words, her lips simply parted in a silent ‘O’ of shock.

Just behind her the orange cat arched his back and hissed, tawny eyes glaring balefully at the stranger. The blackbird flew up and away, its alarm cry shattering the cold morning air.