Alex Gray - Five ways to kill a man

‘You mean she copied things she might have admired about you?’ Solly asked.

‘Why, yes, as a matter of fact she did. Silly girl! It was the same at school. Always hanging around our little group. Trying to be best friends with me.’

‘And buying the same sort of clothes?’ Solly’s question seemed to be a little absurd to Lorimer. Where on earth was he going with all of this?

‘Oh, I doubt if she could have afforded something like this,’ Serena said lightly, touching the charcoal pullover.

‘But she did buy a car the same make and model as yours, didn’t she?’ the psychologist asked casually.

Lorimer saw the change in the woman’s demeanour instantly. She seemed to freeze, the faint smile wiped off a face that had become suddenly pale.

Then she licked her lips, eyes darting from one man to the other. ‘My car’s down there,’ she said, standing up and pointing towards the window. ‘See?’

Lorimer and Solly rose from the sofa and walked towards the pair of French windows as the woman twisted the blind rod, raising the slats apart. Then, pulling at a cord, the blinds slid upwards. Serena twisted the brass handles and opened the glass doors wide and stepped on to the tiny Parisian balcony.

There was still enough light to make out the red sports car below in the parking area, its shiny roof gleaming under an adjacent street lamp.

‘A Spider. Nice, isn’t it?’ she purred at Solly as she leaned over the railings. ‘Do you like fast cars, Dr Brightman?’

Solly smiled politely. ‘That’s my wife’s department,’ he said. ‘I don’t even drive.’

‘Good Lord,’ she murmured, regarding the psychologist from her amber-coloured eyes as though he were some strange species of human that she had never encountered before.

‘But perhaps you might take us down to the garage in the basement and let us see your other car?’ Solly insisted. ‘A black Volkswagon Golf, isn’t it?’

‘Same as the car you used to take Alice Finlay from my home this morning,’ Lorimer said, taking a step closer to her.

Serena Jackson shot a sudden look of hatred at them both.

‘Don’t let her…!’ Solly yelled.

But Lorimer had sensed the woman’s intention already and sprang forwards, pushing Solly out of the way as Serena Jackson made a desperate attempt to fling herself off the balcony.

One leg was already across the metal railing, impeded by the narrow skirt, when he seized her.

‘Oh, no you don’t!’ he said, hauling her away from the balcony and back into the room.

Behind him Solly looked down at the concrete paving several floors below and shuddered. Was it more than mere irony that Serena Jackson had attempted to end her life the way she had ended the lives of those three old ladies?

Lorimer had already called for support from K Division but for now he held on to Serena Jackson securely as they entered the basement garage.

Solly threw a switch on the wall. There, side by side, were the two matching black cars.

‘Where’s Alice?’ Lorimer demanded, digging his fingers deeper into the woman’s arms. ‘Where’s my mother-in-law?’

For an answer, Serena Jackson gave him a distant smile and shook her head.

‘Tell me, you bitch! Or I’ll…’

‘Lorimer!’ Solly was stepping towards them now, a warning in his tone.

As the sound of blues and twos came whining ever closer, Serena slumped limply in his grasp as if acknowledging defeat. Her perfect face was devoid of any sort of expression now as she looked down at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes.

‘Wait till we get you back to the station. And bring your precious brother in as well. Maybe you’ll talk then,’ Lorimer growled, shoving her in front of him.

Lorimer stood in the dim light of the basement, regarding the frames of racing cycles suspended from hooks on the wall. Only one of them still had its wheels attached. The others were stacked neatly against the brickwork. Putting out a gloved hand, he made the front wheel spin slowly till he saw it. There, almost invisible to the naked eye, was a V-shaped nick. Lorimer heaved a sigh. Callum Uprichard would be able to fit this to the tyre impression back at the labs. Evidence of this sort was crucial. But he still had to prise a confession out of the woman as to why she had murdered her own parents. And find out where she had taken Alice.

Daniel Jackson sat, head bowed into his well-manicured hands. ‘I still can’t believe it, Superintendent,’ he said again, then looked up at the man beside him. ‘Why would Serena do something so terrible to Mum and Dad? And all these other things…’ he broke off, his voice ending in a choking sob.

‘We were very much hoping that you could offer some sort of an explanation, sir,’ Lorimer told him, trying to contain his rising anxiety.

It was after midnight now and Serena Jackson had not offered up a single word since her arrest. Neither cajoling nor threatening had made a bit of difference to the woman who had sat impassively staring into space as though her mind was miles away. And maybe it was, Lorimer realised. Maybe she was as mentally deranged as DS Wainwright had suggested when they had brought her in. In the previous hours several wheels had been put into motion throughout Strathclyde Police and beyond: the on-call senior forensic scientist was possibly even now making a match between the tread that Uprichard had examined and the tyre from Serena Jackson’s racing cycle.

‘I need to find out where your sister has taken Alice Finlay,’ Lorimer said.

‘Your mother-in-law?’ Daniel Jackson said.

Lorimer nodded, running a weary hand through his unkempt hair. Time was running out for Alice, wherever she was. If she was even still alive.

‘Why would she take an old lady away-’

‘Look,’ Lorimer snapped. ‘Why she does things is probably a case for a psychiatrist. But right now it’s our priority to find a sick old lady, do you understand!’ he thundered.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jackson’s eyes were full of tears, ‘really I am. What do you want me to say?’

Lorimer gave a sigh that seemed to come from his soul. ‘Can you think of anywhere your sister might have taken her? Somewhere secluded, perhaps? In the city?’

Jackson shook his head. ‘We haven’t any other properties in Glasgow…’ His face changed suddenly. ‘Oh, my God! Yes we have,’ he gabbled. ‘My father bought up these old derelict tenements. In the East End. Wanted to make a killing from them with the injection of finance from the Commonwealth Games fund.’

‘Where? Tell me exactly whereabouts this is,’ Lorimer demanded.

Daniel Jackson suddenly looked stricken. ‘Oh, Lord,’ he said softly, ‘Dad owned several streets worth of these places. It’s not going to be that simple to find her. If she did take her to that part of the city,’ he added with a groan.

The whole area was crawling with uniformed officers by the time Lorimer’s Lexus came to a halt.

‘This is the last close, sir,’ a middle-aged officer told him after glancing at the name on Lorimer’s warrant card. ‘No sign of her yet,’ he added, a look of sympathy in his face.

Lorimer looked up at the building, its windows all boarded with sheets of wood and shuttered with metal from the outside. It was like looking up at a nightmarish version of Colditz. Rags and tatters of cloud raced across the night sky, revealing the ghostly outline of the moon, then it was gone again as the wind whipped scraps of litter around his feet.

‘Okay. Last try, then,’ Lorimer said, pushing aside the sheet of metal that served as a security entrance.

Inside, the close was in darkness, only a thin light from a window on the half-landing showed the steps before them.