The Swedish Girl Page 14

  ‘Maybe because she knows him well enough to believe he couldn’t have done it,’ Maggie said slowly, remembering. Hadn’t she once championed a friend accused of something dreadful? So why jump to the conclusion that Kirsty was romantically attached to Colin Young?

  ‘I don’t know,’ she continued. ‘Remember what happened at Muirpark with Eric?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rosie said, ‘hard to forget that case. I suppose you must think of it a lot, working there every day.’

  ‘No, just sometimes,’ Maggie replied. ‘Usually I’m far too busy to think of anything but the next lesson or the continuing assessments.’ She said ruefully.

  ‘Oh, guess who smelled the chocolate,’ Rosie laughed, seeing her husband and Lorimer appear at the kitchen door. ‘D’you want—’ She broke off as Lorimer’s BlackBerry rang and the policeman retreated into the lounge.

  ‘Okay, we’ll just have it here, shall we?’ Rosie shrugged, spooning mini marshmallows onto the surface of each drink.

  Maggie’s eyes were on the empty doorway, however. Could this be a call that would leave her here alone with the Brightmans? She looked up as Lorimer entered the room again, resignation settling onto her features as she saw his expression. Something had come up.

  ‘It’s serious, I’m afraid,’ Lorimer told them. ‘The body of a young woman has been found over near Jordanhill. Uniforms just called it in.’ He turned to Maggie. ‘Can you…?’

  ‘It’s fine, I’ll get the underground into town and a train home, don’t worry,’ Maggie said firmly.

  ‘Who’s on call this weekend from your lot?’ Lorimer asked, turning to Rosie.

  ‘Dr Dan,’ Rosie told him.

  Maggie’s eyes had been fixed on her husband’s face as he spoke, searching for some sign that he was about to impart information to them. But the tall policeman simply nodded and pocketed his BlackBerry. They would find out the details soon enough, she supposed. Detective Superintendent Lorimer was required at a scene of crime and there was no time to waste on needless explanations.

  The icy rain was driving against his face as Lorimer fought against the wind, making his way down the path that was now cordoned off at one end at the main road. Already water had formed large puddles across the path and he could see the silver metal treads spaced out between them, leading to the locus. The sides of the tent were being whipped by violent gusts, making the whole thing look as if it could take off at any moment, exposing the body within. The on-duty scene-of-crime manager, clad, like Lorimer, in a white protective suit, waved him through.

  ‘Pathologist here yet?’ Lorimer asked him, wiping the rain from his brow.

  ‘No, sir. Dr Dan was supposed to be on call but he’s called in sick so we’re waiting for Dr Fergusson.’

  Lorimer suppressed a grin. Maggie might well be staying on at the Kelvingrove flat to keep Solly company and help with little Abigail. And it was no hardship to learn that Rosie and he were to work together on this case.

  ‘What do we know so far?’ he asked the detective sergeant, as both men stepped carefully inside the tent.

  ‘A dog walker called 999 on his mobile, uniforms got here and we set up the necessary as soon as we could, sir. The victim has no ID on her, I’m afraid,’ he added as they looked down at the body lying spreadeagled on the wet ground.

  ‘Not even a mobile phone?’ Lorimer’s brows lifted in surprise under his white hood. ‘Thought youngsters never went anywhere without them,’ he murmured.

  ‘We found a wee set of earphones in one trouser pocket,’ the DS told him. ‘But no MP3 player.’

  ‘You saying she was mugged?’

  The DS regarded Lorimer carefully. ‘No conclusions as to that, sir. Better to wait for the doc to come before we can ascertain the likely cause of death.’

  Lorimer hid a smile once again. It was well known in the force that the detective super was a stickler for insisting that no officer ought to jump to conclusions. As an illustration there was a favourite story he liked to tell during lectures at Tulliallan about the death of a drunk man outside a Glasgow pub. The on-duty doctor had pronounced the dead man’s demise as heart failure but after he had left the locus the cops had turned over the body only to discover a huge knife sticking out of the man’s chest.

  His smile faded when he looked down at this body, however. The young girl was lying on her front, her head bent to one side, long blond hair escaping from a black hair-tie. How old was she? Eighteen, twenty, maybe? A student, perhaps, out for a jog, he reckoned, looking at the mud-covered trainers. Her arms had been flung out as though to break her fall and so Lorimer could see that there were no rings on any of her fingers. Taking a pen out of his pocket, he drew back her left sleeve. A slim gold watch encircled the wrist.

  Lorimer glanced up at the DS. ‘If it was a robbery, the mugger missed this little beauty,’ he remarked, peering closely at the watch face to identify the brand. ‘And hopefully that might help identify her, if someone doesn’t call her in as a missing person.’

  The girl’s face was still, in death; calm, almost peaceful, as though she had simply dropped off to sleep on this damp patch of ground, except for the fact that her eyes were wide open, vacant and unseeing.

  ‘Blue eyes,’ Lorimer murmured to himself. Then, as he bent down to see her more clearly, he was suddenly struck by the memory of another victim. Perhaps this girl was merely pretty, whereas the other had been a real beauty. But there was no escaping the similarity between this young woman and the Swedish girl.

  Something made him stand up and look towards the door of the tent. It couldn’t be more than five minutes’ walk to Anniesland Cross from here. And Merryfield Avenue was practically around the corner. Lorimer blinked hard as though the thought that had taken hold was forcing him to peer through a fog of indecision. Could Kirsty Wilson be right, after all? And was Eva Magnusson’s killer still out there while Colin Young languished in prison for a crime he did not commit?

  ‘Lorimer, we really must stop meeting like this,’ Rosie grinned as she ducked into the tent. ‘Right, give me a bit of room, you two. Let’s see what we have here.’

  There were other footsteps out on the path and Lorimer pulled a flap aside to see the scene-of-crime officers assembling by the side of the path, some already in their protective suits. But soon he was back inside the tent, watching as Rosie Fergusson began to examine the corpse, her expression softening as she regarded the young girl.

  ‘Not been dead long,’ Rosie remarked, after a body temperature had been taken. ‘Less than a couple of hours, I’d say.’

  Lorimer waited as she turned the girl over onto her side, gloved hands gently probing the victim’s head and neck.

  ‘Bit of blood on her scalp.’ She pointed to a contusion that had so far been hidden from their sight. There was a momentary silence as they watched the pathologist examining the victim’s neck and throat. ‘Aye,’ she nodded to herself. ‘I thought so. She’s been strangled, poor lass. See?’ She sat back on her hunkers, letting the officers look down on the girl’s neck. Sure enough, red welts sat up on either side, the shadowy marks of a pair of strong hands.

  ‘Let’s just hope we get prints,’ the DS growled.

  ‘What’s up with Dan?’ Lorimer asked, bending lower so that Rosie could hear him above the sound of the wind whining against the thin canvas walls.

  ‘Bad oysters by the sound of it,’ Rosie muttered. ‘Kind of disrupted my weekend, eh?’ She twisted around and wrinkled her nose at Lorimer. Yet there was not a trace of annoyance on that pixie face, rather an eagerness to resolve the problem that lay there before them.

  ‘Well someone sure as hell disrupted hers,’ Lorimer sighed, nodding towards the corpse. ‘If only it had started raining earlier she might not have decided to come out for her run,’ he added quietly, almost to himself. Then, standing back to allow the SOCOs entry to the tent, he looked again at the dead girl. A student, perhaps, he had surmised. Same age as Eva Magnusson? The ideas were coming thick and fast
and with them so many possibilities.

  Afterwards, as he sat in the Lexus, Lorimer knew he had some decisions to make. If the MO was the same then perhaps they had charged the wrong man for Eva Magnusson’s murder. But where could he begin to tackle this? They were still waiting for the Fiscal’s decision on whether more investigation was required. Lorimer guessed that Iain MacIntosh would tell them to dig deeper: if nothing was done and it came out during a future trial, there would be mayhem.

  There was no question that Lorimer knew what he should do. Each case demands teamwork, he’d always drummed in to new recruits to the force. Don’t try to be a hero by flying solo, he’d insisted. And it was true. Kirsty Wilson might have been encouraged to go looking into Eva’s things – and he was glad he had done that, no matter how irregular that might have been – but now it was up to the team at A Division to take control. Was this poor girl’s murder related to Eva Magnusson’s? This was a question that needed to be asked at the next meeting back at HQ. He needed Jo Grant on his side, not working against him, especially if he was to help Colin Young.

  CHAPTER 23

  ‘

  A

  ndy, where’s Fiona?’ The girl with the short red hair walked into the kitchen, bleary-eyed with sleep. Kim Travers yawned and hugged herself more closely into her camel dressing gown, blinking sleepily at the young man sitting at the table, a pile of weekend papers spread in front of him.

  ‘Don’t know,’ Andy Harrison replied with a shrug. ‘She went for a run earlier on and hasn’t come back. Maybe went into town?’

  ‘Aye, maybe.’ Kim yawned again. ‘I’ll give her mobey a ring. We’re supposed to be going home later today. Cousin’s engagement party,’ she explained.

  ‘That the one who met the woman in New York and asked her to marry him three weeks later?’

  ‘Naw, a different cousin. This guy’s been with the same girl for ages.’ Kim moved forward towards the cupboard and peered at the selection of clean mugs before selecting one without any chips.

  ‘Maybe she’s forgotten?’ Andy suggested.

  ‘Fiona? Forget a party? I don’t think so,’ Kim scoffed. ‘More likely she met someone and went for a coffee. I mean, who’d want to run in this?’ She jerked her head in the direction of the kitchen window where rain was streaming down, battered by the ferocity of the winter wind.

  Kim Travers shuffled slowly out of the kitchen only to return a few minutes later.

  ‘That’s weird,’ she said with a frown. ‘She’s not answering her phone. It’s just ringing out.’

  Her flatmate looked up and saw the worried expression on the girl’s face. Kim and Fiona were as unlike in appearance as it was possible for sisters to be but there was a strong bond between the pair. Andy Harrison put down the paper he had been reading, all thoughts of the state of the Scottish Premier League gone from his mind.

  ‘D’you think she’s maybe had an accident? Slipped and hurt herself?’ His eyes followed Kim’s as they both turned towards the window, now hearing the sound of hail battering against the glass.

  Kim sat down heavily beside him, staring into space. ‘I don’t know,’ she answered. ‘But I’ve got a horrible feeling that something isn’t right.’

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s Lorimer. Can we meet up somewhere?’

  ‘Oh.’ Kirsty Wilson stood looking out as the rain continued to drive across the bay windows of her room. Her heart quickened. Had they found something? Was Colin going to be released? Why did he want to meet up? ‘Okay,’ she replied, trying to sound less flustered than she felt. ‘Where are you just now?’

  ‘Crow Road. Not far from your flat.’

  Kirsty thought for a moment. She didn’t want him coming here and she suspected he had too much sense to revisit the scene of crime without a genuine pretext. ‘What about the pub on the corner? The Caledonian Bar,’ she suggested. ‘You know where that is?’

  ‘Yes. Right. See you there in ten minutes.’

  Kirsty looked down at the mobile in her hand. Had she started something that was going to get the detective superintendent into trouble? His voice had sounded terse, not angry, just restrained as though he was holding something back. Hastily she threw on her duffel coat, grabbing the gloves and scarf that were hung on a peg behind the door.

  Outside on the street the wind seemed to have redoubled its strength and Kirsty had to battle against it all the way along to the corner, gusts pulling back her hood and spilling her hair all ways in front of her face. It was cold too, a real north-easterly, holding the threat of snow or hail.

  There were no café tables or chairs on the pavement now, just double doors on the corner swinging open as she approached, a couple of men in green and white football strips barging out, no doubt on their way to the match at Parkhead. Kirsty shivered seeing their bare, tattooed forearms. How could they not feel the cold on a day like this? Mad, she told herself, then grinned. Och, listen to her! She was beginning to sound just like her mother. Kirsty made her way into the heart of the pub past crowded tables and the huge bar that was festooned in loops of silver and pink tinsel. She peered into the deepening gloom, searching the corners to see if he was there. A sigh of relief escaped the girl as she caught sight of him, sitting alone by the fire, a glass of something tawny already in his hand.

  ‘Good spot. Surprised there wasn’t anyone else here,’ Kirsty said, nodding towards the roaring fire as she plonked herself down beside him.

  Lorimer smiled at her. ‘Actually, they just left,’ he said. ‘Couple of Celtic supporters. Right, what can I get you to drink? I can’t stay too long, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, not anything cold,’ Kirsty told him, still shivering from the short walk along Merryfield Avenue. ‘They do coffees in here as well. So… a latte, maybe?’

  She watched as he rose from his place and strode towards the bar. He was a striking figure of a man, Kirsty thought, and it always surprised her how tall he really was, something that was emphasised by the wee man standing patiently beside him now, waiting for his pint to be pulled by Ina, the purple-haired barmaid. They were talking, Lorimer and the wee Glasgow man, and though Kirsty couldn’t hear what was being said she expected it was something to do with either the weather or the afternoon’s fixture list.

  It is so strange how complete strangers can strike up a conversation in this city, Eva had once observed. It was as if she was right there, speaking to her, Kirsty thought, hearing the Swedish girl’s voice in her mind. Sudden tears came unbidden then and Kirsty had to search in her coat pocket for a hanky, glad that Lorimer was not sitting there to see her being such a fool.

  ‘One latte.’ Lorimer set it down in front of her and brought his chair a bit closer around the small table.

  ‘Thanks,’ Kirsty said. ‘What do I owe you?’

  Lorimer shook his head and made a face. ‘Think I might owe you quite a lot,’ he began. ‘Anyway, we’ll see.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Kirsty cupped the hot drink in her hands, waiting for him to begin.

  ‘I’ve just come from the scene of what appears to be another murder,’ he said quietly. ‘Young woman, maybe about the same age as your flatmate, long blond hair… attractive girl…’

  ‘So you think there’s a serial killer on the loose?’ Kirsty breathed excitedly.

  ‘Whoa, steady on, now. The first thing any officer learns is not to jump to conclusions, okay?’

  ‘But you think there might be similarities?’

  ‘Could be,’ Lorimer said. ‘On the other hand this poor city of ours has more than its fair share of homicides. Could be a strange coincidence. And anyway, this one was outdoors, unlike your friend’s.’

  ‘Oh.’ Kirsty was visibly deflated by this piece of information. ‘So you don’t think…?’

  ‘Kirsty, listen to me, will you?’ Lorimer looked at the girl intently. ‘I can’t raise any hopes, okay? But there is something…’ He paused as she stared back at him, a flicker of expectation lighting her eyes.
‘We’ve approached the Procurator Fiscal to see if there’s anything that merits reopening the case. But there isn’t a hell of a lot to go on so far. There’s your feeling about Colin and the aspect of Eva’s lecturer to consider. Now this new victim has got me wondering…’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Call it a policeman’s instinct, call it fear that we’ve got it wrong, I don’t really know. But now this has got a hold of me and I’m not prepared to let it go.’

  ‘What can I do to help?’ Kirsty asked.

  Lorimer shrugged. ‘Just what you’ve been doing so far. Searching in those areas of Eva’s life that we might have overlooked. Reporting anything, and I mean anything, back to me. I can’t involve you too much, Kirsty but what I want to propose is that you and I talk to Professor Brightman about visiting Colin.’

  Kirsty’s eyes widened. ‘What will you say to Dad?’

  Lorimer gave a hollow laugh. ‘Oh, your dad knows. Says I’m mad to listen to you. Hasn’t he said anything to you yet?’

  Kirsty shook her head, a worried look crossing her pale features.

  ‘Don’t fret. I told him you were doing a good job, okay?’

  Kirsty raised her eyebrows in an expression of doubt.

  ‘No, it’s true. Listen, since your discovery about Dirk McGregor, and with this morning’s affair, we’re going to begin asking questions of various people.’

  ‘Not just this lecturer?’

  Lorimer shook his head. ‘I’ve spoken with DI Grant and we have agreed that what we would like to do is have you visit Barlinnie and speak to Colin Young.’ He hesitated. ‘It might be better if you and Professor Brightman go together. Colin will have to request that he is added to his visitors’ list, of course. What do you think? Could you do that?’

  Kirsty Wilson raised her mug of coffee as though to salute him. ‘I don’t think you’re mad at all, Mr Lorimer,’ she said. ‘Of course I’ll go and speak to him. I’ll write to him today.’