Five ways to kill a man lab-7 Read online

  The bell to signal the end of visiting time came and with it a sense of relief that he didn’t have to continue to fill up the empty space between the two women any more. He planted a swift kiss on Mrs Finlay’s papery cheek. ‘Take care now, you. Remember guid folk are precious,’ he told her with a wink.

  Maggie’s fingers found his and held them tight as they walked together down the corridor.

  ‘How is she, really?’ he asked at last.

  Maggie looked up at him, her eyes brimming over with unshed tears. ‘Oh, I don’t know. They’ve still to do more tests. But it seems to have been quite a bad one. Her whole side is paralysed and she can’t talk at the moment. She was talking before…’ Maggie broke off and Lorimer put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her against him. They were halfway down the stairs and had other visitors at their back, so he had to make do with holding her close by his side as they headed for the exit.

  ‘So she was better when you first came in?’

  Maggie bit her lip to stop the trembling before she answered him. ‘Well, she wasn’t exactly lucid but she was able to make me understand her if I listened really carefully. Now, though — oh it’s horrible to see her like this! But she’s so tired. Maybe it’ll come back. There’ll be a speech therapist in to see her tomorrow, they said. So that’s surely a good sign. And they’re going to do more ECGs and stuff to check on her heart.’

  ‘Any idea what set it off?’

  Maggie shook her head. ‘No. She thought she had a fall. They did tell me that she’d managed to crawl to the phone and call an ambulance, bless her. But she’s still a bit hazy on the details.’

  ‘Here, you’re shivering,’ Lorimer said as they left the building. ‘Have you had anything to eat?’

  ‘No. Wasn’t hungry,’ she mumbled into his jacket. ‘But I’m starving now.’

  ‘What d’you say to us murdering a fish supper, eh?’

  ‘Ah!’ Maggie breathed, making a white mist against the dark shadows in front of the hospital steps. ‘With pickles?’

  As they finally drew up outside the house, Lorimer heard Maggie give a sigh. ‘Oh, I needed that,’ she told him. ‘Nothing like fish ’n’ chips, is there?’

  ‘Standard comfort food and mandatory fare for surveillance teams,’ he told her, trying to inject some levity into his tone.

  It had been a difficult evening, not just the visit to the Southern General but taking Maggie over to her mum’s house to fetch all the things she’d require for a longer stay in the hospital. Being inside Mrs Finlay’s home had depressed them both; the curtains open to reveal the dark night outside, the kitchen worktop full of neatly stacked dishes that were still to be tidied away as if the dishwasher had just been emptied. Looking at it with his detective’s eye, Lorimer wondered if the old lady had been about to do just that when the stroke had made her fall on to the kitchen floor. The cutlery basket was still beside the sink, its contents gleaming in the artificial light.

  Now they were inside their own home, its lamps reflecting the polished wood of the study desk as he tossed down the car keys and heaved off his jacket.

  ‘Cuppa?’ Maggie asked and he nodded, watching her as she bent down to stroke Chancer, their ginger cat giving his customary meow of welcome. It was late, but he’d try to help her unwind as best he could before bedtime.

  Maybe, he thought with a sudden smile, bed could provide the best sort of balm to soothe both their jangled nerves.

  ‘Okay then, Alice, darling?’ The auxiliary smiled warmly at Mrs Finlay, giving a final tug at the side rail that tucked the patient in and prevented her from falling out of bed.

  Alice Finlay wanted to draw the auxiliary a look, but couldn’t. Alice, indeed! The cheek of the woman, and her just a slip of a thing! They’d all been at it. Alice this and Alice that. Are you fine, Alice, pet? No attempt to give her a choice in the matter, either. The name above her bed scrawled in untidy blue lettering was ALICE FINLAY. Not Mrs Finlay as she’d have liked. And with the loss of her status had come the sort of ingratiating smiles that one gave to a small child or someone not quite in their right mind. She’d had a stroke, she knew that, and it had impaired some of her faculties but there was no need to make out that she was some sort of moron. Alice darling! If she had her speech back she’d be the first to give them all a piece of her mind!

  Feeling her heart throb with the sudden rage, Mrs Finlay experienced a tremor of fear. She shouldn’t be getting herself all worked up like this. It would only put her blood pressure up again. Maybe even precipitate another stroke. She smiled a triumphant, if lopsided, smile. Precipitate! See, she knew big words like that. She’d even remembered what the girl at the library’s husband did. He was involved in ergonomics, making things like special wheelchairs that fitted patients’ needs exactly.

  Suddenly she was so tired and glad to have the quietness of this room to herself. Tomorrow they’d be moving her to a main ward, one of them had told her, with other stroke patients like herself. With a small sigh, Alice Finlay turned her head to the pillow and closed her eyes. Tomorrow would bring so many unfamiliar things but at least it would also bring her Maggie.

  It was an odd feeling to cycle past the gates of the house. No lights were shining along the driveway any longer; the fire had destroyed all of the electric cables that had fed the twin rows of lamps along the curving path to the mass of rubble. Nodding to myself, I took in the shapes that remained: parts of turrets etched from the backdrop of clouds scudding across the moon; the humps of rhododendron bushes encircling the lawns.

  A sudden movement drew my eye and there, in the moonlight, was the small rounded shape of a rabbit, nibbling at the turf, oblivious to the destruction of the house beyond. For a moment I watched it, wondering at the warm heart beating inside its tawny fur.

  And, as I watched, I felt my fingers twitch with the desire to extinguish that spark of life.

  CHAPTER 11

  The journey down by the river was going to be one of the best things about this secondment, thought Lorimer as he allowed his glance to drift towards the estuary. He’d left the city behind in darkness but now the water gleamed like pale grey silk in this early dawn light. From the moment the road opened out to show the Clyde and the hills of the west, Lorimer felt his spirits lift. Now, with the village of Langbank to his left, he was parallel with the widening river and the mudflats that were home to so many wading birds. A quick glance gave him the sight of a flock of redshank and a couple of easily recognised oyster catchers. It would be good to come down here sometime with his binoculars and see what else the place had to offer. All too soon, the growing traffic made Lorimer wrench his eyes back to the dual carriageway and concentrate on the journey.

  There was Finlaystone Estate to his left, tall fronds of pine trees outlined against a milk-white sky. He’d been there a few times with Maggie, but not for ages; spotting fallow deer within the depths of the woods had been a golden moment. Now he slowed down as the roundabout approached. He would have to take a left hand turn here if he was going to head for the scene of the crime at Kilmacolm. But that would have to wait. His primary duty lay in K Division, further along this road, past Port Glasgow and into the heart of Greenock itself.

  The town was a ferry terminal not just for the MacBrayne’s boats that skimmed from the Inverclyde shore to Dunoon and beyond but it was also the terminal for the massive cruise ships that docked on a regular basis, their white hulks dwarfing every other craft in these waters. But it was the ships with their billowing sails flocking like white birds floating on the water’s surface that he loved best. It had been years since the last Tall Ships race had made the old town their destination, some time back in the nineties, if his memory was correct. And it wouldn’t be long till the next one, he thought to himself, seeing a hoarding proclaim 2011 as the date for the Tall Ships to grace Greenock’s harbour once again.

  They’d taken Maggie’s mum and dad down for a glorious day, he recalled. The whole weekend had been blessed wit
h the sort of warm summer sunshine not often enjoyed by west coasters. That, and the array of ships from all parts of the world, had given their day a holiday atmosphere. The Finlays had been persuaded to have a fish supper and stay on for the firework display later on; thank goodness we listened to you, his mother-in-law had told him later after the stunning display that had been set to classical music. They’d walked back to the car park in silence, the sounds of the crowds buzzing in their ears, too full of the sights of these cascades of gold, silver and ruby that had burst against the night sky.

  Now Pop Finlay was gone and Alice was lying in a hospital bed. But, on this chilly February morning, the memories of that day still lingered like warm reminders of summer.

  Detective Superintendent Lorimer arrived well before any of the other members of his select review team. It was up to him to set the standards and being first to arrive was one way of showing them that he meant business. There was, in any case, so much still to do. He’d have to establish if there had been issues in the identification of any suspects, something about which DI Martin had been worryingly hazy. Also he needed to find out the whereabouts of key witnesses to the fire; they could disappear all too quickly once an investigation appeared to have run its course. He’d have to talk to Colin Ray at some point as well, he knew. The former SIO’s views about this case were of tantamount importance and he hoped he’d be able to see Ray on his own without Martin hovering over their shoulders. One aspect that he did relish was being in communication with Dr Rosie Fergusson, who had carried out the post-mortem examination on the victims. She had also seen the next-of-kin and that was something he wanted to talk to her about before he made personal contact with the brother and sister. He’d need to speak to the family liaison officer as well, but if he could do some groundwork of his own it might make things a bit easier for all concerned.

  Lifting the phone, Lorimer decided that his first priority was DCI Colin Ray. He’d be in a rotten enough situation right now with Grace’s death and the loss of his job without the feeling that he was being sidelined.

  ‘Colin? Bill Lorimer here. How are you?’

  There was a lengthy pause as Lorimer waited for a response. Had his question been too trite? Over-hearty? How was he? Bloody awful, probably, but he’d not want to admit that, would he? They were west coast males, used to hiding their feelings beneath a veneer of macho gruffness; and being police officers meant that they were used to bottling up their emotions.

  ‘Lorimer. Aye. How’s it going down there?’ Colin Ray spoke at last, choosing to sidestep the actual question.

  ‘Just started yesterday. Hoped we could have a bit of a chat about the case before I began delving into the paperwork.’

  ‘Aye. Well, there’ll be plenty of that, I suppose.’

  There was another pause that became too long for comfort. He’d have to say something, now, wouldn’t he?

  ‘Maggie and I were really sorry about Grace,’ Lorimer said, lowering his voice to a tone of quiet sincerity.

  ‘Thanks,’ Ray replied. Another pause followed but this time Lorimer could hear the former police officer blowing his nose and he guessed at the sort of trial this must be for Ray. All the more reason why he needed to meet up and talk about other things, Lorimer told himself.

  ‘Any chance of seeing you today? I could come over to your place if you’d rather not come down here,’ he suggested.

  There was a snort of derisive laughter from the other end of the line. ‘Naw, the place is a tip. And I’d rather not have you over, if you don’t mind. How about somewhere down the coast? Say Cardwell Bay Garden Centre. D’you know where that is?’

  ‘Sure. I can be there in less than twenty minutes. What time suits you?’

  Again the pause as Colin Ray considered the proposal. Lorimer wondered what state the man was in, whether he was even up and dressed properly at this time in the morning.

  ‘Make it another hour, eh? Would nine-thirty be okay? Meet you in the tea room.’

  ‘Fine. See you there.’

  ‘Aye, an’ you’re paying.’

  Lorimer could just discern the faintest trace of humour in the retired DCI’s tone as he put the phone down.

  Leaving a message for the staff, Lorimer grabbed his coat and headed down to the car park. Swinging the dark blue Lexus out into the dual carriageway, he felt a slight sense of playing hookey as he left the divisional headquarters behind. But, he reasoned, the other officers would surely appreciate him giving Colin Ray his place? At least, those whose loyalty to their old boss was not in question.

  Cardwell Bay lay on the outskirts of the seaside town of Gourock, on the road towards Inverkip and the Ayrshire coast. It was the main route to Wemyss Bay, the small village where ferries arrived from the Island of Bute a mere half hour’s sail away. Rothesay, across the stretch of water from the mainland, had been a popular holiday destination during much of the twentieth century, particularly after the rail link had been established between Glasgow and the coastal towns. He and Maggie had spent some relaxing weekends there during their courting days. Now, as he drove past the old open-air swimming pool in Gourock, Lorimer felt a certain nostalgia for those times.

  Being in the city had given him a different perspective on things. Like crime and criminals. Perhaps it was time to see life from a more rural point of view. Maybe the fire-raiser’s attack on the house in Kilmacolm should be seen as a stupid prank that simply went wrong? Not as a vicious, deliberate killing. But, thought Lorimer as he looked out over the blue waters of the Clyde, their white caps tossed by a sudden squally wind, somewhere along the line a finger had been pointed at the anonymous low-lives in the district. Thugs from Port Glasgow was one suggestion he’d read on the initial report. The fire service was always being called out to random fires down there. But with no corroboration, that was all speculation. And speculation wasn’t hard evidence.

  As he turned into the huge open gateway at the garden centre, Lorimer watched other drivers parking as near to the entrance as they could. They’d be returning in an hour or so with trolleys full of stuff for their gardens. It was almost mid-February and the planters by the automatic doors were full of winter pansies and snowdrops. Too late for planting bulbs and too early for bedding plants, these keen gardeners might well be paying attention to stuff like feeding their winter grass or mending some storm-wrecked fencing. Or did they simply want a quick getaway after their morning coffee? The rain was never far away here on the west coast. It might be bright and blue now but give it another wee while and dark clouds could obliterate that sunshine.

  Colin Ray was sitting with his back to Lorimer as he entered the capacious tea room. He remembered Ray as a big man but seeing him sat there hunched over the table, Lorimer felt that he’d been diminished by his wife’s death.

  ‘Colin?’ The man stood up and for a moment each looked into the eyes of the other, hands clasped in a warm grasp that betokened nothing more than one man’s feeling for the other. That was all it took, just that one handshake and a look that said how sorry Lorimer was, how grateful it hadn’t been his Maggie and how he wanted to make things easier for the man who’d lost the love of his life.

  ‘Aye,’ Colin Ray said at last, the word drawn out like a sigh. ‘Well, here you are, then,’ he added, nodding his head as though he were acknowledging his fate.

  ‘Tea or coffee? And something to eat?’

  ‘Coffee. Just something with milk. Oh, and see if they’ve got any Danish pastries, will you?’

  Lorimer grinned as he turned away. He’d order a plateful of them, reasoning that Ray probably hadn’t had breakfast; besides, he’d a weakness for Danish pastries, himself, a fact that was well known back in his own canteen.

  ‘I didn’t get down to see her often enough,’ Ray began, looking down at the mug of coffee, one finger hovering over the selection of cakes. ‘Too busy.’

  Lorimer nodded but said nothing. It was a perennial problem with senior officers: the job taking precedence over
home and family life, sometimes to the detriment of a marriage. They were always too busy. Crime didn’t take a holiday, did it?

  ‘Tried to see her when I could and then…’ Ray broke off with a shrug that expressed more than mere words could achieve. ‘Well, the job suddenly wasn’t important any more, was it? Grace was running out of time, you see. I just couldn’t be arsed, if you want to know the truth.’

  ‘Don’t think I’ll quote that in my report.’ Lorimer smiled at him gently.

  ‘Och, I’m past bothering what you write, frankly. Retired, pensioned off. Who gives a monkey’s what I say now?’

  ‘Actually I do,’ Lorimer told him.

  ‘How’s that?’ Ray’s head came up suddenly, frowning as he looked his former fellow officer in the eyes. ‘Stickler for the details, is that it? Didn’t have you down as a pen pusher, Lorimer. Thought that was more Mitchison’s style.’

  ‘Stickler for the facts, maybe,’ he replied. ‘Look, Colin, I don’t like doing this review any more than your former officers like having me hanging round their necks, but there are things I really want to know about that fire. Call me a nosy beggar, if you like, but there were rumours at the time that not everything was being done by the book.’

  Colin Ray held Lorimer’s blue gaze as long as he was able, his own eyes fierce with a sudden anger. Then he looked away again, taking a sip of his coffee as if to delay his answer.