Five Ways to Kill a Man Read online

  ‘Thanks. Love you,’ Maggie said.

  ‘Yeah. Hang in there. Okay?’ Lorimer told her.

  As he put down the handset, DI Martin leaned across the desk, eyes hungrily eating the Detective Super’s expression.

  ‘Bad news?’ Her eagerness was almost palpable and in that instant Lorimer knew he was going to have an uphill struggle even to be civil to this woman.

  ‘Nothing to do with the case. Now if you can let me know where all the logs relating to the inquiry have been stored for the period in question we can begin to look at what actually happened from the team’s perspective,’ he replied smoothly, ignoring the look of disappointment on her face.

  As they discussed the initial stages of the inquiry, Lorimer’s mind was racing. What on earth had happened to his mother-in-law? And how was Maggie coping on her own at the hospital? But, lodged between these two thoughts was another more insidious notion: how had this DI reacted to her old boss’s predicament? Had she fed off Colin Ray’s increasing absences, using them to bolster up her own involvement and hoping for subsequent kudos? There had been something malicious in her expression, as if she suddenly welcomed the prospect of this new SIO having domestic problems of his own. And that would suit them just fine, wouldn’t it? Lorimer swallowed down the guilt he felt at leaving Maggie to sort this one out. He’d make it up to her. Later.

  Once Rhoda Martin was gone, Lorimer reached for his mobile phone then, just as suddenly, drew back his hand. The irony of his situation wasn’t lost on him. Colin Ray’s dying wife had taken priority in his life over the high-profile wilful fire-raising case, resulting in Lorimer’s present appointment. For something similar to repeat itself was simply not on. Frowning, he wondered for a moment what his mother-in-law would be experiencing over in the Southern General hospital. She was a feisty old bird, though, and he held her in an affection that he knew was mutual. If anyone could recover from the damage of a stroke, it would be Maggie’s mum.

  But suddenly DI Martin’s sharp features replaced thoughts of the older woman in his mind. Office politics had been at work, to the previous SIO’s detriment, Lorimer guessed, though he’d be lucky to prove that. And, besides, that was not within his present remit. What was his main concern was how the case of wilful fire-raising resulting in two horrific deaths had been handled here in K Division. That, and how he was to proceed with the review.

  It would mean loads of sifting through all the paperwork for a start and setting up a small team from the existing officers here to read over and reassess the key documents - like witness statements - to ensure that every piece of evidence divulged to the police initially had been acted upon fully, without question. The old cliché of ‘leaving no stone unturned’ had never been more appropriate. It would be hard work and he hoped that the team he eventually chose would be less acerbic than DI Martin, but for some reason he felt he needed to keep her close, if only as a means of watching his own back.

  He missed the familiar faces of his own team back in Glasgow. Here he was very much on his own and the sooner he elicited help from Ray’s own CID department, the better. It was not only dredging through the paperwork that was required, though that tedious stuff had to be done; he had to decide what had gone wrong at each and every stage of the investigation and to do that effectively, he wanted to have the fullest cooperation from the folk down here in Greenock.

  A knock on the door made him turn from his thoughts and as the door opened he was heartened to see a solid-looking woman in her early thirties smiling at him, a mug of something hot in one hand.

  He knew that face, didn’t he? It was . . .?

  ‘Kate Doherty.’ She smiled at him. ‘I was one of your trainees. Don’t know if you remember me.’

  ‘Kate!’ Lorimer exclaimed, his brain whirling as he struggled to place her. ‘You went to Kilmarnock as a DC, didn’t you?’

  ‘Well done,’ she said, coming closer and proferring the mug. ‘Tea. No sugar. Okay for you?’

  ‘Aye, fine,’ Lorimer replied. ‘In fact,’ he added, thinking swiftly, ‘even better if you were to join me.’

  ‘Ah, fraternising with the new SIO. Bit risky, don’t you think?’ Kate’s voice was as full of good humour as Lorimer remembered.

  ‘I didn’t know you were one of Colin’s team,’ he began, sipping the strong brew gratefully.

  ‘Well, you wouldn’t recognise the name. It’s Clark, not Doherty now.’ She grinned, wiggling her wedding ring finger. ‘And I wasn’t at your meeting yesterday. Midwife’s appointment.’ She grimaced then, pointing to the burgeoning swell beneath her shirt. ‘This wee rascal’s fairly making his presence felt. They think it might be a breech birth.’

  ‘Ah.’ Lorimer nodded. Yes, he’d seen all their names on the ACPOS - the management policy file - but apart from DI Martin, and now Kate, he hadn’t yet put names to all of their faces.

  ‘Maybe I should just wait and meet you officially this afternoon? ’ Kate suggested, the faintest hint of warning in her voice.

  Lorimer looked up at her. Would she be singled out as the new chap’s favourite, a friend from the past, and thus given a hard time by anyone who resented Lorimer’s presence here in K Division? There was always that possibility. And he couldn’t afford to alienate the one person who might be able to fill him in on the background to this case without a sense of prejudice.

  ‘Take your point, Kate. But I’d love to have a chance to catch up with you properly some other time.’ Lorimer gave her what he hoped was his best smile, blue eyes widening. ‘Anyway, thanks for the tea. Just what I needed right now.’

  ‘No bother, boss,’ she said, striding out of the room with a grin. ‘See you later.’

  Lorimer drank his tea, heaving a sigh of relief. For a moment he had experienced a feeling quite unfamiliar to him: loneliness. But seeing Kate Doherty’s - no, Kate Clark’s - friendly face had turned his mood around. Perhaps the afternoon’s meeting that he had been dreading would not be so bad after all.

  CHAPTER 10

  The Southern General hospital lay sandwiched between the approach road to the Clyde tunnel and a Govan housing scheme, its sombre facade dominated by the clock tower that seemed to remind one of how fragile life really was and that one day everyone’s time would be up. Its reputation as one of the city’s best teaching hospitals was undeniable, however, and it had the country’s finest spinal injuries unit, one that Lorimer had visited during a previous case. These were thoughts uppermost in his mind as he raced up the back stairs towards the ward where Mrs Finlay had been taken. She would be in expert hands, he told himself. They’d be doing everything that they could.

  Lorimer gave a quick glance at the wall to see the signs for the various wards then, stopping to give his hands a rub from the fluid dispenser outside the swing doors, he looked along the corridor leading to where he hoped to find his mother-in-law.

  She was in a room of her own and sitting up in bed, propped by a bank of snowy white pillows, her eyes bright and shining as she recognised him. Lorimer tried hard to conceal the dismay he felt at the down-turned side of her mouth as she attempted a smile. And the traces of a bruise could be seen from under that dressing on her forehead.

  ‘Mum’s not up to talking tonight.’ Maggie turned towards him from her place beside her mother’s bed, a clear warning in her eyes. ‘So we’re expecting lots of stories about your day.’

  Drawing a chair up, Lorimer affected a grin. ‘Don’t know how much I can tell you. Confidential stuff, you know.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘But I did run into an old friend.’

  It was amazing how much of a one-sided conversation could be drawn out of his meeting with Kate Doherty (now Clark) and his attempt to brighten up the atmosphere by giving a little description of each member of the Greenock investigation team. He balked when it came to a thumbnail sketch of Rhoda Martin; instead he simply mentioned that a female DI had greeted him on arrival. All through his watered-down account of his first day at K Division, Lorimer was a
ware of Maggie relaxing by his side. She must have had a hell of a day, being called away from school and seeing her mum like this.

  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.r />
  They’d taken Maggie’s mum and dad down for a glorious day, he recalled. The whole weekend had been blessed with 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.