by Alex Gray
Turning back into the kitchen, Maggie Lorimer looked at the bags of groceries lying on the work surface, ready to be unpacked. She might well be eating alone tonight, she thought ruefully, if her husband’s telephone call meant anything.
‘A pot of soup,’ she told herself briskly, already thinking what ingredients she would use. ‘That’ll be fine no matter what time he comes home.’ Then, smiling to herself, Maggie began to pack away the groceries, leaving the vegetables she needed to one side.
‘Hi, sorry I’m late,’ Lorimer called out into the darkened hallway. Shuffling off his coat, he looked upstairs for a light from their bedroom but that too was in darkness.
‘Mags?’
‘In here,’ a sleepy voice replied.
He found her curled up in the recliner, a pile of jotters discarded on the floor.
‘Hey,’ Lorimer hunkered down by Maggie’s side, ‘what’s all this? Falling asleep on the job?’ he teased.
‘Mm… Sixth year creative writing folios. Must’ve dropped off.’
‘Riveting stuff then,’ he remarked, giving the jotters a cursory glance.
‘Less of the sarcasm, pal.’ Maggie’s mouth curved into a smile in the darkness. ‘Some of them are not bad at all.’
‘Just a wee tad soporific,’ he suggested, the laugh in his voice making her try to pull herself into a sitting position.
‘That word always reminds me of Peter Rabbit,’ Maggie mumbled, rubbing her eyes. ‘You know, when the Flopsy Bunnies all fell asleep.. soporific effect of too many lettuces…’
‘Come on, bed for you.’ Lorimer leaned over, one arm around Maggie’s shoulders as she gave an enormous yawn.
As they shuffled upstairs, Maggie lifted her head from his shoulder, stopping suddenly. ‘Oh, how did today go?’ She paused, waiting for a reply that was not immediately forthcoming. ‘Grim, was it?’
‘Yeah,’ Lorimer replied shortly, nudging her up towards the top of the stairs. ‘Come on, you’re bushed.’
Maggie Lorimer nodded to herself. Okay, if he didn’t want to discuss it, then that was fine with her. She’d learned a long time ago to let her husband begin any conversation about his work, whether it was about a case of serious crime or the day-to-day annoyances of administration. But this was a bit different. Acting Detective Superintendent William Lorimer had been appointed to another division to review a case that was going nowhere, the type of job that no self-respecting senior officer relished one little bit. There was always a degree of scepticism when a review took place and Lorimer knew well that it was the last thing he’d want on his own turf.
Listening to the sounds coming from the bathroom, Lorimer curled under the duvet. It had been grim down in K Division. Failte Gu Grianaig the sign had proclaimed as he’d entered the town. Welcome to Greenock. But his welcome, if it could be called that, had been pretty frosty. But that was to be expected. Nobody enjoyed being told that their own DCI was incompetent, especially under the circumstances. Colin Ray had messed up, that was obvious, but his wife had been dying of cancer! What more did they want from the guy? Lorimer’s sympathies had been for his fellow officer who had made zero progress in the case of wilful fire-raising in Kilmacolm. But how he had come to be put in as a review Senior Investigating Officer was still something of a mystery. Okay, the request had come from the usual admin channels, but he still felt uneasy about it. Someone in K Division had reported Ray as being less than satisfactory on this job. That was the rumour anyhow. And if he was a betting man, William Lorimer would have put his money on the female DI who had set out to give him such a hard time today.
It was as if Rhoda Martin was on a guilt trip, he thought, remembering the way she’d glowered furiously at him. That was more than resentment on behalf of her old boss who had taken sudden early retirement. And she’d agreed too readily that the case needed to be reviewed, receiving some raised eyebrows from those among her fellow officers who’d been present in the Greenock division. So why did he have the feeling that there was more to her attitude than met the eye?
As Maggie slipped in beside him, Lorimer turned on his side towards her. Folding her into his arms and letting her rub her cold feet against his own warm legs made any thought about Rhoda Martin vanish. That could wait till tomorrow. Right now there was only room for one woman in his bed.
CHAPTER 9
It was nice being wheeled along the pale laminate floors, the porter skilfully manoeuvring each doorway with not so much as a single bump. There was a nurse with her too, but none of them spoke as the walls slid past. She’d been glad to sink against the cushioned back of the chair, her feet supported by the metal rests. It was surprisingly comfortable; but then, weren’t there experts designing things like that, always bent on improving the… what was that word? The girl at the library. Her husband worked in that field. What was the word..? She frowned. It had been like this ever since that silly young doctor had asked her questions about who the prime minister was. Really! As if she didn’t know a simple thing like that. But some other things had eluded her; words that she knew she should remember, just hovering out of reach. ‘On the tip of my tongue,’ she wanted to say, but that particular organ had taken sides against her, too, refusing to let the words come out as they normally did.
She was guilty of talking too much, she knew that. Sometimes Maggie cut off their conversation with a reminder of work to do in the evenings (she always had such a pile of marking, poor lamb) and she’d put the telephone down with the sense that she’d been rattling on good style, hardly letting her daughter put in a word at all. Now, ironically, that renegade voice of hers was refusing to cooperate. Maybe she was just tired. It had happened before: after her operation. She’d hardly been able to string two words together, feeling the edges of speech slip away into a void.
Maybe that was why they weren’t engaging her in conversation right now. They knew she was too weary, wanted to spare her voice, perhaps. But, as Mrs Finlay listened to the chatter above the desk at the nurses’ station she felt… diminished.
Everything was different down here. She knew there was a nurse just behind her — aware of a flap of striped, grey skirt and beige stocking-ed legs — a tall girl anyway, but from this disadvantaged point the girl seemed to have taken on Amazonian proportions. Mrs Finlay felt as though she had fallen into a strange Swiftian world. It was true, that cliche about people in wheelchairs being ignored. She might have been part of the mechanism itself for all the notice that anyone took.
Mrs Finlay had seen it first when the tall, good-looking man at the end of the corridor had paused. A consultant, she’d decided, noticing his well-cut suit and colourful silk tie; he’d hesitated before an open door several yards in front of her then raised his hand in a salute. Was it someone who had recognised her? She’d seen so many already. Or was he simply being polite? She’d attempted to lift her own hand in reply, the smile automatic, eyes bright. But then as the chair rolled nearer, she realised that he was looking over her, at someone else entirely, and in that moment she knew just how invisible she had become. Nobody up there within the able bodied of the population towering over her really took any notice of a woman in a wheelchair, except to acknowledge that there was one. A woman-in-a-wheelchair.
Strangely she didn’t resent it. The experience was still too new, untested and, besides, it was only a temporary change until she was better. It wouldn’t be long — surely — until they fixed whatever had happened to this stupid side of her; this frozen space that had somehow closed down in that spasm of pain. It had been like a jolt of electric current surging through her, then snapping off one of her terminals. Now all they needed was the right sort of engineer to fix it. Just like the nice young boy who had come to sort her TV when everything had changed to digital.
Mrs Finlay smiled to herself, unable to see the crooked lift of her lips. Yes. Someone would fix it.
Now they were off again, rolling along another long corridor, and she had no idea what was happening, where she was bei
ng taken. At the turn of a corner she saw a patient being wheeled along, travelling towards them. It was a woman. And as they passed, their eyes met for an instant and Mrs Finlay saw an expression of pity in the other woman’s face followed by the merest nod of fellow feeling.
In that moment she felt a sudden shock of understanding. She tried to twist away, to raise her hand to make them stop the relentless progress of the chair. But only a low moan issued from her mouth, unheard against the roll of wheels.
And where was Maggie? Why wasn’t she… here. To make them. Stop. Explain what was… going wrong?
‘Detective Superintendent Lorimer.’
‘It’s Mum.’ Maggie sounded out of breath as if she had been running. ‘She’s in hospital. They say it’s a stroke…’
Lorimer heard the catch in her voice just as he caught the glance of the woman across the desk, one eyebrow arched in the faintest hint of curiosity.
‘D’you want me there?’ He hadn’t intended to sound so terse, but with DI Martin listening intently to his side of the conversation, Lorimer wanted nothing more than to be alone with his wife, consoling her wherever she was, unhampered by this review case. The pause from the other end told him more than any words could have: Maggie realised he was busy and was about to tell him not to bother.
‘I can be with you in less than an hour,’ he continued, giving his watch a quick glance. The layout of this unfamiliar office didn’t seem to include a wall clock.
‘It’s okay. I can call you later once I know what they’re going to do.’
‘How bad is she?’ Lorimer asked, turning his head aside from Rhoda Martin’s direct stare.
‘We won’t know until they have all the test results but she’s paralysed down one side and can’t talk too well. She knows me, though. Don’t worry about that!’
He smiled, hearing the relief in her voice laced with a hint of humour. It was bad but not too bad, she seemed to be saying.
‘Keep in touch. Let me know what’s happening and I’ll see if I can catch up with you there. All right?’
‘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 cliche 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 meetin
g 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 aware 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.
