The Riverman lab-4

by Alex Gray

  The ringing telephone interrupted her thoughts and she walked over to the large desk that was at present doubling as a make-up counter.

  ‘Hey,’ she spoke into the phone. Cindy never ever gave her name. You just couldn’t tell who’d seen her the night before and bribed the hotel staff into letting them have her number.

  ‘It’s Josh. How are you, kid?’

  ‘Hi.’ Cindy twirled on her toes, her smile widening at the sound of his voice. ‘I’m great. How’re you?’

  ‘Fine, just fine. Listen, there’s something I wanted to ask you. Remember the night we were up in Glasgow? Had two nights’ gigs back-to-back?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  ‘See the second night after the Armadillo gig, d’you remember us looking out your bedroom window?’

  Cindy giggled. The memory of her night with Josh Scott wouldn’t easily be forgotten but she wasn’t sure if she was ready to tell him that yet. ‘Maybe,’ she began coyly. ‘How come?’

  There was a pause on the line that made Cindy’s smile slip a little. Had she been just a tad over-enthusiastic? Was Josh going to spoil things already?

  ‘Remember that guy we saw staggering into the bushes?’

  A sense of relief swept over Cindy. It was nothing to do with their burgeoning relationship. ‘Course I do. He was so out of it. Just as well he’d someone to help him up when he fell over.’

  ‘Cindy,’ Josh’s voice was serious now and she found herself drawing out a chair to sit on, ‘that guy was drowned a bit later on the same night. I’ve just had a call from the Crowne Plaza Hotel. The Glasgow police are appealing for any witnesses. Well,’ Cindy heard a sigh as he paused again, ‘we’re witnesses, aren’t we?’

  *

  ‘Cindy Heron and Joshua Scott,’ Andrew Wotherspoon told him. ‘They were the last guests I managed to contact. And you did ask specifically for anyone whose rooms looked out over there.’ He turned and nodded down towards the Finnieston side of the river.

  Lorimer swung back on his chair. The Crowne Plaza manager had the beginnings of a smile around his mouth as if he were not entirely sure of Lorimer’s reaction.

  ‘It took us longer to locate them because they’re on a concert tour of the British Isles. Currently in Bognor Regis,’ he added.

  ‘Well done.’ Lorimer nodded. ‘Any time you fancy swapping your present job, Strathclyde Police would be interested.’

  Andrew Wotherspoon reddened at the unexpected compliment. ‘Well, you did ask for a list of all guests and it was mostly easy to obtain, but those particular people took a bit longer. Being on the road, you see.’

  ‘And you asked them to contact us here, I assume?’

  ‘That’s correct, Chief Inspector. I’m sure they’ll be telephoning you some time today. I just wanted you to know that we had located all of our guests now.’

  Lorimer nodded. ‘And they think they saw something?’

  ‘Mr Scott wants to speak to you about that. He and Cindy Heron believe that they may have seen Mr Forbes after he left the party.’

  Lorimer sat up. This was something entirely new in a case that had become bogged down in a lot of conjecture. A proper witness to the victim’s last movements, if not his actual murder, might make a great deal of difference. Between this and the investigation into the bookies maybe they would hit on a proper lead.

  ‘Cindy Heron? I went to see her last time she was in Glasgow,’ Cameron said. ‘At King Tut’s.’

  ‘When was that?’

  Cameron paused. ‘Two nights before this case began. Must have been the night before Duncan Forbes died. I was off duty for a change.’ He grinned at Lorimer, sensing a change in his boss’s manner.

  ‘Fancy interviewing her, then?’ Lorimer smiled back. ‘She’ll be here the day after tomorrow.’

  Cameron nodded and shrugged, both gestures belying his inner excitement. ‘Aye, why not?’

  ‘See they’ve got a witness to that first murder,’ Rosie told him.

  Solly looked up.

  ‘Seems some pop star was staying at the Crowne Plaza and she and her road manager saw what might have been Duncan Forbes with another man,’ she continued.

  ‘Yes,’ Solly said with a nod. ‘That’s good.’ He turned his attention to the pile of papers on his lap.

  Rosie Fergusson sighed. This looked like a real breakthrough for Lorimer and yet the man who sat by her side seemed almost indifferent. If you didn’t know him better you’d think he didn’t care, she told herself. Solly could wrap himself in layers of concentration, taking hours to come out of whatever project he was working on. He’d said little about a profile. Instead his attention seemed to be focused on the areas around the river Clyde. Rosie had seen him poring over that dog-eared map he’d drawn and her questions about it had only elicited a twinkling smile and a nod. When he was ready to tell her anything he’d found then he would. Until then she would have to rein in her curiosity.

  ‘Damn!’ Maggie skidded to a halt outside the front door. The rain, from lowering clouds that had threatened all afternoon, was coming down like stair rods. It was only a quick hop from door to car but she’d become soaked at the far end. With fifth year parents’ night there was always a huge turnout and it usually filled their staff car park. Still cursing under her breath, Maggie made a dash back to the sanctuary of the house, ready to grab her umbrella from the stand near the front door. The rain rattled against the windowpanes, masking the sound of her key in the lock.

  There was a familiar voice coming from upstairs. Bill on the phone, she thought, then paused to shake her hair back from her face and tuck it inside her coat collar before leaving again. Then she heard words that made her freeze on the spot.

  ‘Can we still do it, Jo?’

  Maggie listened in the ensuing silence and started as her husband’s voice proclaimed, ‘You’re a darling!’

  Not waiting to be discovered dripping inside the hallway, Maggie rushed blindly into the night, pulling open the car door. Despite her trembling fingers she turned the key in the ignition and put the car into gear.

  What the hell was going on? Did he phone this woman every time she left the house? Maggie’s head began to thump. To confront him with this or not? That was what she must decide. As she sped through familiar streets, Maggie Lorimer felt as though her body had become light and insubstantial with the sudden weakness of emotion. What should she do? What the hell could she do? There was no answer, just a blankness in her mind.

  I mustn’t let this take take me over, she told herself, trying to regain her normal composure. This evening she had a job to do and many parents were waiting for her undivided attention. Other things would just have to wait.

  CHAPTER 41

  The day dawned a pearly pink against the thin line of hills in the distance. Graham West stretched and sighed. Only a few more minutes and he’d get up for work.

  His arms stiffened as the dreams that had peopled his sleep faded. This would be his last day, he thought. He’d prepared everything he could. Sitting up, West saw the mess of papers and books strewn across the floor. Well, he wouldn’t be here much longer to see it. He’d packed only essentials into a rucksack, his passport now in its outside pocket. The flight had cost a fortune but paying by credit card was something he could still do. He’d simply not be here when the bill landed on his doormat. Tomorrow’s early morning BA flight to London connected with the long haul to Singapore. Then he would take another plane to Sydney. By the time they’d found he was missing he’d be sunning himself on Bondi Beach. But not as Graham West. He’d decided to leave everything behind him, even his name.

  He gave a frown suddenly. That wee nyaff of a dealer. Did he have his name or not? His brow cleared as he remembered. No. It had just been the licence plate of the Porsche that had identified him. It seemed so long ago now, the day that it had all started. If he’d known then what was about to happen, he’d have thrown the stuff over a hedge and faced the consequences. Or would he? The temptation had been too gre
at and the risks had seemed minimal. Face it, West, he told himself. You did what you had to do then, and you’ll do what you have to do now.

  Kicking a muscular pair of legs over the edge of the bed, he threw the bedcovers on the floor and headed for the shower. He’d wear his best Armani suit today, since it was the last time he’d ever be in the office. He smiled at his reflection in the mirror. That wasn’t a man who’d ever admit to failure, now was it? No. That was a man with a future.

  Forbes Macgregor looked just the same as it always did, he thought, swinging his briefcase as he entered the building. It had the same solid familiarity, its sandstone facade towering over the banks of the river. He felt like whistling today and had to stop himself grinning inanely as one of the trainee CA’s slipped into the lift by his side. These guys would have to start all over again too, but they didn’t know that yet. He hugged the secret to himself and walked out of the lift with a jaunty spring in his step.

  Once inside his office, Graham West began a meticulous trawl through his personal papers, what was left of them from the previous evening’s shredding exercise. There was nothing incriminating now. Only work in progress. Even the accounts for Jacobs Betting Shops had somehow found their way into the main filing system under the other partners’ names. He smiled. Malcolm, Catherine and Alec would have a bit of explaining to do to the police if they ever cottoned on to that sleight of hand. Sure, his sudden disappearance would make them all point the finger at him but that wouldn’t last too long once those documents were uncovered.

  ‘Coffee in the boardroom, five minutes.’ Catherine had popped her head around his door before West realized she was there.

  ‘Aye, fine,’ he murmured, pretending to be distracted by the papers on his desk. Then she was gone. Coffee at this time of the morning? What was up? Were the police back again, perhaps? West felt the sweat tingle upon his palms. Maybe he had been too quick with the self-congratulations. Hubris had a funny way of rearing its ugly head, he thought grimly.

  Alec Barr was not in the boardroom when West arrived, only Catherine and Malcolm: the latter looking pale and anxious. Catherine, however, was pouring coffee from the jug on the hot plate, her back to him so that he could not see her face.

  ‘Alec not joining us?’ he asked, then coughed trying to cover up the nervous strain apparent in his voice.

  Catherine turned and smiled, her expression calm. ‘No, just the three of us. I wanted to talk to you both while Alec was out of the office.’

  West sat down at the table, his fingers drumming on the edge of the polished wood. Malcolm glanced at him then looked away. Suddenly West was reminded of juries in murder trials. They avoided eye contact with the accused when they had found him guilty, didn’t they?

  ‘What’s up, then?’ he asked staring at Catherine, deliberately making her look at him full on.

  ‘It’s Shelley Jacobs,’ she replied. ‘She’s been to see the police.’ There was a pause as she let her words sink in. It was Malcolm who broke the silence.

  ‘And?’ he asked.

  ‘And it seems she had someone snooping round her house. She’s also had threatening phone calls.’ Catherine looked at each of them in turn as if to assess their reaction. Finding none, she sniffed. ‘Big brother Joseph Reilly’s started to stir things up about Tony,’ she went on. ‘And that could mean trouble for us.’

  ‘D’you mean us or do you mean Forbes Macgregor?’ Graham West wanted to know.

  ‘Comes down to the same thing in the long run,’ Malcolm murmured.

  ‘Yes, it does,’ the woman replied. ‘If one of us goes down, the whole damn firm goes down. Jacobs being killed like that should have made us more careful.’

  ‘But Alec said everything was fine!’ West protested. ‘Nobody’s going to pin anything on us!’ He spread his hands in a gesture that was intended to look innocent but Catherine Devoy gave him a baleful look from under her brows.

  ‘The police aren’t wasting their time. With three murders on their hands they’re probably looking at us as potential killers.’

  Graham West gave an involuntary start. ‘You are kidding, aren’t you?’ He glanced from Catherine to Malcolm, relieved to see the Malcolm’s eyebrows drawn up in scepticism.

  ‘Why d’you think they want to interview each of us separately?’ Catherine let the question dangle for a moment, eyeing the two men. She kept her gaze fixed on them, determined to provoke some reaction. West frowned. Let her think that his cage had been rattled, he thought. Malcolm had dropped his head and seemed to be deeply engrossed in some stain on the boardroom carpet. West watched as Catherine hunkered down, meeting Malcolm’s eyes, forcing him to look at her. ‘What’s wrong with you, for instance? You’ve been acting oddly ever since Duncan’s death.’

  Malcolm swallowed hard. ‘It’s nothing really. A stomach ulcer. Might need to go into hospital for some stuff, that’s all,’ he muttered, his eyes flicking hopelessly from one partner to the other.

  Catherine smiled. ‘Poor you! And here we were thinking you might be suffering remorse of conscience.’ She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Well, that’s one way to keep out of sight. Take to your sick bed.’

  Graham West patted Malcolm’s shoulder, a gesture of male solidarity designed to annoy Catherine.

  ‘Look, what I’m saying to you both is be very, very careful,’ she scolded. ‘Someone out there is desperate enough to take lives and Jacobs worked with some funny people.’

  ‘Well Forbes Macgregor didn’t seem too worried about taking him on as a client in the first place,’ West blurted out. ‘They knew his reputation, didn’t they?’

  Catherine glared at him, ‘You mean we, don’t you Graham? Don’t forget we’re all equity partners. That means we are Forbes Macgregor.’

  ‘And we all have plenty to lose,’ Malcolm added quietly.

  Malcolm watched as the others left the boardroom, then rose to his feet. With shaky hands he put the untouched cup of coffee onto the tray then clutched the back of a chair as another spasm hit him. Stomach ulcer. They’d bought it without question. Just like everyone else. It was another lie to add to all the rest. But Catherine’s barb about his conscience had smitten him. If only she knew just what had been going on in his heart and mind these past few days. He hadn’t heard from Michael again and with every passing hour he wondered if the young man had indeed escaped from his kidnapper. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. There had been too much bloodshed already and for what? Yes, it was ironic but Catherine’s initial suspicions had been right. Malcolm was finding it hard to live with the knowledge of what had happened. Who was it that had said the truth could set you free? Now he knew what the truth really was. And it had made a prisoner of him.

  CHAPTER 42

  Michael sank below the edge of the ditch. Sweat gathered on his hairline and trickled in fat droplets into his eyes. The skin on the back of his neck felt hot and dry where the late afternoon sun had burned it red.

  JJ was back. Through the tall grasses bordering the ditch, Michael could see the front door swinging freely. Right now the man would be going from room to room, searching for him. He imagined the curses rending the fetid air within and felt his heart pounding in his chest as he lay there. Then another thought struck him: maybe this had all been part of JJ’s plan. Why had he never bothered to tie him up? Was it because this house was in such a lonesome place that nobody would find him? Or had he wanted his captive to make a run for it? Was he even now looking up towards this field, thinking to leave a corpse where only vultures would discover it?

  The irrigation ditch was halfway between the two homesteads, an easy way to set the boundaries of the two properties, perhaps. Michael hoped to make it as far as the house on the horizon but the appearance of the van forestalled that idea. He ducked down lower as JJ’s stocky figure appeared on the dirt path. Had he left any traces to show his mad dash across the field? Or would the swaying grasses hide where he had fled?

  Hardly daring to breathe, Micha
el waited. All his senses seemed to be heightened. His eyes flicked to a glittering green beetle wandering across the back of his hand. It tickled intolerably, its tiny feet tracing a path over his skin. If he could only brush it off. Above him a passing crow flew through the hot dense air, its wing-beats a swish of sound. And still he lay, never daring to move. Immobility would be his saving, he knew. If JJ should come upon him then one swift bullet would make an end of him. But while he remained motionless, the sun beating on his naked head, there was still a fragment of hope.

  After what seemed an eternity Michael heard the sound of an engine starting up. Still he lay, terror gripping him. What if it was a ruse to make him show himself? He could imagine JJ standing by the vehicle, the engine running and his shotgun slung over his arm, waiting to train it on his prey. No. Better to wait until he was sure. The engine note changed and he could hear the tyres rumbling down the track then the distant whine as the van took to the open road once more.

  The trembling in his body made him feel as if he were in the grip of some fever. Perhaps he was? In his weakened state there was no telling what he might have picked up.

  Michael looked down at his hand. The beetle was gone. He blinked once then saw its shining carapace clinging to a single stalk of grass. It could only have been minutes since it had crawled over his skin but it seemed like hours. With a shuddering sob, he pulled himself up onto his elbows and looked over the ditch. There was no one there. Even the dust kicked up from the van’s wheels was drifting towards the edge of the field.

  He looked ahead at the farmhouse. It seemed empty, maybe it was only a desolate shell of a place, but on further inspection he saw that the shingled roof was intact and a pile of sawn logs were stacked neatly to the side. With one fearful glance behind him, Michael raised himself up and began a clumsy run towards the farmhouse.