by Alex Gray
The riverman was always careful when taking bodies out of the water. One slip and they’d be gone, sinking into the river’s murky depths. This one was heavy, water-logged and weighed down by death. They’d do a post-mortem. It was the routine thing to do, as well as being a legal requirement, but George Parsonage knew what the cause of death would be. Call it suicide, if you like, he thought as though he were addressing the pathologists at Glasgow City Mortuary.
He barely gave the body of Alec Barr a second glance as it lay in the folds of his boat. He knew this man’s story. He’d taken the easy way out, as many before him had done. Lorimer would fill him in with the details in time, no doubt. But for now as he rowed back to the van waiting on the shore, he could content himself with his own part of the story.
At least he’d saved one man’s life today.
CHAPTER 51
The face that looked down at him was like an angel’s, Malcolm thought as he drifted back to consciousness. But it was a face wet with tears, although the smile was all sweetness. Behind her, he was aware of other figures, other faces that he seemed to know, but it was on Lesley’s face that he chose to fix his gaze.
‘Oh, Malcolm,’ was all she said, but in those two words he knew what a fool he’d been. There was no reproach, no condemnation, just love. He tried to smile back and sit up, but the pain drove him down again to the bank of pillows under his head. Somewhere he heard a nurse speak and the other people in the room disappeared, leaving him alone with Lesley.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, ‘so sorry for everything.’
‘But why, Malcolm?’ Lesley was shaking her head. ‘Why did you get mixed up in all of that?’
‘Didn’t want you to be left … without anything,’ he murmured, every word a stab in his chest.
‘All I ever wanted was you.’ Lesley was crying again, and now he was aware of her hand in his, squeezing it tight. He tried to respond but the tiredness overwhelmed him and he began to drift back into that blessed sleep.
With an effort Malcolm gazed up at his wife and smiled.
‘I love you,’ he said, the words faint in the air between them, before he closed his eyes and let the darkness take him.
Lorimer closed the door as he left the room.
‘At least Malcolm Adams will never be charged with conspiracy to murder,’ he said to the man beside him. ‘That’s one thing his poor widow will be spared.’
‘Yes,’ remarked Solly, nodding into his beard, ‘Lesley Adams, she-’ Solly stopped for a moment and a frown passed across his face. ‘I had a feeling,’ he paused mid-sentence, then looked up at Lorimer whose blue eyes were searching him intently. ‘A feeling as though something had passed between them in that room. Something that was sustaining her. I find it hard to explain.’
‘Try me,’ Lorimer offered.
‘Something in her expression before he died. Did you not notice that?’
Lorimer shook his head and continued to walk down the hospital corridor. Life, death: it was a mystery that never failed to amaze him. Adams had been drawn into this whole sorry mess through the simple fear that he’d leave his family all the poorer, knowing he’d been living on borrowed time. But their lives, and the lives of so many others, would never be the same again.
He sighed. ‘Catherine Devoy’s statement seems to ring true now. Alec Barr was her Svengali, right enough: the brains behind the corruption beginning with their money-laundering schemes.’
‘What made them do it?’ Solly asked.
‘Jacobs’ string of bookies offered too much temptation for them.’ Lorimer shook his head. ‘But for Michael Turner’s observant eye and Duncan Forbes’ honest intentions, they’d probably still be at it.’
Lorimer turned into the main corridor that would take them out of the hospital. He felt the sudden need to breathe some fresh air. A feeling of lightness washed over him as he thought of a place that would fill his nostrils with fresh sweetness. Perhaps it was time to come clean and tell Maggie exactly what he’d been up to.
The table in the corner was set for two, the white napery and crystal glasses sparkling against the candlelight. Carefully he drew out one of the chairs, ushering the woman beside him to sit. As his hand brushed hers, he smiled at her quizzical expression.
‘What’s all this in aid of?’ she asked at last. ‘Something special or is it just to celebrate the end of the case?’
Lorimer sat opposite, smiling still. ‘I’ve something to tell you,’ he began then, as Maggie’s face showed alarm, he laughed. ‘It’s nothing bad, don’t worry! Here,’ he said, and passed a manila envelope across the table. ‘It was meant to be a surprise for our anniversary but I thought you deserved to know about it now.’
Still puzzled, Maggie pulled out the stapled pages and studied them. The first page showed a colour photograph of a white cottage nestling beside a curving bay. The description below told her that this was Leiter Cottage on Fishnish Bay, Mull.
‘We’re going there for three weeks,’ Lorimer said. ‘I’m owed extra leave and I thought we could go right after you stop school for the summer.’
‘This is brilliant!’ Maggie was turning the pages, skim-reading the details. ‘Where did you find it?’
Lorimer laughed. ‘Belongs to Jo Grant’s aunty. I know you wanted a quiet place somewhere like that. We’ve been trying to keep it a secret from you for ages so it would be a surprise.’
‘It’s that all right,’ Maggie replied. And if her tone held more dryness than the moment afforded she wasn’t going to tell him why. Sudden tears filled her eyes and she bent down to fish in her handbag for a hanky. How could she have been so stupid? Silly, idiotic suspicions. An over-active imagination after all, just as her old mum would have said if Maggie had told her.
‘Hey! No need to get all weepy. It’s not such a big deal.’
‘But you never do surprises,’ Maggie protested from the depths of her handkerchief.
‘Well, maybe it’s time I did,’ Lorimer answered. ‘Stops me becoming too predictable.’
Maggie reached for his hand across the table. ‘Know what?’ she told him, ‘I like predictable.’
EPILOGUE
The gravestone faced the hills. Carved into its granite surface were the words, ‘Beloved husband’. Liz saw them through clear eyes today. Now the time for weeping was over and she could remember Duncan with all the affection in the world. A small wind blew the grasses in a field beyond the cemetery, making her look up at the clouds scudding past. Was he there, somewhere, just beyond her sight? As she gazed past the headstone she imagined his voice calling to her just as he’d called every day after work. ‘Liz? It’s me. I’m home.’ And somehow Liz Forbes knew that Duncan was at home in her heart and that her memories would no longer be tainted by uncertainties.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-1cc824-98bf-3f4b-abab-5d95-079d-c8bbbf
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 15.01.2014
Created using: calibre 1.19.0, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Gray, Alex
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