by Alex Gray
When the shivering began, Barbara tried to take deep breaths but somehow all she could do was shudder and gasp as the rain drilled against her face. She made to flex her fingers in one last vain attempt to free herself from the bonds but somehow her hands did not obey her brain, numbed as they were, and Barbara gave a huge sigh as the yearning to sleep took over.
She was only dimly aware of the strong scent of musk as the fox came closer, sniffing the ground as it padded around the bole of the tree. Then the sky seemed to splinter into shards of silver light as the world tilted sideways and her body convulsed into spasms of shivering, her teeth chattering inside her head.
Tommy Carmichael drew into the lay-by, cutting the white van’s engine. Giving a cough, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and put one into his mouth, fishing in the other pocket for his lighter. The snap then flare was followed by a contented sigh as he inhaled and felt the nicotine reach his lungs. The rain had stopped pattering down against the windscreen and the clouds had shifted enough for Tommy to see the hazy outline of the moon. He sat back, smoking contentedly. There was no hurry to shift the mattress in the back and let it fall down into the gully. The man sniffed. Was he starting a cold? He wiped his nose on the back of his hand. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so daft taking off his strip and waving it aloft at that last Rangers game. Tommy grinned. Och but he’d been blootered out of his heid, hadnae noticed the cold a bit.
The cigarette finished, Tommy rolled down the window and flicked the stub away, watching the glow describe an arc in the cold night air. Then he stopped. What the hell was that? A faint yet discernible sound that could only be the ring from a mobile phone reached Tommy’s ears.
Curious, the man slipped from the cab of the van, his feet touching the gravel with a crunch. The noise was coming from his left, below the edge of the road. As Tommy peered into the darkness, the moon came out from behind its wisp of cloud and shone down, making the dark shapes suddenly brighter.
‘Name o’ God!’ he gasped, his hand across his brow as he saw the figure slumped at the foot of the tree. The ringing stopped and Tommy stood there, biting his lip, unsure of what he wanted to do. A deid body was a deid body, wasn’t it? He couldnae do onything to help. Could he?
The sudden bark of the unseen fox made him start. Time tae get oot o’ here. Yet he hesitated still. That wis somebody’s kin doon there. Wouldnae hurt tae make wan call, would it?
Reaching for his own mobile, Tommy dialled 999.
‘Ah’m up on the Braes, so ah ah’m,’ he explained when he was finally connected to the police. ‘Stopped fur a fag at the lay-by up the top. Think there’s a deid boady doon in the gully, so ah do.’
But when asked to give his name, Tommy Carmichael shook his head. Enough was enough. Snapping the phone shut he turned and climbed into the van once more. He’d done his duty, hadn’t he? Wasn’t goin tae be there when the polis rolled up, asking questions and wantin tae see what was in the back o’ the van.
‘They’ve found her.’ Lorimer put down the phone with a sigh, Maggie’s anxious face looking up at his.
‘Is she…?’ Maggie left the words unspoken but her husband smiled wearily, shaking his head.
‘She’s been taken to hospital. Suffering from hypothermia and concussion at the very least, the paramedics reckoned. We’ll see,’ he added, pulling Maggie into his arms and sending up a fervent prayer that his over-zealous detective constable would survive the next few hours. Proctor and Armstrong had hinted that the DC might have been moonlighting, but it was hard to know just where she had been and who had done this to her.
‘Come on, back to bed,’ he said softly. ‘We’ll know more in the morning.’
Maggie yawned suddenly, shivering in her thin nightdress. She had wanted to give him his card first thing, but when that phone call had shattered the night, bringing such awful news, all thoughts of her husband’s birthday had been pushed to the back of her mind.
As they slipped under the duvet, Bill’s arms encircled her, his hand rubbing her back. Still shivering, Maggie tried not to think too hard about the woman who had been discovered on that lonely spot or how the cold must have gnawed into her very bones.
CHAPTER 40
The telephone ringing at 6.30 next morning made Lorimer sit up in bed and snatch it quickly. Maggie sat up sleepily, watching her husband’s face for any signs that might tell her what was happening. When it lit up with a smile she let out a sigh of relief, unaware that she had been holding her breath.
‘She’s going to be all right,’ he said as he put down the phone at last. ‘Still hasn’t regained consciousness and they’re taking her in to theatre first thing but she’s out of danger, they say.’
Maggie reached out and clung to his arm. ‘Happy birthday,’ she whispered, finding his cheek and kissing it.
‘Good grief! I’d forgotten all about that,’ he smiled, turning to her and taking her into his arms. ‘Well, that news is the best present I could’ve had,’ he added softly.
Tucked against his chest, Maggie gave a grin that she knew he could not see: there were more surprises in store later on. Just wait and see if this day didn’t get better and better, she thought happily.
Rita Livingstone sat nursing her coffee cup as Lorimer outlined the plans for the squad. It had been a long morning so far. The news about Barbara Knox had spread like wildfire throughout the department, speculation running high about who had abducted the police officer and why. It had been a stroke of sheer luck that she had been located way up in Glennifer Braes. Whoever had made that 999 call deserved a medal. Although a cynical part of Rita wondered if the caller might have been instrumental in throwing the woman down that gully in the first place. Some villains simply baulked at the idea of doing in another human being and this was, after all, a police officer. But now there was a different sort of news to consider, something that would affect them all.
‘What will you do yourself, sir?’ she asked quietly.
‘That hasn’t been decided yet, Rita,’ Lorimer sighed. ‘But it was hinted that I might be transferred to a divisional HQ somewhere.’
‘In Strathclyde?’
Lorimer’s eyebrows rose. ‘Better be. My wife works in Muirpark Secondary and I don’t think she’d be too happy to have to relocate.’
Rita Livingstone noticed a softness in her superior’s eyes at the mention of his wife but she did not change her own expression. There was something there that caused her a sudden pang. This man, childless though he might be, had that rare thing: a loving marriage. It was his fortieth birthday today, Rita knew. She had noticed the date on his personnel file way before Christmas and made a note of it. His wife had sworn her to secrecy about the party this evening and Rita was gratified to have been the only one in the squad to have received an invitation. He hasn’t had much time to get to know his new colleagues, Maggie Lorimer had told her, but he speaks so warmly of you that I thought you’d like to come along.
This afternoon she had planned a wee surprise for the boss: a cake from Asda with the Strathclyde Police logo on top and two chunky wax candles shaped in a 4 and a 0. Not everybody would be able to be there, given the workload, but enough to wish this man well on his special day.
‘I’ve hardly had time to get to know any of you,’ Lorimer said, unconsciously echoing his wife’s words.
‘It happens,’ Rita shrugged. ‘But we did think the squad might have lasted a good bit longer or been transformed into something else. You know, same thing but under another name.’
Lorimer remained silent. The squad was being streamlined, Joyce Rogers had told him, but there had been a hint that a similar unit might emerge elsewhere, possibly out at Govan. Yet there had been no mention of the Pitt Street officers being deployed there. Had the Pattison case come to a satisfactory conclusion would he be looking forward to commanding a new squad over on the south side of the city? Perhaps. He hadn’t asked that particular question, though, preferring to await whatever fate
had in store.
As the final bell of the day rang out, Maggie packed up the last of her papers into a well-worn satchel and headed out after her class. The day had remained clear and crisp and the sun was still above the rooftops as she left the school, the sky blue beyond the lines of leafless trees that ran along the adjacent cricket grounds. It looked like being a fine night for the party. She had plenty of time to get ready at home, call anyone who might have left messages and leave out packs of food for Chancer. Jean, their wonderful cleaning lady who came in twice a week, had offered to pop in and feed the cat so that they could enjoy their overnight stay in the Malmaison. As she drove home, Maggie found herself humming along to an old Joni Mitchell song that she’d put on the CD player.
There was a DJ coming later on after the meal and there would be dancing till after midnight. She grinned as she remembered being shown that luxurious room and the chequered floor in the en suite bathroom: the bed was easily big enough for a night of fun and games. Then there was the promise of a big breakfast (if they got up in time, she thought wickedly) before a taxi took her back to Muirpark for work. Maggie made a mental note of everybody who was to be there and her grin deepened as she anticipated her husband’s delight at seeing so many of his old friends. Och, it was going to be a night to remember! She was certain of that.
The woman who sometimes called herself Diana sat on the edge of the bed, intent on filing her nails into gentle curves. A pot of scarlet polish sat on the bedside table, ready to be applied once she had performed the initial manicure. Tonight was going to be the night when she finally found him. Her face took on a thoughtful cast. Barbara had been able to tell her so much, hadn’t she? The surveillance operation was a difficulty she hadn’t expected to face, though. The woman smiled, tossing back her mane of dark hair. With any luck they would simply take her for one of the undercover officers. And that shouldn’t be something that would present any problems, should it?
She laid down the nail file on the satin bedspread and glanced out of the window. It was to be a full moon tonight and the scraps of cloud lingering above the city were shifting fast, swept along by a chill east wind. Well, neither wind nor weather was going to stop her now: she’d be ready and waiting whenever that white car appeared on the corner.
Lorimer smiled to himself as he tucked the birthday card away in his desk drawer. It had been nice of Rita to organise the cake and everything and several of the team had managed to sign his card, some of them adding cheeky comments. Then the smile turned to a sigh. It would remain as a small souvenir of his time with them all in Pitt Street, something to look back on when he was fifty, maybe, and approaching retirement.
He looked at his desk and nodded in satisfaction. All the paperwork was in order, the undercover units organised for tonight so he could slip off with a clear conscience and enjoy his evening with Maggie. A quiet night, just the two of them, was what he wanted and he was glad she hadn’t suggested anything more. He glanced at his watch and rose from his chair. It was time to be off, have a quick shower and shave then change into whatever met with his wife’s approval for their night out.
As Lorimer walked across the street to where the silver Lexus was parked, he saw its outline glimmering in the moonlight. Happy birthday to me, he sang softly. He hoped Maggie wouldn’t have spent her hard-earned money on anything else. It’s all I want, he’d told her simply, when he’d first brought it home. The big car unlocked itself silently and he moved into the driver’s seat, shivering suddenly. Goose walked over your grave? he asked himself then pushed the heated seat control to its maximum before driving off into the night.
CHAPTER 41
‘Hope you enjoy the food,’ Maggie said as she teetered down the spiral staircase in her high heels.
Were these new shoes to match her classy outfit? Lorimer wondered, catching her arm lest she stumble. It was quite dark down here in what the receptionist had called the brasserie. Too damn dark for anyone to see where they were going properly, he thought, finding the ground floor at last.
‘Surprise!!!’
When all the lights went on Lorimer raised a sudden hand to shield his eyes from the dazzle. A chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ rang out and he stood, mesmerised, looking at all the familiar faces grinning back at him.
There was Alistair Wilson and his wife, Betty, Niall Cameron, the lanky Lewisman and even wee Sadie Dunlop from the canteen, dressed up to the nines in a sparkly number.
‘Flynn!’ he said in surprise as he noticed the lad who he’d taken off the streets and who now made an honest living as a landscape gardener. They were all here, his pals from the old division as well as the familiar faces of neighbours, good Lord even Joyce Rogers! His eyes scanned the crowd, picking out some of his cousins and their wives and, oh there was Rosie looking ultra glamorous, hanging onto Solly’s arm.
‘Good Lord!’ he said at last, turning to Maggie. ‘You wee rascal!’ he beamed.
‘You’re not cross?’
‘Do I look it? No way,’ he whispered, bending to kiss her lips and evoking a cheer from the assembled guests.
Three dark-suited waiters appeared bearing trays of champagne and then, amidst the buzz of talk and glass in hand, Lorimer found himself moving amongst his friends, shaking his head in mock bewilderment, as they all tried to tell him how his face had looked when the lights had gone up.
‘Maggie’s been really good at keeping it a secret,’ Rosie told him.
‘And I didn’t say a thing,’ the deputy chief constable said. Resplendent in a short black number she gave him a toothy grin as she raised her champagne flute in a silent toast. ‘Just made sure you weren’t on duty, that’s all.’ She winked conspiratorially.
The dark-haired woman regarded herself in the bedroom mirror. Her face was thin and devoid of make-up, her chiselled cheekbones giving her a haunted look. She could easily be taken for a junked-up street woman. Her hand hovered above a mass of brushes and make-up palettes. Was it better to keep to her natural pallor or to go through a routine that would find her looking back at the sort of face that might grace a glamour magazine? She had to tempt him, ensure that he stopped to pick her up, didn’t she? Tilting her head upwards so that the light caught all the angles and shadows, she squeezed a blob of foundation onto the back of her hand then dipped her finger into it like an artist beginning a new canvas.
Downstairs there was a birthday party going on. She had heard the noise of celebrations earlier and had seen the pale blue balloons with their ribbons stacked in a corner of the dining room as she had finished her meal. So much better for her: the noise and goings on would keep the staff too busy to notice her leaving and returning late on into the night, especially now that she was familiar with the back stairs that led to the upper floor.
This was her last night here, she told herself. She shivered as though some premonition had caught that thought and held it up for scrutiny, daring fate to meddle in her plans. She was overwrought with nervous excitement; that was all. Her eyes fell to the Starfire pistol lying openly on the counterpane. One swift shot and it would all be over. Then her nights would be free once more, memories of Carol tempered by the knowledge that she had avenged her killing.
A swathe of blood-coloured cloud split the sky above the horizon, its edge like the crest of an endless wave, silvered in the moonlight. Pinpoints of red and amber twinkled and shimmered; the city seeming vibrant and alive those miles away to the east.
He tried not to stare at the moon that was looking down upon him from the upper darkness. Wisps of cloud rolled off the mass like smoke, obscuring the moon, its white gold glow an arc of mysterious light. Then the shreds and scraps of cloud separated, drifting apart to reveal the face that was leering down at him once more.
As though in a dream he picked up the clothes he had left on the chair by his bed and began to dress. It was time. The image of the sabre downstairs came to him as sharply as its cutting edge. The house was in silence, Vlad and Aunt Andrea asleep long since. B
ut they could not awake tonight. This was his time, his destiny. Still, he tip-toed quietly downstairs, despite the certainty that they were colluding in this enchantment that kept all bad things from him.
The sabre flickered in the moonlight as he drew it from the case and he breathed a sigh of gratitude that it had waited for him, for this night.
He had left the car parked near the open gates, facing outwards. Placing the weapon reverently across the back seats, he started the engine and drove slowly onto a road that was a stream of moonlight pulling him back to the city.
The party had been a great success, Maggie knew, looking around at all their friends. The dinner and speech-making now over, dancing had just begun. For a moment or two she had been terrified that he would have hated the whole idea but Lorimer had entered into the spirit of the party almost as soon as the lights had gone up. Now he was walking across to the toilets, having given her a promise of the next dance as soon as he returned.
‘Just going up to the room. It’s pretty busy in there,’ he told her, coming back a few moments later, nuzzling into her neck and making her laugh.
‘Okay, see you in couple of minutes,’ she replied, turning back as Flynn grabbed her hands and swung her into a dance.
‘C’mon, Mrs L., let’s show these oldies a thing or two,’ he called out as the tempo of the music quickened.
Lorimer smiled as he left their room, heading for the back staircase with its arrangement of gilt mirrors. It had been a great surprise, lovely of Maggie to do all of this, he thought as he began to walk along the narrow corridor.
Just at that moment a door ahead of him opened and a woman slipped out. Lorimer stopped for a moment, observing her with professional interest. She was dressed in a short skirt and fishnet tights, carrying her high-heeled shoes in one hand as though to effect some sort of escape. Had someone in the hotel been enjoying the services of a high-class call girl? Lorimer frowned. There was something familiar about the tall figure, her dark hair swinging loose around her shoulders. He blinked. Too much of the bubbly stuff, he told himself. Yet as he followed her along the carpeted passage he could not rid himself of the feeling that he had seen this woman somewhere before tonight.
