The Swedish Girl

by Alex Gray

  ‘I know this is hard, but can you tell me what you remember about the party that night? Sometimes it takes a while for things to come back, especially after the sort of shock you must have experienced.’

  Roger gave a sigh and exhaled long and loud as though preparing himself for some arduous physical task. ‘What exactly do you want to know?’ he said, risking a glance at Lorimer.

  ‘Did you see them together?’

  Roger nodded. ‘Aye, they were dancing in the main room for a while then…’

  ‘Then?’

  The boy shook his head, cheeks reddening suddenly. ‘Well, I suppose they must have… they went into one of the bedrooms… you know?’

  ‘And did you see them afterwards?’

  ‘Well, not really. I mean, I never saw Eva leaving, but someone said she’d gone.’

  ‘Can you remember who that was?’

  ‘Sorry, haven’t a clue.’

  ‘And Colin?’

  Roger was silent for a moment and Lorimer watched as the boy chewed his lower lip, hands clenched tightly together.

  ‘Roger?’

  The boy turned his head away for a moment as though to hide his emotions, then, clearing his throat, he went on. ‘See what you said about trying to help Colin?’ He swallowed and gave a cough. ‘Well, what if I tell you something that doesn’t help him, what then?’

  ‘I only want the truth,’ Lorimer said softly.

  ‘Well,’ Roger said, turning to meet the detective superintendent’s eyes properly for the first time, ‘the truth is that as soon as Colin knew she’d gone he was out that door and after her like a bat out of hell.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell this to DI Grant?’

  Roger’s cheeks flamed again and he shook his head silently.

  ‘You think Colin followed her here and strangled her, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ Roger protested, drumming his fists on his thighs.

  ‘But you kept this to yourself because, like Kirsty, you couldn’t bring yourself to believe that he had done something like that?’

  ‘But I did believe it!’ Roger exclaimed. ‘At the time, I mean. I thought he’d found out about me and Eva.’

  ‘You and Eva?’

  The big lad nodded unhappily then turned a tearful gaze to the detective. ‘Aye, we had, well… a bit of a… sort of a… fling.’ He looked earnestly across at Lorimer. ‘Will I get into trouble for not saying?’

  It was Lorimer’s turn to shrug. ‘Nobody’s going to blame you for keeping that to yourself till now,’ he said. ‘But I would hope you would tell the whole truth if you were asked it under oath.’

  ‘Will it come to that?’ The lad’s mouth fell open in a moment of astonishment.

  ‘Unless we can turn up new evidence that points to a different perpetrator or something transpires to prove Colin’s innocence or he decides to plead guilty then, yes, the case will go to trial.’

  The two looked at one another for a long moment and Lorimer thought he could see something like pity in the red-haired lad’s face.

  ‘There’s something else…’ Roger bit his lip and glanced fleetingly at the detective from under his lashes.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I heard Eva having a row with someone. At the party.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Couldn’t have been long before she left.’

  ‘Was it Colin?’

  Roger shrugged. ‘That’s what I’m not sure about. You see, I only heard her voice on the other side of the bathroom door. There was a lot of noise, you know? Music and that.’

  ‘So how do you know she was having an argument with someone?’

  ‘It was what she said.’ Roger looked down at his feet, suddenly embarrassed.

  ‘And…?’

  ‘She said… she was shouting… other folk must’ve heard her…’

  ‘Roger?’

  ‘She said, “I’ll screw anyone I want!”’

  There was a moment of silence as Roger closed his eyes, clearly upset at having to recount this incident.

  ‘Later on… after she… well, I thought it must have been Colin,’ he said miserably. ‘Thought he had found out about Eva… and…’ He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing painfully. ‘And me,’ he finished in a hoarse whisper. ‘I thought that he’d become jealous… Oh God! And I’ve been thinking such awful things about him all this time!’

  The boy pushed the shock of red hair back from his face, his eyes finding Lorimer’s once again. ‘But now I don’t know,’ he said. ‘What if Kirsty’s right? What if he didn’t do it⁠?’

  ‘What do you think, Roger?’

  The boy looked away again, hands clasped thoughtfully under his chin. ‘I don’t know. Honestly, and that’s the truth, I really don’t know. I mean, I liked Colin and he was the last person you could imagine hurting a girl, but…’

  Lorimer waited, eyebrows raised in question.

  Another sigh followed. ‘Don’t they say it’s always the quiet ones who act out of character?’ Roger said at last.

  A sound behind them made the pair turn and then Kirsty was there in the kitchen doorway, unwinding her long scarf.

  She had opened her mouth as though to speak then caught his glance.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, and began to back out of the room.

  ‘It’s okay,’ the detective reassured her, ‘we were just about finished anyway.’ Then, catching the expression of relief on Roger Dunbar’s face as the student stood up, he put out a hand.

  ‘Roger,’ he began, standing up so that the tall student had to look at him, ‘Professor Brightman wants to talk to you as well. Will that be a problem?’

  Roger hesitated for long enough to let Lorimer see the doubt in the boy’s eyes.

  ‘Don’t suppose so,’ he shrugged at last, slouching away from Lorimer as he spoke, putting as much distance between them as the long kitchen allowed.

  ‘Right,’ Kirsty said uncertainly, looking from one to the other. ‘I’ll make some tea then, shall I?’

  ‘When does Gary come back?’

  ‘Oh, not for ages. Glasgow Uni’s term begins the third week of January. Why? Do you really need to see him that urgently?’

  Lorimer sipped the tea that Kirsty had made him, not answering. Did he need to see Gary Calderwood? Yes, he thought, suddenly, he did. In fact he would call the student this evening to ask him to come back to Glasgow. Anyone who had known the Swedish girl, and the student arrested for her murder, had to tell them everything they knew about the couple. And that thought brought him back to the Strathclyde University lecturer, Dirk McGregor, who had agreed to meet him in town this very afternoon.

  Princes Square was, on reflection, a terrible choice of rendezvous, having as its only redeeming feature the fact that it was easy to spot a policeman of six feet four inches standing by the balustrade outside Fifi and Ally’s tea room. Everywhere, shoppers milled around, the blank expressions on so many faces as though it were some sort of tribal duty to scour the shops for a post-Christmas bargain. Maggie had occasionally ventured into town to shop at the sales but declared that the heaving crowds made finding new clothes a thoroughly unpleasant experience. Even the windows of chichi boutiques were plastered with large SALE notices, obscuring the mayhem within. Looking around, Lorimer smiled to see several men, like him, leaning on the polished wooden rail, waiting resignedly for their wives and girlfriends to return. The place was pretty enough, though, he told himself, looking up at the glass roof and the sun streaming in, catching the swirling snowflake decorations that hung suspended by hundreds of nylon threads. Down below, someone was playing the grand piano, the tinkling music wafting upwards, past the giant crystal shape that represented a Christmas tree, mingling with the babble of women’s voices and clinking teacups from the tables behind him.

  He had told Jo Grant that he was having this meeting with McGregor. I think he’ll open up more in a less formal place than Stewart Street, he had told her when she ha
d raised her eyebrows. The boss was doing things his way, her expression seemed to say, and she wasn’t one hundred per cent happy about that.

  ‘Lorimer?’

  The man stepping off the escalator tapped the detective superintendent on the arm. Lorimer turned to see a man about his own age regarding him suspiciously.

  ‘Mr McGregor?’

  ‘Aye, that’s right,’ the man said, his eyes boring into Lorimer’s own. ‘What the hell’s this all about? And did I need to come into Glasgow?’ he protested.

  ‘You didn’t want police at your home, did you?’ Lorimer growled back. ‘I could always escort you up to Stewart Street, if you’d prefer? I know my DI would just love to meet you.’

  The man shook his head and made a face.

  Lorimer took him by the crook of his elbow and beckoned him back to the down ramp. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It’s impossible to talk in here.’

  Dirk McGregor shook the policeman’s hand off as though offended by his touch but followed him nonetheless.

  ‘Gallery of Modern Art’s maybe going to be a bit quieter than a place like this,’ Lorimer suggested, glancing back at the lecturer who was scowling at him.

  ‘Thought we might have found a decent pub,’ McGregor countered gloomily.

  The policeman raised his eyebrows. ‘Is this you offering me a seasonal tipple by any chance?’

  ‘Thought you lot weren’t supposed to drink on duty,’ the man shot back.

  Lorimer deliberately ignored the barb. ‘GOMA’s just around the corner. And it’s closer than any pub,’ he said, as they came out of the shopping mall. Buchanan Street was heaving with people and Lorimer had to slow his pace to make sure that McGregor did not simply walk away from him.

  He glanced at the lecturer from time to time, appraisingly. He was a lean, good-looking man, rakish, with brown hair, thinning slightly on top, and a loping stride that matched Lorimer’s own. His long, brown wool coat was unbuttoned to reveal a faded suede jacket over a mustard-coloured open-necked shirt and a pair of highly polished loafers showed below his cord trousers. If Eva Magnusson had been having an affair with this older man then perhaps it may have been a purely physical attraction.

  They were silent as they rounded Royal Exchange Square and crossed towards the gallery’s entrance. Already the light had changed and the darkness of the winter afternoon contrasted with the gauzy golden net of tiny lights suspended above the square. The statue of the Duke of Wellington astride his horse stood looking down on the people hurrying along Queen Street and for once there was no orange and white traffic cone placed by mischief-makers on the heads of either horse or rider.

  Lorimer saw with some relief that the gallery was almost empty. ‘Coffee?’ he asked and Dirk McGregor responded with an ungracious grunt that he took for assent.

  A few minutes later they were seated at a corner table.

  ‘What’s all this about?’ Dirk McGregor grumbled once again, shooting Lorimer a look of annoyance.

  ‘Oh,’ the policeman smiled thinly, ‘I thought I was going to ask that question.’

  McGregor frowned. ‘What is it you want?’

  ‘The truth about your relationship with Eva Magnusson.’

  McGregor gave a hollow laugh. ‘Truth? Ha! The truth is I was taken for a mug, that’s what the truth is, Detective Superintendent.’

  ‘Oh?’ Lorimer cocked his head to one side. ‘Care to elaborate?’

  McGregor shifted uneasily in his seat. ‘Look she was just a right little cock teaser, wanted what she could get, that was all, right?’

  ‘So you never had sex with her?’

  McGregor looked down at his coffee mug, sighing. ‘Never said that,’ he began. ‘All right, we did have sex, okay?’ he muttered. He gave a sigh, bit his lip then looked up at Lorimer for a long moment before shaking his head in a gesture of despair. ‘God, she was the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time!’ He violently brushed a hand across his eyes. ‘Who would have wanted to destroy a lovely girl like Eva?’

  ‘I’m trying to find out that very thing, Mr McGregor,’ Lorimer told him softly.

  ‘But I thought you’d caught the guy⁠?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Lorimer said vaguely. ‘There are lots of enquiries still going on into Eva Magnusson’s life here in Glasgow, however.’

  The other man frowned. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Well, actually I don’t see… isn’t the case closed?’

  ‘There are lots of background checks to be made,’ Lorimer went on smoothly. ‘Loose ends to tie up.’

  ‘I won’t have to testify or anything, will I?’ McGregor had shot upright, a look of alarm across his handsome features. ‘My wife doesn’t need to know…?’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ Lorimer conceded. ‘Now, let me ask you a bit more about Eva. What was your relationship like?’

  Dirk McGregor relaxed a little, sitting back and spreading his hands across the table. ‘What was Eva like?’ A smile flickered on his mouth. ‘A real wee firecracker, actually,’ he said, preening himself a little as the memory took hold. ‘But she was the one who started it, Lorimer, not me.’ The smile faded as suddenly as it had appeared, like a rare shaft of sunlight in a Glasgow rainstorm.

  ‘Go on,’ Lorimer said quietly.

  ‘You want to know the truth, the real truth, well here it is.’ He leaned forward. ‘She seduced me, Detective Superintendent. So get rid of any idea that I was the big bad lecherer in this story, okay?’

  ‘You didn’t happen to be at that student party she was attending the night she died, by any chance?’

  The lecturer shook his head. ‘No.’

  ‘So where were you that night?’

  McGregor gave a hollow laugh. ‘At home with the wife and kids. Sad but true.’

  ‘But you had planned to meet up with Eva the day after she was killed?’

  McGregor sighed, putting both hands to his head. ‘God, if only we had!’ He looked up and Lorimer could see the misery in his eyes. ‘Do you know how horrible it is thinking you’re going to see someone then knowing you’ll never ever have the chance again?’

  The policeman swallowed hard. Didn’t that fate come to everyone at some time or other in their lives?

  ‘Can I ask you something else?’ he said instead. ‘Did you ever see Eva with anyone else – another man or a boy, perhaps?’

  McGregor frowned again, but thoughtfully this time as if Lorimer had struck a hidden chord in his memory.

  ‘She always had her friends about her, right enough. But you’re wanting someone special? There was a lad who hung about a lot,’ he began. ‘Not sure if he was from their course…’ He chewed his lip. ‘Thin lad, pale face – yes, now I come to think of it he sat along from her in some of the lectures, followed her out sometimes… oh, sorry, cannae mind his name. It’ll be on a database somewhere, though.’

  ‘This might or might not be important,’ Lorimer said, trying to keep his expression as impassive as possible while pinning the man with his stare. ‘But when you can find this student’s name you will contact me right away?’ He took out his leather wallet, picking out a card and sliding it across the table.

  ‘Oh, and there’s just one more thing, Mr McGregor,’ he continued. ‘At some point we will need you to come to police headquarters to make a statement, but we’ll let you know.’

  Dirk McGregor pocketed the card and sat back. ‘Is that it, then? Am I free to go?’ The ghost of a smile twisted on his face as he spoke.

  ‘Aye, for now, though I might need to talk to you again soon.’

  Lorimer watched as the lecturer walked away from him, brown coat swinging, out of the cafeteria and up to the ground floor of the building. Would Solomon Brightman want to talk to this man? Perhaps not.

  Then a sudden memory of the dead girl lying on the carpet at Merryfield Avenue came back to him, blond hair spread across that perfect face. Could the dead still speak across that dark void? And was there anything that a deeper investigation into the Swedish girl’s
life might tell him?

  She brought something like wonder into my life, established a sense that there were possibilities I’d never ever considered. It wasn’t just that she was from Stockholm or that they were filthy rich, it was Eva herself. Every day felt new from the time she changed me. You know how spring kind of creeps up on winter? One day the trees and hedges are all bare and full of twisted sticks, stark against the pale sky, then it seems that overnight the air has changed, the sun is out in a blue sky that looks like it’s been washed clean and the greening begins. That was what it felt like; something inside me began to grow and blossom. And I was foolish enough to call it love.

  Colin felt the sting of tears behind his eyelids as he looked at the pages of his notebook and the scribbled heading, THE SWEDISH GIRL.

  What had she done to him? And how on earth was he ever going to convince anyone that he was innocent of her murder?

  CHAPTER 29

  I

  t was always the same, Solly thought with a sigh; five days away from home and a list of emails awaited his attention. He scrolled down to see who had been trying to contact him, deleting the spam, taking notes of the details for his forthcoming lecture in Stockholm before pausing at the one bearing Lorimer’s personal email address.

  Saw Dirk McGregor, the detective superintendent had written, and went up to speak to Roger Dunbar. Think you’ll want to see that lad for yourself, though, he had added cryptically.

  Solly sighed again. The Christmas break had been a blessed respite from any sort of work and he had not once given the police case a thought, content to be with Rosie and Abby, seeing the little girl being thoroughly spoiled by her grandparents, uncles and aunties. But that interlude was over and now he was back in his Glasgow home, pondering just what he had agreed to take on and whether the entire case would come back to haunt him in later years. If Colin Young was brought to trial and found guilty, would there be some mud clinging to his own reputation if it was discovered he had meddled behind the scenes? Once he would never have hesitated to consider a thought like that, Solly told himself, but now he was a husband and a father, responsible not just to himself but to his little family.