by Alex Gray
‘Right.’ Mitchison paused as if he wanted to say more then turned away abruptly, his jaw tight with tension.
Lorimer let out a sigh of relief once the door was closed. Some days he’d have happily upped sticks and transferred to another division. He’d even seriously considered a vacancy in the recently formed cold case unit but the thought of leaving behind a team of officers who regarded him as much more than just their boss made him realise what he’d lose in the process. If promotion came, then fine. Right now he had far more immediate concerns, in the shape of a missing child.
Rosie smiled as she felt his fingers caress her hair. ‘Anything interesting from the big man?’ she asked.
Solly bent down and cupped her face in his hands, kissing her gently on the lips. ‘Just wanting to talk about a case,’ he murmured.
‘Anything gory enough for my taste?’ she replied, laughing.
‘If you mean is it a murder case, well . . .’ Solly tailed off, a crease appearing between his dark eyes.
‘It’s not the Nancy Fraser case, is it?’
‘Why is it that a beautiful woman like you brightens up at the mention of serious crime when her lover is trying to distract her?’ Solly gave a mock sigh, twirling a lock of Rosie’s blonde hair around his finger.
‘It is the Nancy Fraser case! What’s Lorimer’s take on it?’ she asked, sitting up and snuggling against Solly’s shoulder.
‘I think he’s hoping for a happy ending,’ Solly replied quietly.
Rosie looked at his face. He had turned away from her but even so she could read the pain etched around his mouth. Her darling man, she thought suddenly. All of his training had led him to conclude that, statistically, this little girl was probably dead already. And such knowledge hurt someone as sensitive as Dr Solomon Brightman.
‘Come here,’ she whispered, shifting nearer to him. She couldn’t change what was happening out there, where small children disappeared from their own doorsteps, but perhaps she might just be able to change that expression on Solly’s face.
CHAPTER 14
It was one of those days when every period seemed to last an eternity, Kyle thought to himself. Why he’d thought of taking Geography last year simply defeated him. The teacher’s voice droned on and he’d long since lost the thread of the lesson. The prospect of lunchtime and then double PE last thing was all that kept him awake. At last the sound of the corridor bell galvanised him into motion as the entire class scrambled towards the door, heedless of the teacher’s instructions: ‘Walk don’t run.’
Everyone belted down the corridor, Kyle grinning as if he knew his taller frame and turn of speed would keep him out in front and near the head of the dinner queue. As he sped past Samantha Wetherby he could heard her swearing at her mobile phone. And at Julie. Pounding along the corridor, it crossed Kyle’s mind to wonder just what Sam’s best pal was up to. ‘Too feart tae show her face,’ one of their classmates had declared loudly at registration that morning. Mrs Lorimer had looked up at that but hadn’t said a dicky bird, probably just as well. None of the teachers would be on Julie’s side, would they? He agreed with them, but only just. Had there been anything going on at SU camp? Eric Chalmers was a big heart-throb to loads of these impressionable wee lassies. Had he taken advantage of her? There was plenty of speculation going on in the Year areas, much sniggering about Chalmers playing away when his missus had been up the duff. But did anyone really believe that? Was it not all daft talk?
But then again, Julie had finished with Kyle right after her return from the Scripture Union camp . . .
Kyle slithered to a halt, his trainers squealing on the vinyl floor of the dining hall. A chicken and veggie wrap, that’s what he’d have – any thoughts about Mr Chalmers and Julie Donaldson disappearing as he concentrated on a fifteen-year-old boy’s all-important task of filling his belly.
‘Oh, that’s better,’ Sandie declared, slumping into the staffroom armchair, legs stretched out in front of her. ‘First night at badminton. Why do I do it? Everything hurts!’ she complained.
‘Och, you’ll be used to it in no time,’ Maggie assured her. ‘You’re always worse at the beginning of term.’
‘True,’ Sandie admitted, wincing a little as she rolled her shoulders. ‘What a morning I’ve had, though. See that Fourth Year? Hopeless! Haven’t a clue about basic accounts.’ The Business Studies teacher picked up a crumpled brown paper bag from the low table. ‘Food! At last!’ she sighed.
‘Still, they’re all computer literate, that must help,’ Maggie offered.
‘Sometimes. Though they’d rather be playing daft games than setting up spreadsheets.’ Sandie dipped a wedge of cucumber into the pot of hummus she’d brought for lunch. ‘And Miss Julie Donaldson’s absence wasn’t helping any. Even when the stupid wee cow isn’t here she’s causing trouble. Could hardly get them to shut up about it.’
‘D’you think she’s dogging it?’
Sandie snorted. ‘Course she is. Manson told me that the stepmother was telephoned at her work. Says Julie left the house to go to school this morning. That wee madam’s going to get hell from him whenever she decides to show her face!’
Maggie nodded silently. It certainly didn’t look good for the Fourth Year pupil. All the talk throughout school was about Eric’s suspension and Julie’s sudden failure to attend school. The period before lunch Maggie Lorimer had been holding forth on Harper Lee’s classic novel To Kill a Mockingbird. Put yourself in his shoes, she’d told her class. That’s what Atticus Finch had told his daughter. Now Maggie wondered about the truant schoolgirl. Could she put herself into Julie’s shoes, walk around in her skin and try to understand what was going on in that adolescent head? Maybe they were all too bound up in their loyalty to Eric, too horrified to contemplate that there might just be some grain of truth to the girl’s accusation. And was it fear of the staff’s condemnation that had made Julie cut classes today?
Maggie Lorimer let her mug of tea go cold as she stared into space, hardly listening to the chattering voices around her. It was etched in her mind, that moment when she’d heard Julie’s anguished cry and seen the look upon Eric’s face. And now, what was she supposed to do about it? a little voice asked.
‘What?’ Kyle looked at Finnegan in disbelief. ‘No PE? Why the f—?’ The boy swallowed the oath, a warning look from the teacher’s face stopping him in time.
‘Can’t be helped, son.’ Finnegan shrugged. ‘Two of the staff called in sick this morning and we’ve already got periods docked to cover Mr Chalmers’ classes.’
‘But sitting inside on a day like this . . .’ Kyle felt tears of angry frustration prick his eyelids. ‘Can I no just go up to the workout area myself?’
Finnegan shook his head, watching the boy closely over the rim of his coffee mug. Kyle lived and breathed sports. He was a bright lad and had a good future before him if his grades were anything to go by, but at a time like this any enforced classroom activity would be purgatory for him. Those PE periods provided a precious escape valve for the youngsters, especially this lad. Kyle’s family background was pretty dodgy with his brutish alcoholic father and an older sibling who was a known drug dealer. The boys from Drumchapel had been attending the school in Partick simply because their grandmother lived here and she was the one secure element in their lives. Granny McGarrity had battled for years with various well-intended folk from the Social Work department and had done a pretty good job in times past of protecting the three lads from the worst excesses of her son-in-law. All three had stayed with her during Kerrigan Senior’s latest spell of detention at Her Majesty’s pleasure. Nowadays, although there was always a room in Chancellor Street for her favourite grandson, Kyle still made his way back each day to the flat in Drumchapel, some notion of family loyalty binding him to the place. The teachers in Muirpark had been careful with this boy, nurturing his undoubted talent. Finnegan was not the only member of staff to see that Kyle could break free from the spiral of crime that had threatened to o
verwhelm the boy and several others like him.
Kyle closed his mouth and a mulish look came over his face that Finnegan recognised. Trouble ahead, the PE teacher told himself.
‘Can I come up after school, though? Have a workout?’
Finnegan’s sorry shake of the head made the boy jump to his feet, his metal chair falling backwards with a bang.
‘’S not fair!’ he cried then turned and barged out of the PE base, leaving the upturned chair behind him, a visible mark of protest.
The teacher watched Kyle run across the playground, his rounded shoulders an eloquent statement of the lad’s disappointment. Finnegan sighed. The start of this term had brought nothing but problems: all the publicity about Kerrigan’s early release from prison, Eric Chalmers’ suspension and now this. Kyle Kerrigan’s day being spoiled might be small beer compared to what other people had to put up with, but teenagers didn’t rationalise such things, especially ones whose home lives were hellish to begin with.
Kyle looked at his watch. Nearly three hours sitting in a stuffy classroom. No way! He glanced beyond the deserted playing fields to the road where a fast-food van was doling out greasy lunches to a string of kids. The bus stop was just around the corner. If he sidled around the van and just kept walking . . . The idea took flight and Kyle found himself shouldering his knapsack, already fingering the school tie that would be whipped off the minute the school building was out of sight. So what if he was missed this afternoon? Mr Finnegan might even cover for him if he was lucky. Kyle thought about the chair lying on the floor of the PE base and a spasm of guilt churned inside his stomach. Wasn’t Dave Savage always telling him to keep his temper in check? A good boxer always had self-control. Kyle gritted his teeth. He’d let himself down. But there was no way he was going back to school today, he decided, dodging round the burger van, his nose twitching from the smell of overcooked fat.
It was as if fate had taken a hand in his decision. Just as he approached the bus stop, a number twenty drew up and Kyle hopped on and paid his fare.
‘Not at school this afternoon, son?’ the driver enquired.
Kyle reddened. Damn! He’d forgotten to take off his school tie. ‘Dentist appointment,’ he improvised swiftly.
The driver’s raised eyebrows told Kyle exactly what he thought about that mumbled reply. Shuffling to the back of the bus, the boy slumped into a seat, his bag on his knee. He’d go all the way into town, he thought. Once there he’d decide what he wanted to do. For now escape was enough.
‘She’s where?’ Tim Wetherby looked askance at his little sister.
‘In town,’ Sam admitted.
‘Everyone says she’s bottled it,’ Tim said. ‘Can’t say I’m surprised. I mean, giving out all that pure crap about Chalmers. I mean, Sam, come on!’
Samantha hung her head, hair masking the doubt on her expression. ‘I dunno. She was awful upset the day before yesterday . . .’
‘Och, Julie Donaldson’s the biggest drama queen, Sam. You know it and I know it,’ Tim told her.
They were standing in a corner of the playground beneath a shaded walkway. The text to Sam’s mobile had been the only communication from Julie and somehow that had hurt. Why hadn’t she called her? Properly. It wouldn’t have taken much time out of her day. What was she doing anyway? In town. What was that supposed to mean? Sam’s thoughts whirled around but failed to come up with any sort of solution. She’d cried night after night after Dad had left and Julie had been there for her each morning, on the telephone or actually coming round to the house. Now things had changed.
‘She’s been really good to me since—’ Sam began, a break in her voice. Abandoning any sort of worries about looking cool, Tim put his arm around his wee sister as he sensed the tears about to fall.
‘It’s okay, wee yin. Julie’s a big girl. She’ll take care of herself. Wait and see. It’ll all sort itself out. Mr Manson’ll make sure it does.’
‘D’you really think so?’ Sam lifted a tear-stained face. Her big brother sounded so sure. Tim had changed in recent days, Sam realised looking at his profile, the sharp jaw ending in that determined Wetherby chin. He was so like Dad, she thought with a sudden pang of recognition. Was that why her big brother seemed so much older? She’d thought it was just because he was one of the Sixth Years now. Or maybe with Dad gone Tim was trying to take his place as the man of the house. That’s what Gran had called him last night.
‘Aye, you’re probably right. Guess she’ll call me tonight, eh?’ Sam pulled away and searched in her bag for a paper hanky. ‘Right, better go and tidy up. See you.’ She attempted a tremulous smile and Tim grinned at her. In that fleeting moment Sam caught sight of the old Tim, the happy-go-lucky boy he had been before all this horrible stuff between their parents had happened. Then the moment was over and he was striding away from her towards the door that led to that holy of holies, the Sixth Year common room.
Glasgow city centre was more crowded than Kyle had anticipated. The unexpected bonus of more sunshine after a few days’ interlude of rain seemed to have brought out the shoppers in force. A group of old ladies clad in light rain-jackets of varying shades of beige (as a concession to the summer weather) were standing staring at a window display; as he passed them he saw one point at something and declare, ‘An awfu price’ in reproving tones. Kyle grinned. It could’ve been his granny, the old dear sounded dead like her.
He’d left the bus at the corner of Renfrew Street and now he was walking past the steps leading up to RSAMD. The Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama was one of many cultural institutions of which the city was rightly proud. Kyle’s class had been taken to a student production of Twelfth Night before the end of last session. He’d moaned like the rest of his class, sure that any play of Shakespeare’s would bore him out of his box, but much to his surprise he’d actually enjoyed it. A comedy, the teachers had told him, but somehow he hadn’t expected it to be so bloody funny or the actors to be so very, very good. The bus trip on the way back to school had been great, with everyone shouting out lines from the play in daft voices. Mrs Lorimer, who’d organised the event, had even joined in at one point. Kyle glanced up Hope Street towards the Theatre Royal. He’d been there just the once, at primary school. Some Roald Dahl story, he forgot which one. His two recollections of the place were of the myriad lights that made the gold-painted balconies glitter and, once those lights had dimmed, wondering how the band underneath the stage could possibly play in the dark.
Crossing as the wee green man appeared on the pedestrian lights, the boy made his way further into the heart of town, instinct taking him towards the Glasgow Royal Concert Hall that dominated the hill above Buchanan Street. He passed the verdigris-green statue of Scotland’s first First Minister, Donald Dewar, and began walking past Buchanan Galleries. There were some young lads, not much older than himself, sitting on the stone steps tucking into their lunches; watching one of them take a bite from a huge baguette made Kyle’s mouth water. His own lunchtime snack was already a memory. Maybe he should’ve gone round to Chancellor Street. Granny’s tins were always full of home baking. A wistful look filmed Kyle’s eyes. Och, well, it was too late now. He’d just hang about here till it was time to go home. She’d have just made a fuss anyway, giving him what for when she found he was cutting classes.
There was a Borders bookshop further down the hill; their magazine section was ace and you could actually sit and browse some of the sports copies without being hassled. The shop assistants always seemed too busy to bother so Kyle supposed that most folk eventually bought their stuff anyway. He’d rather keep what cash he had for the bus home and maybe something else to eat.
‘Hiya. What’re you doing in town, Kerrigan?’
Kyle whirled round. Julie Donaldson was standing right behind him, her bag slung casually over one shoulder.
‘Could ask you the same question, Donaldson,’ Kyle retorted.
‘Dogging it, same as you,’ she replied with the beginning of a gr
in. ‘Fancy going for a coffee? There’s a Starbucks just over there.’
Kyle felt his face redden. Starbucks’ prices were out of his range and he couldn’t afford to pay for hers as well. ‘Naw, don’t like that place,’ he lied. ‘How about we just go an sit at the back o Borders, eh?’
‘If you like,’ Julie agreed. ‘It’s probably a wee bit early for a thae Goths that always hang out there anyway.’ She giggled. Kyle shrugged. School was split into so many factions, self-branded as Goths, Emos or whatever. Julie and her crowd certainly didn’t favour the Goth look, he knew. They were right girly sort of girls, always on about the latest bands and fashions. Kyle glanced at Julie, appraisingly. Pity they weren’t an item any more. She was a nice-looking lassie, with all that long blonde hair and a neat wee figure. Kyle liked to see the ones that kept fit. In his book there was no excuse for a teenager to get all flabby and he hated seeing lassies whose bellies rolled fat over their waistbands. Julie, he noted, was all right. More than all right, he thought, those old feelings suddenly rushing back. Today her lips were a nice pink colour with some shiny stuff making them all glossy. But apart from that she didn’t have loads of stuff on her face, not like some of them who painted themselves daft until their grannies wouldn’t recognise them. That was one of the things that had made Kyle fancy her in the first place.
‘It’s pure magic in the sunshine,’ Julie said, flopping down on the stone steps beside him.
‘Aye,’ Kyle replied, suddenly at a loss for what to say. Why had he agreed to chum her? Why on earth hadn’t he made up some excuse to go and do something? But her sudden appearance there in Buchanan Street had caught Kyle unawares. Besides, he sensed that Julie was actually quite pleased to see him and that made him feel good, sort of. Julie Donaldson had been in his class since way back, he could simply regard her as an old pal, Kyle told himself. So that made it all right. There was no sense of her wanting to get back together with him.
