by Alex Gray
‘I only saw her for a short while after your people brought her in. She was certainly withdrawn. Hard to tell if she was feeling guilt at her actions or pain at being bereft of the child with whom she had so obviously bonded.’
‘And what will happen to her now?’
‘Well, there are the charges of child abduction to deal with but she will be undergoing rigorous assessment prior to that. To see first of all if she is actually fit to plead.’
‘And is she?’
Solly shook his dark curls. ‘I doubt it. Her previous psychiatric history suggests a personality that simply cannot cope with certain aspects of reality.’
‘But she could drive a car, look after two homes, plan a child abduction!’ Lorimer protested.
‘Yes,’ Solly agreed. ‘And once she had the child she was perfectly happy, taking care of her, playing with her as a real grandmother would have done. In fact,’ he mused, ‘she may have given that little girl a nice break from city life.’
‘How can you say that! The poor wee thing must have been distraught at being taken away and parted from her mother. I know Kim Fraser was beside herself with anxiety.’
‘Small children adapt far more quickly than you might imagine,’ Solly told him mildly. ‘And your DI did say that the child seemed to be well cared for and not fearful in any way.’
It was true, Lorimer thought. The woman might have committed a terrible crime by snatching Nancy Fraser, but she had shown genuine affection for the little girl and there were no signs that she had harmed her in any way. What had it been like for Nancy the day she had been abducted, though? Had she screamed and cried out? Had she sobbed herself to sleep on the first night, missing her own mummy? That was something they might never know.
Solly smiled at him. ‘Nancy’s fit and well. There are no little bodies buried in the woods. And Lorna Tulloch will be taken care of by those who know what is best for her future.’
Despite the benign expression on Solly’s face, Lorimer shuddered. It had been a case where his expectations had been to find the child dead somewhere, the victim of child molesters, perhaps. Or worse, not finding her at all, leaving that young mother in the never-ending hell of uncertainty.
‘Yes.’ He sighed at last. ‘It’s been a fantastic outcome. And I suppose you’re right about the Tulloch woman.’
A vision of her henna-red hair came to his mind, the face pale and expressionless. Who could tell what thoughts had been percolating through that disturbed mind? But it still saddened him to imagine her spending the rest of her life locked away in some institution, far away from the hills of Kintyre.
CHAPTER 36
Please say you recognise him, Lorimer prayed as he approached the head teacher’s office once again.
Jessica’s digital photographs had now been cleverly enhanced by their experts at Pitt Street and her stalker’s face was fairly clear. They were still continuing to work on the blurred second photo to see if any identifying marks could be found on the car. If Jessica’s stalker was indeed the killer of Julie Donaldson and the other young women, then Muirpark might be the missing link. It was too soon to reveal the information that had come from Dan Murphy concerning the remains of the two unidentified victims. But Manson might just be able to help him on that score.
At last he was sitting opposite the stocky figure of Keith Manson, a china cup of lukewarm coffee in front of him. He’d listened politely to the head teacher as the man had catalogued the problems facing the school and staff in the light of Eric Chalmers’ suspension, plus his own secretary, Jackie, suddenly being called away to look after a sick mother, but this was not what he had come to discuss.
‘Did you ever have exchange students from Eastern Europe at Muirpark?’ he asked.
Manson’s eyebrows shot up at the sudden change of topic. ‘Well, yes, we did as a matter of fact. Should have had one last year but, let me think, yes it must have been three years ago. What was her name? Anna something . . . I’d have to look it up for you,’ he said. ‘She was pretty homesick, I do remember that. Wanted to go back straight after the summer term instead of . . .’ Manson pulled open the drawer of a filing cabinet and began to rifle through the thickly stacked papers. ‘Should have it on computer, but we lost a lot of stuff when we upgraded to a new system last year. Bloody technology!’ He gave a quick smile of satisfaction as he drew out a pink folder. ‘Here we are. Anna Jakubowski. Came from St Petersburg. Parents weren’t too happy when she extended her visa and stayed on here to study, after all.’
Lorimer gave him a sharp look. ‘Where did she go?’
‘That’s the funny thing. She never kept in touch. The organisation she’d come over with sent us mail from the Jakubowskis to see if we could forward it to Anna. But of course we couldn’t. She simply seems to have disappeared. The details are all in here,’ he said, handing the folder to Lorimer.
‘Did she have any particular friends at school? Anyone from the staff, maybe?’
Manson looked at him sharply. ‘The Modern Languages department pretty much took her under their wing,’ he said. ‘But,’ he paused for a moment, his eyes clouding over, ‘I do remember that Eric Chalmers was very good to her. He and Ruth took Anna to their church during her stay.’ Manson looked away for a moment, biting his lip as if he had already said too much.
‘That was before Chalmers was married?’
Manson nodded. ‘But quite a few of the staff showed her hospitality as well,’ he added quickly. ‘My wife and I had Anna to stay over a weekend so we could take her up to visit St Andrews.’
‘Did you ever see the girl in the company of this man?’ Lorimer asked, showing Manson the digital print from Jessica’s camera.
‘Sorry, not that I remember. And I’ve got a good memory for faces, even if the names sometimes escape me,’ Manson assured him. ‘If Jackie was here she could probably help you.’ Manson shrugged an apology. ‘But I do remember that the travel organisation assumed Anna had had some sort of rift with her parents.’ Manson frowned suddenly. ‘But she had seemed so keen to go home. Girls!’ he exclaimed. ‘Always changing their minds.’
But Lorimer didn’t reply. Already his own mind was quickening: perhaps someone else entirely had made up Anna Jakubowski’s mind for her. If Dr Murphy’s information was correct, the dental evidence of the older skeleton found in Dawsholm Woods might very well show it to be that of the Russian girl.
‘You started to say that the school should have played host to another student last year. What happened?’
‘Oh, that travel company got it all wrong. Sent her to a different school altogether in the end, I believe. In fact one of their reps handed in a pile of stuff at the start of this term. Not that we’re considering taking anyone else,’ he added.
‘Do you happen to have her details on record by any chance?’
‘Could have. As you can see we’re not good at throwing things out,’ Manson added with a wry smile as he turned back to the bulging drawer full of files.
‘Can’t remember her name at all, but it should be in here. Yes.’ The head teacher pulled out a sheet of paper. ‘Jarmila Svobodova, if that’s how you pronounce it. She was a student from Prague. Do you want to take a copy of this with you?’
It hadn’t taken long to establish that Anna Jakubowski had neither left the UK within the last three years nor had she taken up the college place that had been offered to her. Could they obtain a sample of her DNA from Russia? Lorimer thought. Talking to the tour organisers had been a complete waste of time; their personnel had changed over the passage of time and there was nobody who was either willing or able to help Strathclyde Police. And the Czech girl had arrived in Scotland in early May last year. But where she had gone after that was a complete mystery. Yes, the agency had given all that information to the police at the time but they weren’t responsible for the girl’s whereabouts once she had arrived, were they? the man from the agency had protested.
It wasn’t what he’d anticipated when he’d
first looked at these young women’s remains in Glasgow City Mortuary, but now they needed help from officers who could act quickly, Lorimer told himself, justifying the call he was about to make to Interpol.
‘Yes, I’d say she could be from somewhere like the Czech Republic,’ Murphy told him.
Lorimer was standing by the pathologist’s side as they looked at the bones lying on the table.
‘Slightly different dental work. And the type of amalgam used in that filling,’ he pointed a small probe at a molar in the gumless row of teeth, ‘I think it’s what they use over there, if my memory serves me correctly.’
‘So there might be a forensic link between them?’ Lorimer asked, his face suddenly hopeful.
‘Sure, you already think so,’ Murphy answered, grinning. ‘Or you wouldn’t be making detailed inquiries into missing European students from around the time we estimate they were killed, would you, now?’
‘Last summer and three summers ago,’ Lorimer murmured. ‘If that Russian girl who was at Muirpark Secondary School is our first victim, then is this Jarmila Svobodova?’ He looked at the remains of the other girl that had been found in the woods. ‘And where did he meet them?’
It was going to be one of those days that broke all the rules about standard working practices, Lorimer thought to himself, driving back across Glasgow city centre. Already he’d put several things in motion but before he could make an arrest, he had to have the final pieces of the jigsaw in place. Mitchison was champing at the bit to have Chalmers under lock and key, and the press situation was raising the tension levels to bursting point back at divisional headquarters, the last place Lorimer wanted to be going right now. Solly hadn’t yet come up with a clear profile but that was simply one more tool in the box, the DCI reminded himself. The psychologist’s methods were not infallible and he shouldn’t let past successes cloud his judgement in this case. Nor should he let Maggie’s opinion sway his thoughts. If evidence was found in Chalmers’ car or in the house then he’d be first in line to arrest the man. Just because the media wanted to hang him out to dry didn’t mean he wasn’t guilty. But then there was Solly Brightman’s other suggestion, one that was being followed up right now, and he’d have to see what progress was being made in that direction. And now that they had this photograph, some identification was possible. If the person that had been stalking Jessica King was indeed their suspect.
He wasn’t hiding himself away, this man, whoever he was. He’d followed Jessica on foot as well as arriving at her home by car. So did this mean he was a local man?
There was something twitching at the edge of his brain, a memory flickering from the TV report on the Soham murders. Hadn’t the killer appeared at the crime scene, unable to keep away from what he had done? And was there any possibility of creating a circumstance that might bring this particular killer out into the open?
As he drove up St Vincent Street, past the grand pillars dominating the Physician and Surgeons Hall on the rise of the hill, Lorimer gazed at the skyline ahead of him. The blue was fading over the city, pale grey clouds appearing just above the river. He was out there somewhere. Several summers had brought him into the parkland and the woods, and this summer wasn’t over yet.
And if Lorimer didn’t have the chance to find him now, how many more young women might he lure towards their death in summers still to come?
‘He’s guilty as sin!’ The man’s voice dominated the babble in the closely packed staffroom.
‘How can you say that?’ Sandie Carmichael protested. ‘He’s one of your own colleagues! How are you going to feel when he comes back to school and knows what you’ve said?’ she stormed at Herriot.
‘Could be he’ll never set foot in this building again,’ another voice piped up.
‘Aye, and even if he is found innocent, who’d want to come back here after all of this muck raking?’ someone else remarked, in a tone of disgust.
‘What happened to good old-fashioned loyalty? That’s what I want to know,’ Sandie continued hotly. ‘Eric’s been a great colleague to all of us. And I dare anyone to say otherwise!’ The Business Studies teacher picked up her bag and marched out of the room, leaving a low buzz of talk behind her.
‘Oh, Maggie, thank God for someone sane,’ Sandie began as she fell into step with her friend. ‘You should hear that lot in there.’ She cocked her head back at the staffroom door. ‘Soon as they scent something vulnerable they’re howling their heads off like a pack of jackals.’
Maggie sighed. ‘I know. It’s horrible.’ She paused. ‘Did they say anything about me? After that newspaper article . . .’
Sandie laid a hand on Maggie’s shoulder. ‘Remember what you’re always saying to the kids? Don’t believe everything the papers tell you. Look, Maggie, they’re not really out to get Eric. Or you. They’re in the business of selling newspapers and all they want is the biggest sort of scandal-mongering they can legally get off with.’
‘I suppose so. It’s just that I feel so personally involved now.’ She broke off, unwilling to reveal the news about Jessica.
‘Don’t worry.’ Sandie patted her kindly. ‘That husband of yours will find out who killed Julie. I know he will.’
But as Maggie Lorimer turned into her own classroom, she failed to conjure up a similar feeling of optimism. If her husband and his team didn’t find another suspect, what was to become of Eric Chalmers?
The database containing DNA profiles was not something that Lorimer searched on a regular basis but it hadn’t proved too difficult to find what Kyle had asked for, he thought, tearing off the relevant sheet of perforated paper from the machine. Kerrigan Senior was Kyle’s father in name only, not his biological father at all. But how was the boy going to react to this news when he found his birth certificate at the registry office? And what use would he make of it? Lorimer folded the paper and put it in his inside jacket pocket. If he could only bend the rules just this once? He gave a snort of derisory laughter, making the uniformed policewoman passing by look up at him, a question in her eyes. No, what he’d told Kyle was true; he simply couldn’t reveal privileged information like this.
‘Sir?’ DC Irvine was approaching him from the other end of the corridor, a look of excitement on her face. ‘We’ve got an ID on the stalker’s car,’ she told him, waving the sheaf of papers she held in her hand. ‘And a name and address. Adam Russell. And see the address? It’s the same street as Julie Donaldson!’ she exclaimed as DS Wilson joined them, peering over Lorimer’s shoulder.
‘He’s already been questioned in a door-to-door,’ Wilson remarked.
‘Aye, and so was Peter Sutcliffe before they caught him,’ Lorimer retorted. ‘Come on, get a back-up organised. We’re going after him right now!’
CHAPTER 37
The shadows were beginning to lengthen, he noticed. It would soon be time to leave and move back to a warmer place for the winter months. Even his dreams had begun to take on elements that they’d say were not in keeping with reality. He sniggered. Reality! It was a word they loved to use as if he were not in touch with life in all its forms. He knew more about the real world than they ever would, these closeted academics with their white coats and theories.
Perhaps it was a sixth sense or his own heightened awareness of things, but before he even heard the car door slam, he was out of the house, all he needed in one capacious overcoat pocket. Smiling to himself with the thrill of it all, he headed down the flight of stairs leading to the back court, away from the two figures that had turned into the close.
They’d come for him several times before and he’d let them lead him away, limp and unprotesting between their solicitous arms, some drug working swiftly in his veins.
He wasn’t going to let himself be trapped like that again.
It might take them less than three minutes to find that he’d gone. But in that short time he could be round another corner, through a lane and into the maze of back courts, zig-zagging his way from Crow Road all the way to the Bot
anic Gardens and the safety of his secret place.
A whinny of laughter left his lips as he sped along the dusty pavement, his coat flying behind him.
Turning another corner, a gaggle of school kids gaped at his mad dash along the street, one shouting out an obscenity that he pretended not to hear. Once on the main road he would slow down, he told himself. Then he’d simply disappear. For who would notice someone like him among the mass of humanity going about its lawful business?
‘He’s gone,’ Irvine said, swinging the heavy door back and forward in her hand as if testing its weight. ‘Didn’t even bother to lock it behind him.’ She broke off as Lorimer raised his hand then put one finger to his lips.
How long have you been away? Lorimer thought, entering the empty living room. As he looked around, the desolate, sagging furniture seemed to tell its own tale of a life that was past caring about the comfort of material things. But perhaps it could tell him something else. Hunkering down, the detective ran his hand lightly across the surface of the nearest sofa, years of use permanently moulding the seat cushions into twin craters. The side of his mouth gave a mere twitch as he felt one side of the settee warm, the other stone cold.
‘He’s been here just minutes ago,’ he said quietly, making DC Irvine spin round then look warily over her shoulder at the door to their left.
She opened her eyes wide, motioning towards the doorway.
Lorimer nodded once and stood up slowly. He would go in first.
‘Police!’ The word burst from his mouth as he slammed through the bedroom door, fists ready to repel any attack.
‘Shit!’ Lorimer turned back into the room. ‘Let’s look in the other rooms. No, you stay here!’ he commanded, already halfway through into the corridor.
His footfall was entirely silent as Lorimer crept into the bathroom, but there was no sign of Russell. The kitchen too was empty, but he prowled around anyway, eyes devouring the work surfaces until he spied a kettle. It was still warm and further inspection found a dirty mug in the sink and an ashtray with one fag end still smouldering.
