by Alex Gray
‘Will I be a good wife, d’you think?’ Rosie murmured into his dark curls.
Solly traced a finger down her forehead and tapped her nose. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that.’ He smiled wickedly. ‘I rather think you might be quite a naughty little wife.’
Rosie giggled as his arms came around her waist. Then she gave a sigh of pleasure as Solly led her away from the window towards the bedroom door.
EPILOGUE
Adam was dreaming with his eyes wide open. He saw the girl laughing as she came towards him, her mouth parted in a smile. And he knew what he wanted; a kiss, just one kiss from her dead, cold lips. Sometimes the dreams changed and he was falling again into blackness, waking to feel the broken teeth against his gums. They’d made a decent job of fixing him up in the prison hospital. And he was beginning to learn how to work the system. They hadn’t let him do any programmes yet, but he would and in time he’d convince them that he was well enough to go home. The other things had been blotted out of his mind, helped by the drugs he’d been given. No memories lingered of being in that police cell, questioned by that tall man with those staring blue eyes. Adam’s mouth curled into a smile of contentment. They couldn’t take away his dreams.
‘You came close to it, though.’ DS Alistair Wilson wagged his head at Lorimer. ‘Another day and we’d have been crawling with some snotty-nosed review team trying to tell us how to do our job.’
Lorimer laughed, whisky clutched in one hand, his third of the night. Wilson was right, it had been a close thing. But Russell had been easy in the end, confessing everything to them, even telling how he’d lured the girls, his victims, with promises of stardom.
The police officers had watched, fascinated, as the man had become by turns a film director then a make-up artist, changing his persona as the tale unfolded. It had been like watching a human chameleon. And his hunch had been correct. A fourth body had been unearthed from a culvert near the river, somehow undetected by their geophysics lads. Lesley Reid, a wee lassie who’d been missing from home, assumed to have taken the usual route down South after a row with her father. One of how many who slipped through society’s cracks? Only once had Lorimer seen a shadow cross the man’s face; the mention of Anna had troubled him and he’d looked away from Lorimer’s blue gaze. Someone more skilled in the ways of the human mind would have to delve deeper to find out just what had made him kill his first victim.
Lorimer looked around at the officers in the pub, laughing now that the case was over. Not minding too much that Russell had been declared unfit to plead, just glad that places like Carstairs Mental Hospital were there for the mad, bad and dangerous people who were deemed unsafe outside its heavily fortified grounds. DS Cameron, drinking his orange squash, was having a discussion with young John Weir. That one was worth the watching, Lorimer thought. Weir had been unable to meet his eyes lately and he was tempted to think that the Detective Constable might be the one who had been responsible for those leaks to the press. He couldn’t prove it, but the DC’s recent request for a transfer would be met and some other poor blighters would have the dubious pleasure of John Weir’s limited experience.
It was almost time to go home. Maggie would be waiting and she would be able to update him about Eric Chalmers. The RE teacher had left Scotland last week and would even now be settling into a mission in Malawi, his wife and baby daughter with him, beginning a new life together. He’d do all right, Lorimer thought, remembering the man’s easy smile and firm handshake when they’d seen him off at Glasgow Airport. There was strength in this man, something courageous that had nothing to do with his physical stature. How many folk would have had the guts to visit Frank Donaldson the way he had? No charges, he’d insisted. The man had suffered enough and he’d forgiven him for the random act of vandalism that had frightened his young wife.
Lorimer drank the last of the whisky and signalled to the barman. It was his shout, his tab, his party that he was leaving.
Walking into the chill night air Lorimer hailed a taxi, a glow of pleasure warming him. Soon it would be the two of them together at home, just himself and Maggie. And looking out at the city lights glittering against the wet Glasgow streets, he couldn’t imagine a better way to celebrate.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank the following people for their help in researching this book and bringing it to completion.
Suzy and Chris Aldous and the staff and pupils of Balfron High School and Lornshill Academy; Ann and Les Aldous; Valerie Penny and the staff and pupils of Bathgate Academy; Bob Fawkes, Head Teacher, Park Mains High School; Detective Inspector Bob Frew, Strathclyde Police; Dave Savage and his staff at the Argo Centre, Drumchapel; Gabrielle Vogt for help with offender profiling; Dr Jennifer Miller for suggestions regarding forensic biology; the staff at the Macaulay Institute for inviting me to their Soil Forensics Conference; Jenny Brown, my fabulous agent, for her guiding hand; my lovely editor, David Shelley, for his unstinting support; Caroline Hogg for keeping me right on all manner of things and also huge thanks to all the other superb staff at Little, Brown. Lastly to my ever loving Donnie for his encouragement and suggestions (not all of which I accepted, but I do listen, honest!).
