by Alex Gray
Alice’s arrival had made the house feel more alive, somehow. They’d watched television together on Saturday evening like a normal family and he’d even played a couple of games of Scrabble after one of Maggie’s Sunday roasts.
With a frown he suddenly recalled where Rhoda Martin had been going at the weekend: Serena Jackson’s house-warming party. Searching through another buff-coloured file, Lorimer picked up Serena’s home details and dialled her number. He let it ring out until the answering machine clicked on, giving a female voice that to his ears always sounded like an automated Barbie doll. He waited impatiently until the sing-song message had finished.
‘Detective Superintendent Lorimer for Miss Jackson. I’d be obliged if you might call me at Police Headquarters, Miss Jackson,’ he said, giving the Greenock number before ringing off. He looked at the telephone thoughtfully. If Rhoda Martin had spent her weekend down in Serena Jackson’s flat then where were they both now?
The black car drove slowly along the cul de sac then turned, stopping right outside the house with the white painted door. For a moment the driver sat still, hand on the steering wheel. A blackbird pecked at some unseen prey below the surface of the grass, worrying it in a series of jabs. The sound of a lawn mower could be heard round the back of the houses, its drone competing with an airplane overhead. But the street itself was deserted, just as she had expected; not one single person strolled along the pavement to witness her arrival. Slipping a black leather bag over one shoulder, she left the car.
At the back of the house Flynn walked up and down, the din of his mower a vague noise behind the sounds from his iPod. His head moved in time to the beat as the grass was swallowed up by the blades of the machine. This was a satisfying sort of job, he thought, watching the stripe of bright green appearing in the overgrown lawn. The Lorimers wouldn’t know the place by the time he’d finished.
Flynn had been glad when the other gardener had agreed to drop him off with the mower for a half-day. Jimmy had owed him, he chuckled to himself, thinking of the man driving the pick-up truck back to the park. He had still looked a wee bit worse for wear after the weekend when he had been through to Edinburgh for the rugby and Flynn had covered his Saturday shift.
Flynn would be able to cut and strim the grass and still have time for a wee blether with Maggie’s mum before Jimmy picked him up later. He began to sing tunelessly to the words of a song as he turned at the end of the lawn, whisking the machine in an expert arc and beginning a new strip. He didn’t glance towards the kitchen window where the orange cat sat, washing its paws. Nor did he hear the metallic thud of a car door closing or the sound of the bell shrilling through the house.
Alice rose slowly from her chair. This recliner was going to make her so lazy, she thought, feeling the stiffness in her back as she tried to straighten up. This must be the nurse coming in to visit. ‘Hope you’re as nice as the ones in the Southern,’ she muttered under her breath, edging towards the far side of the room, grasping at the backs of Maggie’s dining room chairs to steady herself. They hadn’t given her an exact time so she had been slightly agitated all morning, waiting for the sound of the doorbell. She shoved the door open wider with her stick and shuffled out into the hallway.
Chancer gave a purr and slithered down from his patch of sunlight on the windowsill as soon as he heard the front door being opened.
‘Oh, hello, I’ve been expecting you. Come away in,’ Alice began, looking up at the blonde woman on the doorstep. But the figure standing there made no move to enter the house. Instead she held up a plastic card for a moment then pocketed it again.
‘Detective Inspector Martin,’ the woman told her, unsmiling. ‘I’m afraid there’s been an incident. It’s Detective Superintendent Lorimer,’ she added gravely. ‘Can you come right away, please?’
Alice tightened her grip on the walking stick, one hand thrust out against the wall for support. She was aware of her heart hammering uncomfortably in her chest. When she tried to speak, to utter some sort of words, her lips simply parted in a silent ‘O’ of shock.
Just behind her the orange cat arched his back and hissed, tawny eyes glaring balefully at the stranger. The blackbird flew up and away, its alarm cry shattering the cold morning air.
Then the woman’s hand was outstretched, offering assistance. Alice felt the strong grip under her elbow as she was ushered out of the house and into the waiting car. Detective Inspector Martin. She remembered hearing the name. She was from Bill’s job down in Greenock.
‘What’s happened?’ she whispered as she was helped into the passenger seat. ‘Does Maggie know?’
But all she received was a sombre look and a shake of the head as a seat belt was fastened across her lap. Then they were off down the road and Alice had the strange sensation that everything was being put into reverse. She had scarcely arrived and now she was being taken away again, she thought wistfully, gazing as they left the house behind them and a disgruntled cat on the doorstep.
Half an hour later Joseph Alexander Flynn came whistling into the kitchen. ‘Mrs Fin? Do you fancy a cuppa? Mrs Fin?’
‘Lorimer,’ he said, as the call came through.
‘God, at last!’ Flynn gave a huge exhalation of relief. ‘D’ye know if Mrs Finlay was supposed to be going out anywhere? She’s not in the hoose and I’ve been doon the road looking for her. Yer cat’s goin’ mental an’ all,’ he told Lorimer.
The sound of Flynn’s voice, high with stress, made Lorimer straighten up. ‘What do you mean she’s not in the house? Have you looked upstairs?’ he demanded, then realised how stupid the question was: Alice Finlay was not yet able to manage the stairs, was she?
‘Aye, she’s no onywhere in the hoose. I’ve looked everywhere. There wasnae anybody fae the hospital comin tae take her for physio or that, was there?’ Flynn asked anxiously.
Lorimer sat silently for a moment, his mind whirling with possibilities before replying, ‘I don’t think so. Maggie would know, though. I’ll call Muirpark. Hold on and I’ll get back to you. But,’ he added, ‘ring the station here if she turns up, okay?’
His fingers were trembling as he dialled the number of Maggie’s school and asked to be put through to his wife. What the hell was he going to tell her? Visions of his mother-in-law wandering off on her own came to his mind. But that was absurd! Alice had had a stroke. She wasn’t suffering from the sort of awful dementia that made old folk wander out of their homes and into the unknown.
As he waited those interminable minutes for Maggie to come to the phone, Lorimer recalled his mother-in-law’s ability at yesterday’s games of Scrabble. Nothing wrong with her wits, he told himself. So why would she suddenly take off like that?
‘Maggie,’ he said, relief flooding him at the sound of her voice. ‘It’s your mum.’
The police station on the south side of the city took the Superintendent’s call and within minutes patrol cars were scouring the streets around Lorimer’s home on the lookout for an elderly lady fitting Alice Finlay’s description. Flynn had made two pots of tea so far; one for the officers who had arrived then another for Maggie, her car screeching into the drive.
‘When did you last see her?’ Maggie asked, her mug of tea barely touched.
Flynn shook his head. It was a question he hadn’t been able to answer when the police officers had asked him earlier.
‘I honestly don’t know. You’d been gone a wee bit afore I began the grass. Your maw,’ he broke off, his voice choking back sudden tears, ‘she wis here sitting on the recliner when I went outside.’ He scratched his head as if the gesture would restore some absent memory. ‘I havenae a clue whit time it wis. Or whit she wis doin when I wis out there.’
‘It’s okay, Flynn.’ Maggie squeezed his hands gently. ‘No one’s blaming you. Maybe she just went for a wee walk,’ she suggested, though her strained tone gave the lie to the words themselves.
‘Huv they heard frae the hospital yet?’ Flynn looked over Maggie’s shoulder at the
female officer standing in the kitchen, mobile phone to her ear.
The woman’s nod and look of apology made the young man groan.
‘She’s not there, I’m afraid. There was no out-patient appointment for Mrs Finlay at all. The nurse is actually on her way now. What do you want me to tell them?’ the uniformed officer asked Maggie.
‘Better let her come,’ she replied with a tremulous sigh. ‘Maybe she’ll have some idea what to do.’ She shrugged, attempting a smile. ‘Perhaps it’s not so uncommon a situation for them.’
Maggie felt something soft against her leg. Chancer looked up, his eyes wide with expectation. She patted her lap and the cat jumped up lightly, butting her hand with his head until she began to stroke his fur.
‘Ah, if only you could talk, Chancer,’ she told the cat. ‘Maybe you could tell us where Mum has gone.’ As if in answer the orange cat gave a loud purr then sat absolutely still, staring ahead as if he was looking at something none of them could see.
CHAPTER 32
Alice was tired. The journey through the city was taking such a long time. Surely they should be on the motorway and heading towards the airport and Greenock by now? She’d been in such a hurry to leave that her spectacles were still on the side table where she had left them, so each road sign was a mere blur of letters and symbols. She hadn’t even thought to lift her handbag. Or tell anyone. Biting her lip anxiously, she thought of Flynn out the back, cutting the grass. This woman officer hadn’t known about him, had she? What would the poor lad think when he found she had gone?
‘There’s a young man… in the gar-den,’ she said breathlessly. ‘He’ll… be worried about me.’
Was it her imagination, or had the policewoman touched the brake, slowing the car down as she gave Alice a sharp look?
‘It’s all right. My colleague will deal with him,’ she told Alice, turning her gaze back to the road.
Alice sighed and tried to relax, remembering the exercises the speech therapist had taught her. Shoulders down, clench and unclench fists, same with the teeth, loosen the jaw. As she forced herself to go through these little motions, Alice tried not to think about Bill. But it had to be pretty bad. After all, why wasn’t the tall young woman telling her any details? She thought of Maggie, imagining her daughter’s reaction to the worst sort of news. Being a policeman was a hazardous profession. And hadn’t Bill been in situations of extreme danger before now?
Alice watched as the streets became less and less familiar, dark tenements looming on either side as the car left the main road and headed uphill, away from the city centre. They passed a couple of rough-looking men with a long-haired Alsatian dog loping beside them and Alice stared at them from the passenger window as the car swept past.
‘We’re not going down to Greenock?’ she asked at last, bewildered by this unknown area.
The woman beside her shook her head, her expression unfathomable as she drove the car in and out of a series of narrow streets, flinging the vehicle around corners.
Alice clutched the edge of the car seat, a sensation of dread sweeping over her. Something bad was happening, all right. But suddenly it felt as though it were happening to her.
‘There’s no sign of her,’ the police officer at the other end of the line told Lorimer. ‘The nearest CCTV cameras haven’t picked up anyone answering to her description, I’m afraid.’
‘Then, if she hasn’t wandered off anywhere in the immediate vicinity of our house she must have gone off in a car,’ Lorimer said. ‘There really isn’t any other explanation.’
‘Does she have any other friends or family who might have taken her out for a jaunt?’ It was a reasonable sort of question for the officer to ask. Yet Lorimer could detect a hint of scepticism in his tone. The choice of the word jaunt seemed to suggest that this whole exercise was risible. Eyebrows were obviously being raised about the haste with which Alice Finlay had been posted as a missing person. By a senior officer who was pulling rank. Was he making a nuisance of himself? Had Alice simply wandered off?
‘No,’ he replied at last. ‘We’re all the family she has. And she would have let us know if anyone had wanted to take her out. Besides,’ he added sternly, ‘she was expecting the health visitor this morning. She wouldn’t go off when someone was due to see her. That’s just not possible.’
‘The stroke you mentioned,’ the officer coughed delicately, ‘it hasn’t left her… you know… impaired in any way?’
‘No,’ Lorimer told him firmly. ‘She’s as sane as you or I. Maybe not quite as articulate as she used to be but there’s nothing wrong with her mind.’
There was a silence at the other end of the line as the Glasgow officer thought about this.
‘So, no admissions to any of the local hospitals and no trace of her on the CCTV cameras.’ He paused again before continuing and this time his tone was brisk. ‘It’s a little bit of a mystery, Superintendent, but I’m sure our officers will find her before much longer. Don’t worry.’
Lorimer replaced the phone, resisting the urge to slam it back on to its cradle. The infuriating thing was that he’d have dealt with someone else exactly as that officer had dealt with him. They were doing everything just as they should. But it was frustrating not to be a part of it.
There was a knock at his door and he whirled around, a deep frown furrowing his brow.
‘Superintendent.’ It was PC Dodgson edging around the doorway, an expression of anxiety on his young face. ‘D’you think I should go round to DI Martin’s place? Just to see if she’s all right?’
Lorimer’s answering scowl did not deter the officer who came further into the room.
‘We’ve been calling her house all morning but there’s still no answer.’
Lorimer gave a sigh that seemed to come from his boots. A missing mother-in-law was much higher up in his scale of concern right now; Dodgson was surely over-reacting.
‘What do you want me to do? Suggest that you take one of the duty constables along with you?’ He shook his head, exasperated by the very idea. ‘Don’t be so daft, lad. She’ll kill you if she’s in bed with the ’flu and doesn’t want to be disturbed.’
Dodgson bit his lip and a wash of red coloured his cheeks. Lorimer immediately wished he’d been a bit more tactful. After all, this officer had been spurned once too often by his superiors and what little confidence he’d shown recently had come from Lorimer’s own support. He gave a weak grin, holding one hand to his mouth. ‘DS Wainwright thinks it might be more than the ’flu she’s in bed with,’ he said in a conspiratorial whisper.
Shaking his head, Lorimer gave a derisory laugh. ‘And she’ll welcome you even less if that’s the case.’
He was rewarded by an embarrassed giggle from Dodgson who backed out of the door and closed it gently behind him.
The woman on the bed struggled against the metal biting into her wrists. It was no use. They were designed to confine and control after all, weren’t they? If it had been under any other circumstances she might even have found that amusing. But the smell of her own vomit and the wetness below her made the woman weep with frustration.
What on earth had happened? Why was she here? And when had she dressed in this ridiculous, skimpy outfit?
She didn’t need her hands to feel down there. That greasy dampness between her legs could only mean one thing: she’d had sex with somebody. But, try as she might, no vision of a man came into her mind, just a blur of loud music and that kaleidoscope of coloured lights before she awoke to this cold room and the awful realisation of her predicament.
She shivered, wondering how she was ever going to escape. And, worse, who would come to free her from these bonds.
It was the stairs that had done it, Alice knew, feeling that constriction in her chest. She just wasn’t able to climb up one flight, never mind however many it had taken to reach the top floor. The woman had half-pushed, half-heaved her upwards, muttering imprecations at her back, cursing her whenever Alice had protested that she cou
ldn’t go on any more.
It should have been a relief to sink into a chair, but Alice Finlay only felt fear. The young woman had bundled her into this room, making her sit down before fastening her hands behind her back. Even now the tightness in her chest was worse than the feeling of that twine biting into her thin wrists. She’d tried to speak, to plead with her, but the woman had refused to meet her eyes and without a single word had left her there, closing the door behind her.
It was useless to scream, Alice knew. The flats on each level up this dingy, sour-smelling place had all looked abandoned so nobody would be nearby to hear her, even if she could utter a cry. She looked around the empty room, wondering how she might find a means of escape. The bay window was boarded up with brown plywood, one sheet covering each of the four long panes. Fragments of glass around the skirting told of vandals having thrown stones up high, wrecking the place just because they could.
Alice thought of the two men with their Alsatian dog and trembled. This was a part of the city she’d never been in before. She’d seen Glasgow Cathedral as they’d driven past and guessed that she was now in a derelict area in the East End that was probably due to be demolished before all that regeneration that was being talked about.
But why she was here and what was going to become of her was something she simply couldn’t fathom.
It had to be something to do with Bill. That policewoman (if she was a policewoman) knew his name, knew whereabouts he lived. She had known the connection between them.
Alice continued to study the room. The floor was only bare boards, and some crumpled newspapers lay in a corner — abandoned by workmen, perhaps? She glanced upwards. The electric cable suspended from the ceiling held no bulb; the ends of the wire were frayed. No light, then, Alice thought, shivering. And no warmth.