Five ways to kill a man lab-7

by Alex Gray

  Just as he was about to try her number again, the front doorbell rang.

  ‘Mum!’ Maggie leapt to her feet and was yanking open the door in feverish expectation.

  But it was no old lady who stood there, but a bearded man, a long striped scarf wound several times around his neck.

  ‘Oh, Solly, it’s you.’ Maggie stood back, allowing him to enter the hallway, disappointment clearly etched on her face.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Maggie,’ the psychologist had taken her hands in his own and was gazing into her eyes with concern. ‘You must be feeling dreadful. The waiting…’ he tailed off, nodding as she began to weep again.

  ‘Here.’ Lorimer took her shoulders and turned her round, sheltering her within the protection of his arms. ‘It’s all right. It’s all right, darling,’ he soothed as though calming a distraught child. ‘We’ll find her, I promise.’

  Solly caught his friend’s eyes and motioned with a finger towards the garden. ‘We need to talk,’ he whispered.

  Lorimer shook his head but the expression on the psychologist’s face made him pause.

  ‘Is there something we really need to know?’

  Solly nodded.

  ‘Right now?’

  The psychologist gave another nod and headed towards the back door.

  ‘Darling, why don’t you make Solly a cup of tea? Something herbal,’ Lorimer suggested, steering his wife away from the room with its sofa bed and all her mother’s bits and pieces that were such a constant reminder of the older lady’s absence.

  Maggie let herself be guided to the kitchen where she lifted the kettle jug to fill it again. Glancing at her as he followed Solly into the garden, Lorimer saw her going through the motions, exhausted but still trying to hold it all together.

  ‘This better be quick,’ he said. ‘Maggie’s in a terrible state. As you can imagine.’

  ‘Have you found Serena Jackson yet?’

  Lorimer frowned. ‘What do you mean, found? She’s not gone AWOL. I’ve had a couple of missed calls from her already today.’

  Solly shook his head. ‘That’s not what I meant to say. We need to see her. Speak to her. She’ll know where Alice is.’

  Lorimer stared at the psychologist for a long moment.

  ‘Drive me down to her home, will you? I have a lot of questions I would like to ask Serena Jackson,’ Solly told him. ‘And I think you will have, too.’

  The trip back down the coast took less time than Lorimer had anticipated. It was well after the rush hour and the light was beginning to fade. Solomon had not spoken since giving Lorimer that brief outline of his thoughts. The Detective Superintendent had not responded then and now he was silently wondering just what sort of welcome they might receive on arrival at Greenock. If Solly was right

  … he gave a huge sigh. The traffic round by the Oak Mall held them up for a few moments as a large articulated delivery truck backed into the small car park to one side of the shopping centre, making Lorimer seethe with impatience, then they were off again. But every set of traffic lights seemed to turn red on their approach and Solly noted the detective’s increased frustration as he glanced at his glowering profile.

  ‘Not far now,’ he muttered.

  ‘I just hope she’ll be in,’ Lorimer snapped in response. ‘Surely we should have checked?’

  ‘No!’ Solly shook his head firmly. ‘We need to have the element of surprise if I’m going to assess her correctly.’

  At last the Lexus was turning into Campbell Street and the block of luxury flats that overlooked the river.

  ‘Park where she can’t see us,’ Solomon whispered. ‘And buzz someone else’s number to let us in,’ he suggested eagerly.

  Lorimer raised his eyebrows: Solly almost sounded as though he were enjoying this moment of high drama.

  ‘Hello,’ Serena Jackson’s expression was one of curiosity as she opened the door to the two men. ‘Mr Lorimer. This is an unexpected pleasure. Do come in.’ She held open the door, a half-smile upon her face.

  ‘Doctor Brightman,’ Lorimer indicated his companion as they entered the flat. ‘We wanted to ask you some things, Miss Jackson.’

  Serena gave another smile over her shoulder as she regarded the men following her through to the main room. And once more Lorimer was struck by the woman’s ethereal beauty. Taller and thinner than most women he knew, she moved with a sort of cat-like grace. Today her hair was falling smooth, sleek and glossy as though it had just been given a salon treatment. Was that where she had been when he had called: somewhere as ordinary as a hairdresser’s? And she was dressed as though she had recently been out, a neat black skirt showing off those long legs, a matching cashmere jersey slung artfully across a white silk shirt.

  ‘Do sit down, gentlemen,’ she offered, her upper-class drawl the epitome of elegance and good breeding. It was a voice devoid of any sort of anxiety, Lorimer noticed. If she were agitated by their sudden arrival then Serena Jackson was hiding it well. Choosing to take her place in the middle of one of the sofas and casually curling her legs beneath her, she looked more like some contented, aristocratic feline than the suspect for a series of murders.

  Lorimer took a deep breath.

  ‘I wanted to ask you about the party you had here on Saturday evening,’ he began.

  Serena Jackson gave a frown. ‘What do you mean? What party?’

  Lorimer looked at Solly for support but the psychologist seemed to be fascinated by the woman before him, staring at her intently.

  ‘Detective Inspector Martin told me that you were having a house-warming party at the weekend,’ Lorimer explained.

  Serena raised one shapely eyebrow. ‘Did she, now? How strange. There was no party here, Superintendent. Why on earth would Rhoda tell you that?’ She looked around the room as though bemused by the notion and Lorimer followed her gaze. The lounge was in the same pristine condition that he had seen on his first visit here. There was absolutely no trace of anything that looked like the aftermath of a wild rave-up.

  ‘Are you telling me that Rhoda Martin wasn’t at a party here, then?’

  Serena nodded. Then she looked thoughtful. ‘Hmm, wonder if she’s up to her old tricks again,’ she mused. ‘Oh, dear, what’s she done this time?’

  Lorimer frowned. ‘Could you explain what you mean, please?’

  Serena uncurled her legs and sat up a little straighter. ‘Rhoda’s always been a bit of a fantasist. Trying to emulate the people she would like to hang about with,’ she said, tossing her head.

  ‘You mean she copied things she might have admired about you?’ Solly asked.

  ‘Why, yes, as a matter of fact she did. Silly girl! It was the same at school. Always hanging around our little group. Trying to be best friends with me.’

  ‘And buying the same sort of clothes?’ Solly’s question seemed to be a little absurd to Lorimer. Where on earth was he going with all of this?

  ‘Oh, I doubt if she could have afforded something like this,’ Serena said lightly, touching the charcoal pullover.

  ‘But she did buy a car the same make and model as yours, didn’t she?’ the psychologist asked casually.

  Lorimer saw the change in the woman’s demeanour instantly. She seemed to freeze, the faint smile wiped off a face that had become suddenly pale.

  Then she licked her lips, eyes darting from one man to the other. ‘My car’s down there,’ she said, standing up and pointing towards the window. ‘See?’

  Lorimer and Solly rose from the sofa and walked towards the pair of French windows as the woman twisted the blind rod, raising the slats apart. Then, pulling at a cord, the blinds slid upwards. Serena twisted the brass handles and opened the glass doors wide and stepped on to the tiny Parisian balcony.

  There was still enough light to make out the red sports car below in the parking area, its shiny roof gleaming under an adjacent street lamp.

  ‘A Spider. Nice, isn’t it?’ she purred at Solly as she leaned over the railings. ‘Do you like fast
cars, Dr Brightman?’

  Solly smiled politely. ‘That’s my wife’s department,’ he said. ‘I don’t even drive.’

  ‘Good Lord,’ she murmured, regarding the psychologist from her amber-coloured eyes as though he were some strange species of human that she had never encountered before.

  ‘But perhaps you might take us down to the garage in the basement and let us see your other car?’ Solly insisted. ‘A black Volkswagon Golf, isn’t it?’

  ‘Same as the car you used to take Alice Finlay from my home this morning,’ Lorimer said, taking a step closer to her.

  Serena Jackson shot a sudden look of hatred at them both.

  ‘Don’t let her…!’ Solly yelled.

  But Lorimer had sensed the woman’s intention already and sprang forwards, pushing Solly out of the way as Serena Jackson made a desperate attempt to fling herself off the balcony.

  One leg was already across the metal railing, impeded by the narrow skirt, when he seized her.

  ‘Oh, no you don’t!’ he said, hauling her away from the balcony and back into the room.

  Behind him Solly looked down at the concrete paving several floors below and shuddered. Was it more than mere irony that Serena Jackson had attempted to end her life the way she had ended the lives of those three old ladies?

  Lorimer had already called for support from K Division but for now he held on to Serena Jackson securely as they entered the basement garage.

  Solly threw a switch on the wall. There, side by side, were the two matching black cars.

  ‘Where’s Alice?’ Lorimer demanded, digging his fingers deeper into the woman’s arms. ‘Where’s my mother-in-law?’

  For an answer, Serena Jackson gave him a distant smile and shook her head.

  ‘Tell me, you bitch! Or I’ll…’

  ‘Lorimer!’ Solly was stepping towards them now, a warning in his tone.

  As the sound of blues and twos came whining ever closer, Serena slumped limply in his grasp as if acknowledging defeat. Her perfect face was devoid of any sort of expression now as she looked down at the ground, refusing to meet his eyes.

  ‘Wait till we get you back to the station. And bring your precious brother in as well. Maybe you’ll talk then,’ Lorimer growled, shoving her in front of him.

  Lorimer stood in the dim light of the basement, regarding the frames of racing cycles suspended from hooks on the wall. Only one of them still had its wheels attached. The others were stacked neatly against the brickwork. Putting out a gloved hand, he made the front wheel spin slowly till he saw it. There, almost invisible to the naked eye, was a V-shaped nick. Lorimer heaved a sigh. Callum Uprichard would be able to fit this to the tyre impression back at the labs. Evidence of this sort was crucial. But he still had to prise a confession out of the woman as to why she had murdered her own parents. And find out where she had taken Alice.

  CHAPTER 36

  Daniel Jackson sat, head bowed into his well-manicured hands. ‘I still can’t believe it, Superintendent,’ he said again, then looked up at the man beside him. ‘Why would Serena do something so terrible to Mum and Dad? And all these other things…’ he broke off, his voice ending in a choking sob.

  ‘We were very much hoping that you could offer some sort of an explanation, sir,’ Lorimer told him, trying to contain his rising anxiety.

  It was after midnight now and Serena Jackson had not offered up a single word since her arrest. Neither cajoling nor threatening had made a bit of difference to the woman who had sat impassively staring into space as though her mind was miles away. And maybe it was, Lorimer realised. Maybe she was as mentally deranged as DS Wainwright had suggested when they had brought her in. In the previous hours several wheels had been put into motion throughout Strathclyde Police and beyond: the on-call senior forensic scientist was possibly even now making a match between the tread that Uprichard had examined and the tyre from Serena Jackson’s racing cycle.

  ‘I need to find out where your sister has taken Alice Finlay,’ Lorimer said.

  ‘Your mother-in-law?’ Daniel Jackson said.

  Lorimer nodded, running a weary hand through his unkempt hair. Time was running out for Alice, wherever she was. If she was even still alive.

  ‘Why would she take an old lady away-’

  ‘Look,’ Lorimer snapped. ‘Why she does things is probably a case for a psychiatrist. But right now it’s our priority to find a sick old lady, do you understand!’ he thundered.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jackson’s eyes were full of tears, ‘really I am. What do you want me to say?’

  Lorimer gave a sigh that seemed to come from his soul. ‘Can you think of anywhere your sister might have taken her? Somewhere secluded, perhaps? In the city?’

  Jackson shook his head. ‘We haven’t any other properties in Glasgow…’ His face changed suddenly. ‘Oh, my God! Yes we have,’ he gabbled. ‘My father bought up these old derelict tenements. In the East End. Wanted to make a killing from them with the injection of finance from the Commonwealth Games fund.’

  ‘Where? Tell me exactly whereabouts this is,’ Lorimer demanded.

  Daniel Jackson suddenly looked stricken. ‘Oh, Lord,’ he said softly, ‘Dad owned several streets worth of these places. It’s not going to be that simple to find her. If she did take her to that part of the city,’ he added with a groan.

  The whole area was crawling with uniformed officers by the time Lorimer’s Lexus came to a halt.

  ‘This is the last close, sir,’ a middle-aged officer told him after glancing at the name on Lorimer’s warrant card. ‘No sign of her yet,’ he added, a look of sympathy in his face.

  Lorimer looked up at the building, its windows all boarded with sheets of wood and shuttered with metal from the outside. It was like looking up at a nightmarish version of Colditz. Rags and tatters of cloud raced across the night sky, revealing the ghostly outline of the moon, then it was gone again as the wind whipped scraps of litter around his feet.

  ‘Okay. Last try, then,’ Lorimer said, pushing aside the sheet of metal that served as a security entrance.

  Inside, the close was in darkness, only a thin light from a window on the half-landing showed the steps before them.

  ‘Here, take this, sir.’ The police officer handed Lorimer his torch and he scanned the doors to their left and right. They lay open, testament to the depredations of the local youth, no doubt. The next two floors were much the same and Lorimer’s hopes that they would find Alice here were rapidly fading.

  When they reached the top floor, Lorimer and the police officer exchanged glances. One door was wide open but the other was secured with a bolt and padlock.

  ‘Has to be,’ the officer whispered. ‘Why else would it be locked?’

  Taking a bolt cutter from his pocket, the policeman worried away at the metal hasp until it fell with a clink upon the concrete floor.

  ‘Alice!’ Lorimer called out, rushing along the narrow hallway, holding the torch aloft.

  When he opened the door, he stopped short, unable to believe what he was seeing. Her head had slumped to one side, the torchlight making a halo of her white hair. Everything about her seemed bleached of life: the pallid face, the arms pinioned behind her.

  Lorimer was at her side in a few swift strides, untying the bonds, one knee supporting the old woman’s body from falling off the chair. Gently, he lifted Alice in his arms, marvelling at how light she was. Then as he bent to feel her cheek, he winced. She was so cold. So deathly cold.

  ‘Is she…?’ the officer stood in the doorway, his face grim.

  Lorimer nodded. ‘We’re too late,’ he said, hearing the catch in his own voice and holding the old lady closer to his own body as though he could transfer some of his own warmth to her.

  Then he heard it. A tiny sigh, but it was enough to make him hope.

  ‘Here!’ he said, carrying his mother-in-law towards the policeman. ‘Feel her pulse for me.’

  The police officer took Alice’s thin wrist in his hand
, his thumb searching for any vital signs.

  Then he nodded, relief transforming his face. ‘She’s alive,’ he said. ‘But we better get her to a hospital. Quick as we can.’

  Maggie wondered if the nightmare that had begun this morning (was it only this morning?) was ever going to come to an end. She’d hoped and prayed that Mum would be brought back home safe and sound but now she was being driven by a police car across the city to the Royal Infirmary. The High Dependency Unit, Bill had said, not telling her much more than that. But she could sense from his voice that it was not hopeful news. Yes, they had found Alice after an extensive police search of some derelict buildings in Glasgow’s East End. That it had been her husband who had eventually found her was some small comfort.

  As the car raced through the streets, its blue lights flashing, siren shutting out any other sound, Maggie felt as though she were floating above it all, a disembodied soul observing this chaotic dash to the hospital.

  Inside the hospital she was met by a nursing officer and another policeman who whisked her away in a lift, then she was out in a daze of greenish light, being guided along a maze of corridors.

  At last she was in the doorway, looking at the familiar figure of her husband sitting by a high bed where a patient was lying under a white sheet, tubes and wires leading to a variety of monitors that bleeped their rhythmic sound into the softness of the night. Maggie’s sigh became a stifled sob as she tried to move forward to the bed and the still figure.

  Lorimer stood up, moving slightly to one side allowing Maggie access to her mother. She felt his touch on her arm as she passed him, heard his low voice murmuring words of comfort, but she only had eyes for the woman who lay so quietly upon that white bed.