The Riverman lab-4

by Alex Gray

  The woman looked from one man to the other, an expression of disbelief on her face. Lorimer saw the hollow eyes widen as if in fear. She remained motionless for a time, unable to take in his words, her terrified gaze fixed on Lorimer. Then Duncan Forbes’ widow lowered her eyes and began to weep, her quiet sobs becoming cries of distress as she covered her face with her hands.

  Lorimer glanced at Cameron, who appeared to be visibly embarrassed by this show of despair, then rose to his feet as Philip Forbes rushed into the room, his face stricken.

  ‘Mum!’ He turned wildly to the policemen. ‘What have you been asking her? Why can’t you leave her alone?’

  ‘It was … it was … the … letters,’ Liz Forbes gasped between sobs that racked her thin chest.

  ‘Letters?’ Lorimer began.

  ‘It’s nothing to do with those letters!’ Philip screamed.

  There was a horrified silence as Elizabeth Forbes suddenly stopped crying and looked at her son, an expression of anguish in her eyes. Lorimer took a step forward, his hand on the boy’s arm. ‘What letters, Philip?’

  He watched as the boy turned towards his mother and in the same moment heard her groan, ‘Oh, Philip!’

  Lorimer saw the colour drain out of the boy’s face as he realized his blunder.

  ‘What letters, Philip?’ he repeated, in a firm tone that sounded harsh even to his own ears.

  ‘The ones in the musical box-’ he faltered.

  ‘Letters addressed to me, Chief Inspector,’ Liz Forbes interrupted. ‘Letters nobody was ever meant to see.’ She paused and turned suddenly towards her son who winced under her glare. ‘They were anonymous. Poison-pen letters.’ She gave a harsh little laugh. ‘God only knows why I didn’t throw them out.’

  ‘And their contents?’ Lorimer persisted.

  Liz Forbes shook her head, the wisps of hair falling over her ears. ‘They were about Duncan,’ she began, then her face crumpled again and she began to weep softly.

  ‘Mum, oh, Mum, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy. I was only looking for my certificates.’ Philip Forbes was crouched down at his mother’s side, his hand stroking her arm. She patted the hand distractedly.

  ‘That’s all right, pet. You weren’t to know, it’s my own silly fault for keeping them.’

  Lorimer cleared his throat in an effort to recapture their attention.

  ‘I’m sorry, Chief Inspector,’ she said, fumbling for a handkerchief to blow her nose. ‘Phil, go and get them, will you?’

  ‘Okay,’ the boy mumbled and stood up, casting a baleful look at the two policemen.

  A sigh escaped Liz Forbes as she watched her son leave the room.

  ‘Oh, God, what must he be thinking?’ She turned towards Lorimer again, ‘He worshipped his dad,’ she explained simply. ‘This will hurt him so badly.’

  Lorimer watched as she sank back into the armchair, her face tired and resigned but oddly calmer as if relieved to have this sordid little secret out in the open.

  Philip returned and approached his mother, the blue envelopes in his hand but Liz Forbes motioned that he should give them to Lorimer instead.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said as the boy handed them over with obvious reluctance. ‘Perhaps we need a cup of tea now?’ he added and Philip nodded and left the room once more.

  Lorimer’s brow was furrowed as he read the contents of the two letters. Stuff like this often came to the attention of the police: usually it was the work of some spiteful malcontent getting something off their chest.

  ‘You believed this?’ He looked directly at the woman opposite as he held the two letters between his finger and thumb like pieces of garbage.

  Her look of total misery was answer enough.

  ‘But why?’ Lorimer’s tone was gentler. ‘Had you any reason to think badly of your husband?’

  Liz dropped her gaze, shaking her head and sniffling into her handkerchief. Then she looked up again. ‘It was just a feeling. He’d been hiding something from me and I thought-’

  ‘You thought he’d been unfaithful?’

  ‘No … I don’t know. I didn’t know what to think. Duncan and I, we’ve always been so close. He’d never looked at another woman.’

  ‘But you thought these letters might be true?’

  She shook her head again in despair. ‘I don’t know. Really I don’t. I wanted to think he was always faithful. I want to remember him that way.’

  ‘You didn’t think to ask him?’ The look Elizabeth Forbes shot him was answer enough. Lorimer stifled a sigh. ‘So it was the letters that made you drive to the Crowne Plaza that night?’

  ‘Yes.’ She sighed deeply. ‘I wanted to see for myself if there was anyone else, if it was someone in his company. I was going to go in and pretend to be there to take him home, see who was there with him.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I lost my nerve.’ She shivered suddenly. ‘I just couldn’t bear the thought that some woman in there might be laughing at me. So I just went home again.’

  Lorimer believed her. It made perfect sense to him. And the woman’s grief had been so genuine that first time they’d met that he could not bring himself to think she had had a hand in her husband’s death. Still, the fact remained that she had been in the vicinity of the hotel.

  ‘Mum.’ Philip had returned with a huge tray full of tea things clinking together. Lorimer’s eyebrows rose at the sight of the delicate china tea service being laid on the table and the young man earnestly pouring tea into cups. This one was well trained in the niceties of refined living, he thought. After a spell in the African bush he’d have expected a few mugs of tea from the young graduate rather than the best Royal Doulton or whatever it was.

  ‘Is there anything else you want to tell us, Mrs Forbes?’ Lorimer asked, once the woman had taken a few tentative sips of the hot tea.

  The cup and saucer rattled as Liz put them down. ‘I don’t think so, Chief Inspector. I’ve thought and thought every night and every day since that trip to the Crowne Plaza. If I’d gone in, if I hadn’t chickened out, would Duncan still be here?’

  ‘Mum!’ Philip protested. ‘It’s not your fault! You can’t blame yourself for not doing something.’ He gave her arm a little shake.

  ‘Oh, but I do, Phil,’ she replied, a tremble upon her lip. ‘I do,’ she repeated in a whisper that told of yet more weeping to come.

  ‘And you definitely didn’t see your husband that night?’ Lorimer asked, the question designed to focus the woman’s attention back to the matter in hand.

  She gazed at him for a moment without speaking. ‘No. No, of course I didn’t. What are you suggesting?’ Her voice peaked in a note of disbelief.

  Lorimer risked a glance at Niall Cameron. The detective constable’s face told him everything. Cursing inwardly, he ploughed on. ‘Somebody killed your husband that night. It’s our job to ensure that everyone who had a reason for being in the vicinity of the hotel can account for their actions.’ He paused. ‘While I am happy to accept your explanation about why you were there, you must see that your previous failure to tell us about it puts you in a compromising position.’

  Beside him he could sense Cameron nodding in agreement. There were certain procedures that had to be followed and, whether he liked them or not, Lorimer was duty-bound to carry them out. ‘I’d be grateful if you would give a written statement of all that you’ve told us,’ he began, trying hard not to respond to the woman’s open-mouthed expression. ‘It would also be helpful if you could let us know where you were on the evening of April the twenty-first,’ he added quietly.

  Liz Forbes turned towards her son as if for guidance, struck speechless by this last demand.

  ‘She’s been here ever since Dad died,’ Philip Forbes protested. ‘Can’t you see how shattered she is by all of this? Mum can’t even go out by herself to the shops, never mind anything else,’ he ended lamely.

  ‘Mrs Forbes?’

  Liz shook her head, ‘Phil’s right. I’ve been here a
ll the time, except when I had to go to the mortuary,’ her voice faltered.

  ‘What’s so special about that date anyway?’ the boy demanded.

  Lorimer looked at them both, pity in his eyes. ‘That was the night Jennifer Hammond was found dead,’ he answered.

  ‘This is becoming absurd!’ Philip retorted. ‘Just because Mum’s been the victim of some poison-pen letters you start to think she’s had something to do with these …’ He stopped suddenly, unable to complete his sentence.

  ‘Murders, Mr Forbes,’ Lorimer finished for him. ‘We have to investigate all possibilities and eliminate any possible suspects from our inquiries,’ he added. ‘Surely that makes sense?’

  Philip hung his head in embarrassment. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘Chief Inspector, you don’t really think I did any of these things, do you?’ Liz Forbes appealed to him, a catch in her voice.

  ‘No, Mrs Forbes, I don’t think that for one minute, but I’m trying to investigate this case and I’ll have to demonstrate that you are the innocent party in all of this. You do see that, don’t you?’ he asked gently, turning to take in Philip and his detective constable in one sweeping gaze.

  Cameron hesitated for a moment then looked away. Whatever his superior decided he would just have to follow, for now. But that didn’t stop him having ideas of his own.

  ‘Maggie?’

  ‘Hm?’ Her murmur from under the duvet was sleepy. Maybe he shouldn’t bother her but that interview with Elizabeth Forbes kept playing over and over in his mind.

  ‘You know the chap that drowned?’

  The huge sigh that came from the other side of the bed told Lorimer he had his wife’s reluctant attention. ‘Well, we saw his widow today.’

  There was a silence, but he could tell she was listening. ‘Seems the poor woman suspected her husband of having had an affair. Rotten poison-pen letters.’

  Beside him Maggie sat up suddenly and Lorimer put his arm around her, sensing her shivers.

  ‘Can you imagine her anguish?’ Lorimer continued, ‘Never knowing if he strayed or not. I mean, why didn’t she just ask him? That’s the bit I can’t get my head around.’

  Maggie did not answer, but her stifled yawn told him he was on his own as far as this was concerned. He let go of her shoulder and tucked the edge of the duvet around her body as she sank back down to sleep.

  It wasn’t fair of him to disturb her like this, he scolded himself. She probably had loads on her mind too. Problem kids, parents’ nights, all sorts of stuff that kept deepening the lines on her pretty face. Lorimer lay back, feeling her warmth next to him. He was one lucky sod. She could still be out there in Florida.

  Maggie lay as still as she could, trying to measure her breathing to simulate sleep. What a question! She felt her face hot against the cool pillow as she thought about that woman. Why hadn’t she asked her husband? That was something that the DCI’s wife could have answered herself. Elizabeth Forbes didn’t want to know if it was true. And neither did Maggie Lorimer.

  CHAPTER 38

  ‘Milk money.’ The boy looked up at Maggie, his face devoid of any kind of expression. She resisted the impulse to add ‘please’ and turned away to find her handbag.

  ‘How much?’ she asked, throwing the question over her shoulder.

  ‘Five-thirty.’

  It was the same amount every week but the boys who collected her money changed with amazing regularity. Only once had she been ripped off, waiting like an idiot for change out of a tenner. The boy had never returned and the next night she’d opened the door to the same request, only realizing her mistake when a different lad asked for her money. She’d felt such a fool: she was a policeman’s wife, for heaven’s sake, she should have known better. Now Maggie asked the same question every week, ignoring the rolled eyes of the boys who thought she must be a bit thick not to remember how much she paid.

  ‘Just a minute, don’t have any change,’ Maggie muttered, scrabbling in her purse. ‘Can you come back in five minutes?’ she asked, only to be met with a grunt that was meant to indicate assent.

  Maggie closed the door, seething inwardly. There had been no time to get to the bank and Bill wasn’t home yet. She’d have to rake through the wardrobe to find any loose change he might have in his jacket pockets. Once upstairs she opened Bill’s side of their wardrobe and began to feel about for any coins. He had the habit of tucking folded banknotes into his top pockets so she tried there too. A quick trawl produced some silver and a worn fiver folded up with a piece of paper. She yanked them out and clattered downstairs just as the doorbell rang.

  ‘Here you are.’ Maggie thrust the money into the boy’s hands, some extra for a tip. With another grunt, the boy was off.

  It was only as she turned to close the door that Maggie realized the bit of paper was still in her hand. Unfolding it, she looked to see if it was something Bill would need to keep.

  Remember to ask Jo about going away.

  Maggie blinked at the note. It was certainly written in Bill’s scrawl. She turned it over. There was nothing else written down.

  Maggie slumped down on the bottom stair as if she’d been winded. Jo? There was only one Jo she could think of and that was Jo Grant, the attractive blonde DI who was so much a part of Bill Lorimer’s life these days. Going away? Maggie’s fingers shook as she looked again at the note. What the hell did that mean? Surely they hadn’t gone away together while she’d been in Florida? A wave of nausea came over her, leaving her weak and trembling. No, surely not. With an effort, she rose to her feet and staggered upstairs once more.

  She stared at the open wardrobe where Lorimer’s jackets hung from their rail. Which suit had this been in? It was only minutes ago she’d been searching through his things, yet she hadn’t a clue where she’d found the note. Some detective she’d make, Maggie told herself wryly. Then, with a cold certainty, Maggie Lorimer knew that was exactly what she was going to have to be if she really wanted to know the truth behind her suspicions. The image of that poor woman who’d lost her husband came into her head. The anguish of not knowing, Bill had murmured. Oh, God! The irony of it all!

  ‘Get a grip, woman,’ she said aloud, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed and smoothing the cover with her fingers, remembering the way he’d cuddled her into his shoulder. ‘He’s never been seeing anyone else. He loves you! Don’t be so daft!’

  Yet even as Maggie conjured up the glorious hours they’d spent in bed since her homecoming, she was wondering who else might have consoled him in the lonely months she’d been away.

  *

  ‘Daddy? Can we go to Disneyworld again this year?’

  Mandy had crept up on his knee and was snuggled into his neck, holding onto his sleeve and jiggling it to catch Malcolm’s attention. He smiled at his little daughter and ran one hand over her soft blonde curls. ‘Like a child out of Mabel Lucie Atwell,’ Duncan had remarked once on a rare visit to the Adams’ household. It came flooding back now, Duncan’s face lit up with pleasure as Mandy had sat on his knee, bouncing her up and down as if the older man was her real grandpa. How proud he’d been when his daughter Jane had given birth! They’d all been treated to sticky cakes in the boardroom that afternoon, he recalled. Now Duncan’s little grandchild would grow up with the knowledge that someone had taken her grandpa away.

  ‘Can we, Daddy? Please?’ Mandy’s voice implored. ‘I’ll be a really good girl and save up all my pocket money. Promise.’

  Malcolm hugged the child’s warm body to his chest. Her hair smelled so sweet and fragrant, the smell of baby innocence. A deep sigh escaped him and he felt the breath upon her hair. Mandy snuggled in tighter, her little hands clasped around his neck, her whole weight against him. How trusting children were! And how ready she was to believe that Daddy could make anything possible. Malcolm wanted to weep. She was so sure of her world, what on earth would she do when he was gone from it?

  ‘We’ll see, darling,’ he whispered into her hair, ‘w
e’ll see.’

  Malcolm closed the bedroom door and stepped quietly away. The Tale of Peter Rabbit was told over and over each night but Mandy never tired of hearing Daddy reading to her. He’d left her yawning as she turned over onto her side, one thumb stuck into her mouth. It was a habit Lesley hated but tonight he hadn’t had the heart to admonish the little girl. There was so little time left for cuddles and stories. Perhaps he should take the therapist’s advice and simply jack in his work. An intense longing to be with his family threatened to overwhelm him. He stood outside the pink-and-white room with its hanging mobiles and flowered wallpaper, imagining the rise and fall of his daughter’s shoulders as she drowsed her way to sleep. If only he could hold onto this moment for ever: the quietness, the peace of knowing that she slept contentedly, his only wish.

  Downstairs the telephone rang, shattering the silence, and Malcolm made his way towards the sound, holding onto the banister for support. Lesley was out fetching Gayle from Brownies. It was probably one of his wife’s friends.

  Already rehearsing what he was going to say to Janette, Lin or whoever it might be, Malcolm picked up the telephone. A puzzled frown crossed his brow as a man’s voice whispered in his ear.

  ‘Michael?’ He sank to the floor, his shaking body no longer able to support him. ‘Michael? Is that really you?’

  *

  JJ had gone out, locking the doors behind him. He’d grinned at Michael as he’d left, an expression of devilry in his eyes. He wouldn’t be long, he’d said. Had to see to something. Whatever that was seemed to necessitate taking the laptop and his overnight gear, a fact that was not lost on the man left behind.

  Michael had waited by the window listening to the van as it disappeared out of earshot. The dust swirled from the spot where the van had stood, then gently blew back onto the grasses on either side of the road. Heart thudding, Michael raced through to the kitchen. For hours he’d eyed a large walk-in cupboard opposite the entrance from the living room. Not once had JJ tried to open it in all the time they’d been in the house, an omission the younger man had found significant.