Pitch Black lab-5

by Alex Gray

‘Aye, well I’ll let you know. If I remember,’ he mumbled. There was a silence that made him look up in time to see the two men exchanging a glance.

  ‘Is that it, then?’

  ‘For now,’ Wilson replied, standing up, ready to leave. ‘Oh, there’s just one more thing,’ he added, looking back before he and Cameron left the room. ‘You need to come down to HQ to have your fingerprints taken.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Process of elimination,’ Cameron told him blandly, then followed his colleague out into the fresher air of the Glasgow streets.

  ‘He’s not my idea of what a senior newspaper reporter would be,’ Cameron remarked as they set off in Wilson’s car.

  ‘Och, don’t let him fool you. He’s not so daft, that one, believe me,’ Wilson chuckled. ‘Anyway, we got what we wanted. Now let’s see if Greer has had dealings with any of the Kelvin players.’

  *

  Back in his flat, Jimmy Greer looked vacantly into the empty tumbler. What if he’d left a trace? What if they really had a print? He examined his hands, first one then the other, watching each of them shake. And for the first time in a long time he wondered if what he had done in the name of capturing a good story would come back to haunt him.

  CHAPTER 33

  The prison officer walked past the flower beds, admiring the neat rows of annuals that the girls had planted. They’d excelled themselves this year. The prisoner who’d brought them all on from seed was there every day, tending to her beds with a devotion that had surprised the prison staff. She had been found guilty of assault to severe injury and would be here for several more years, able to take at least a small pleasure from the changing seasons and what they might bring. Anyone looking at her, absorbed in her work, would never dream that she’d left her partner fighting for his life and permanently disfigured after her rampage with a baseball bat. She’d meant to kill him and had almost succeeded. Maybe, just maybe, this ability to care for living things would rub off when the time came for her release.

  The thought of gardens was quickly banished as the officer unlocked the blue door and closed it behind her. Some duties were harder than others and this was one she didn’t relish at all. Telling a prisoner bad news could provoke all sorts of behaviour: some went quite loopy, smashing stuff and howling hysterically; others merely shrugged, used as they were to life’s hard knocks. How this one would react was anybody’s guess.

  She was sitting in the main recreation room, flicking through a magazine that someone had brought in for one of the other girls. The officer sat down opposite her, saw the prisoner glance up then look back at the article she’d been reading as if wishing to ignore this unexpected visitor.

  ‘Janis,’ the officer began, leaning forward so that only the prisoner could hear her.

  Janis Faulkner looked up, then, seeing the expression of the other woman’s face, she let the magazine fall from her hands. ‘What is it?’ she whispered.

  ‘They’re not letting you out on bail,’ the officer told her.

  ‘Why not?’ she asked. The question burst from her lips.

  ‘Don’t know. Your solicitor can probably tell you more.’ Then, watching the blood drain from Janis’s face she reached out a hand and touched the prisoner’s shoulder. ‘You okay? Want a drink of water or something?’

  Janis Faulkner shook her head, staring at the prison officer as if seeing her for the first time. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘I’m fine. Really.’

  The woman gave Janis another quizzical look as if to reassure herself that her news was not going to precipitate an incident. ‘Well, if you’re sure…’

  ‘It’s okay, just a bit disappointing, that’s all.’ Janis looked as if she was forcing the smile on to her face. The officer took the hint. She’d want to be alone for a bit right now and was probably willing this messenger of bad news to get up and go away. She stood up, nodding her understanding and smiling back at Janis with an expression of relief.

  ‘I think she’ll be all right,’ she told the duty officer downstairs. ‘Just keep an eye on her, though. You know what can happen,’ she added, raising her eyebrows significantly.

  It couldn’t be true. Marion Peters had as good as promised that she’d be granted bail pending an appeal. For days now she’d dreamed of having a proper shower or a bath. Putting on clean clothes and walking along a street where nobody would be looking at her, watching her every move. Now all these thoughts were crumbling into dust. Janis clasped her hands together tightly, willing herself not to cry. How long had she been in here already? And how long would it be till her case came to court? Lips trembling, she made the calculation. God! She might still be here at Christmas. The idea was unbearable. And if they found her guilty? Janis tried to stand up but her knees were weak beneath her and she sank back on to the chair, letting her hair cover her face so nobody could see the tears that weren’t too far away.

  Images of Nicko came into her mind then, his laughing face and the memory of his arms holding her hard against their bed. And in that moment Janis Faulkner knew such hatred that it made her gasp. He was the guilty one, not her. His life had been full of brightness, charm, success and power. Now what was she to have? Punishment? But hadn’t she been punished enough already? She’d been at his mercy when he was alive and she was still suffering now that he was dead.

  CHAPTER 34

  Lorimer put down the telephone and leaned back, staring into space. So, only two sets of prints had been found on the dummy and none on the knife. There had been plenty of partials and a few whole prints inside the boot room itself but since people went in and out of there every day these were not of any significance. The players had been subdued when they’d had their prints taken, still shocked, no doubt, from the macabre discovery. But not one of their prints matched up with the ones that held most significance. Nor had they matched with any of the club’s personnel. It was frustrating. How had someone managed to slip past the police presence and into the boot room in broad daylight? Albert Little had been beside himself with fury when he’d seen the mess, Baz Thomson had confided in the DCI. And how somebody had unlocked the room without his knowledge or Jim Christie’s was a sheer mystery. ‘Maybe it was Ronnie Rankin’s ghost,’ Baz had joked, making Lorimer wonder if the striker had in fact had some hand in the incident. But that was just Baz. He couldn’t resist a cheeky comment even when faced with the presence of Strathclyde’s finest.

  Still, it wasn’t over yet. They had more results to come in from those players who had left early and from the Gazette’s senior reporter. Meantime there was plenty for the team to do. The TV appeal had produced a good response and officers were collating information and following it all up. There had even been a possible sighting of Donnie Douglas. DC Cameron had tracked down the man who had been spotted but it turned out to be a false alarm. Lorimer pursed his lips. He didn’t like to appear heavy-handed with his officers but maybe having Alison Renton in for questioning in a police environment might elicit a better response than Cameron and Weir had received. He would put it to the Detective Constables as tactfully as possible.

  The girl sat in the interview room, her dark hair smoothed back from her face with a shiny butterfly-shaped clip. It glinted in the sunlight as she turned her face towards Lorimer.

  ‘Alison Renton?’

  The girl nodded as he put out his hand. The soft, warm clasp of her fingers in his reminded him just how young she was. But the expression on her face lacked the innocence of that brief touch. This one had been around a bit, he thought, seeing the frank appraisal that swept over the men in the room. Groupie number two, the footballers’ words came back to him just then and Lorimer wondered what sort of young girl followed in the wake of these sportsmen, hoping for cheap thrills. Yet she’d dressed nicely for this interview, a short-sleeved white blouse billowing out over a neat black skirt. Had this been her school uniform not so long ago?

  ‘Donnie Douglas,’ Lorimer began. ‘We wondered if you’d had time to think where he mi
ght have gone. Or,’ he added, keeping the girl’s eyes fixed on his, ‘why he left his flat so suddenly.’

  Alison Renton looked away from him towards the uniformed officer at the door then back to Lorimer. She bit her lip then, leaning forward, she whispered, ‘Does he have to be in here? Can I no speak to you on my own?’

  Lorimer cocked his head to one side. What was this all about?

  ‘Afraid not. Security regulations demand that you have the protection of other officers present.’ His voice sounded suddenly stuffy to his own ears and so he grinned and whispered back, ‘I might eat a wee girl like you for my dinner.’

  Alison sniggered, her face changing in an instant to the young lassie she really was underneath the layers of cheap make-up. She wasn’t as streetwise as she liked to make out, Lorimer decided.

  ‘Anyway, why would you want to talk to me on my own?’

  Her gaze fell and she mumbled something into her swelling bosoms.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Don’t want everyone to know,’ she repeated.

  Lorimer leaned back, smiling encouragement. ‘This meeting is taking place in the strictest confidence,’ he told her. ‘Not a soul outside these four walls will be allowed to divulge what you say unless I let them.’ He tried to look both grim and encouraging. It must have worked because the girl heaved a sigh that could only be relief.

  ‘I havenae told my maw,’ she began. Then she looked down at her lap again and Lorimer could see her twisting the ends of her white shirt. She risked a glance up at him again. ‘It’s why Donnie left,’ she said at last.

  Lorimer nodded, letting her continue without interruption.

  ‘We had a big fall out,’ she admitted, ‘Donnie was mad at me cos …’ She fell silent, biting her lower lip again, fingers still working nervously at her blouse. ‘Cos I wouldnae do things his way,’ she added lamely.

  Lorimer let the silence grow between them, watching the girl begin to rock back and forth, torn between keeping her secret and revealing it to this policeman who kept staring at her.

  ‘Why did Donnie leave, Alison?’ he asked at last, his voice quiet and reassuring, inviting her confidence.

  She put both hands up to her face, covering her mouth as though to stop herself from bursting into tears. Then, shaking her head as if an inevitable moment had come, Alison Renton gave a strangled sob.

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ she said.

  Maggie turned from the kitchen sink, her face lighting up as she saw her husband coming towards her.

  ‘Hey, give me time to take these off,’ she said, waving her rubber-gloved hands in the air.

  Lorimer stepped back, watching his wife pull off the yellow gloves and throw them to one side. Then she was in his arms, her head tucked against his shoulder. It was the best time of the day, this sweet moment of coming home, he told himself, hugging her closer.

  ‘You’re gorgeous,’ he murmured into her hair.

  ‘Mm,’ came the reply, then she slipped from his grasp and turned back towards the sink. ‘Lobster salad,’ she said, indicating the array of foodstuffs she’d been preparing.

  ‘Oh? Any special reason?’ Lorimer asked, brow furrowed. Had he missed some anniversary? But Maggie was smiling and shaking her head.

  ‘No. Saw it on special offer and decided you and I needed a wee reminder of Mull.’

  ‘Good thinking.’

  ‘So, let me finish this while you open that nice Chablis I stuck in the fridge. Okay?’

  ‘Sounds great.’

  Lorimer gave a sigh of satisfaction, ‘That,’ he said, raising his glass in salute, ‘was magnificent.’

  ‘Och, you deserve a treat. What with the hours you’ve been working.’

  ‘Does it bother you?’

  Maggie shook her head. ‘Not really. Anyway, what’s new with this horrible murder case? No more bodies, real or otherwise, I hope?’

  ‘No.’ He paused, swirling the straw-coloured wine round his glass thoughtfully. ‘But I did have somebody in to see me today that would interest you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Strictly confidential, of course.’ He smiled. Maggie could be relied upon to keep his news to herself, but after his promises to Alison Renton he felt obliged to underline this.

  ‘Maybe you shouldn’t tell me, then,’ she retorted, with a shake of her dark curls.

  ‘Donnie Douglas: you know, the footballer who’s disappeared … well, his girlfriend came in to see me at our request.’

  ‘Hadn’t Niall and that new fellow visited her already?’

  Lorimer nodded. ‘Thought a new face might impress her sufficiently to winkle out some information. Niall felt she was holding something back when her mother was there. And he was right.’ He took a swig of wine as Maggie watched him, her interest piqued. ‘She finally let on that she was expecting Douglas’s child.’

  ‘Wow. So, what…?’

  ‘They’d had a huge row about it. She wouldn’t tell her mother. Didn’t want anyone to know. Said she wanted money from him, to have an abortion. Douglas went ballistic. Screamed the place down, according to the girl. Said he wasn’t having any of it, that he’d marry her and they’d bring up the baby together.’

  ‘So, what was her problem?’

  Lorimer sighed. ‘You’d have to see her. She’s just a wee lassie, probably ages with some of your sixth years. She just wanted to have a good time, hang around the footballers, get off with as many of them as she could.’

  ‘Sounds a right wee slapper to me,’ Maggie replied.

  ‘Hold on, though. She’s also a calculating young woman. According to her, she told Donnie Douglas that if he didn’t get her the money for an abortion she was going to contact the club and tell them everything.’

  ‘And she told you this of her own volition?’ Maggie’s tone was sceptical.

  ‘Aye, but guess what? She’d changed her mind. Typical woman.’ He laughed as Maggie made a face at him. ‘No sooner does Douglas do a runner and she can’t contact him on his mobile, but she decides she wants the baby after all.’

  ‘A case of “you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone”,’ Maggie sang the Joni Mitchell lyric lightly.

  ‘That about sums it up. Poor bloke’s off somewhere thinking he’s being blackmailed by a girl he really cared about and he’s worried, no doubt, about all the flak waiting for him back at the club.’

  ‘Why should the other players give him a hard time? Surely they’d be sympathetic?’

  Lorimer shook his head. ‘Think of your kids in the playground, Mags. The ones who make life misery for a few of their mates; it’s like that. Imagine a crowd of daft lassies following the players around, making themselves available, let’s say. Well, the boys had them sussed. Gave them names like “groupie number one” and so on.’ He paused, deciding to leave out the more lurid details. ‘Anyway, Alison Renton was one of this crowd and Donnie Douglas fell for her. Simple as that.’

  ‘So,’ Maggie asked slowly, ‘do you think she had anything to do with the dummy incident?’

  Lorimer shook his head. ‘No, I don’t. Had her prints taken, though. She was actually rather good about that, said she hoped it would help to find Donnie. No, I think whoever did this wanted to draw attention to something else. Using the number eight shirt was maybe just something to spice up the scene.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’m wondering if the real reason somebody broke into the boot room was to paint that stuff on the wall.’

  ‘Kill Kennedy?’

  ‘That’s what I think. There’s something odd about the man. Something that doesn’t feel right …’ He tailed off, eyes looking beyond his wife to a place only he could see.

  Maggie Lorimer, knowing that look of old, slipped away quietly. She’d make some coffee, have it outside in the garden. He’d come and join her eventually, but right now her husband was back at work even while he sat at his own table, oblivious to everything around him.

  CHAPTER 35

&nbs
p; Rosie dreamed that she was in a white room. Everything was white: walls, floor, furniture, even her clothes were made from some thin white stuff. She could feel the fabric cool under her fingers, the garment floating loose around her naked body.

  But she was not alone in this room. There was a tall man dressed in a pale uniform who seemed to be waiting for her by an open door. He stood very still and Rosie thought to herself that he had a military sort of bearing; this seemed to be confirmed by the peaked hat tucked beneath the crook of his elbow and the clipboard full of papers he was consulting. She felt herself move towards him, curious to know what the papers contained. They were to do with what was to become of her, she knew that instinctively without having to be told.

  ‘You’ll go through there,’ he said, pointing to the doorway. Rosie looked up, prepared to smile, but his face was so grave that she looked beyond his outstretched hand to see where the door might lead. She didn’t want to leave this familiar whiteness behind but the man’s face told her that she had no option, so she moved through the doorway, shivering as she entered into a shadowy corridor. Blank walls on either side curved overhead to form an arch all the way along, so it was more like a tunnel than a corridor. The darkness did not intensify, rather the quality of twilight remained the same even when the white room was left far behind. On and on she walked until all sense of time had vanished. She never stopped travelling forwards, only hesitating sometimes to rub her eyes and blink in the dim light. Rosie felt no fear, only a growing curiosity as to where the tunnel would lead and what she might find at the other end. At last the stifling greyness gave way as pale light shone against a curve on the wall and she stepped out into a brightness so intense and dazzling that she had to close her eyes tightly and cover them with her hands.

  A sudden babble of voices filled her ears, so loud that Rosie wanted to scream. The sound of her own voice came to her then, a high, thin sound like an infant’s mewling, and she felt helpless against the hands that lifted her up and away from the ground. For a moment she felt safe — these hands were strong — though they held her body in a vice-like grip. I’m just tired, she told herself. My body is weak, that’s all. But then the dream took on nightmarish proportions as everything happened at once. A hand pushed her down, hard, and her body was forced into a small cage. Rosie felt sharp edges graze her arms and something cold strike her bare feet. The snap as a lid was shut above her echoed all around, mingling with screams and curses. Before she knew what was happening, the world tilted sideways and then her whole body jarred as the cage came to earth with a thud. She tried to speak, but no sound came from her lips. Her neck was twisted into an awkward angle and then she felt her head thump against the side of the cage as if it were being pulled over rough ground.