The Bird That Did Not Sing (DCI Lorimer)

by Alex Gray

  Jeremy’s hand was up first and the boy did not wait for Maggie to acknowledge him.

  ‘“Having or showing knowledge or learning”,’ he quoted.

  ‘Sounds like Imogen,’ someone said, and sniggered. ‘Specially the showing bit.’

  Imogen’s face reddened as Maggie glared at the giggling girls. That might be true, but there was no need to embarrass her in front of the class.

  ‘Right, let’s see how much knowledge and learning you lot are capable of,’ she said. ‘I want to be certain that you have all studied The Wasteland thoroughly by next term. I’ve set an exam question for you to work on over the holidays, so that’s why we’ve spent time discussing this poem in class. Okay?’

  Nods and sighs from the pupils were drowned out by the sharp drilling of the period bell, and Maggie watched as these fourteen young men and women shoved books and files back into their bags, rising to leave for their next class.

  Imogen was the last to leave and she turned to speak to her English teacher.

  ‘It doesn’t bother me, you know,’ she said. ‘Once I’m at university, I probably won’t see any of them ever again.’ Then, with a rare smile that made the girl almost pretty, she shrugged and walked out of Maggie’s classroom, closing the door behind her.

  ‘Ah, the confidence of youth!’ Maggie said quietly to herself. ‘Best of luck when you get to Cambridge, Imogen.’

  There was one period to go before the final bell of the day, which would signal the end of term, and Maggie had no class on her timetable. She had the option of packing up and leaving her classroom now, something that the head teacher had said was reasonable given the amount of work the staff took home anyway. But she would be spending long enough alone this evening as it was. Tonight was the night that Bill was going to this school reunion, something he had been a bit quiet about. Maggie guessed he wasn’t really looking forward to seeing what had happened to mates from more than twenty years ago. She would sit here until school was over for the afternoon and wait for the car park to clear before heading off across the city. The evenings were so much lighter now and it was a pleasure being able to sit by the kitchen window and watch the birds feeding in their garden, Chancer the cat safely tucked on her lap.

  Maggie drew the small blue poetry book towards her and opened its well-thumbed pages. April is the cruellest month, she read again. Then, looking out of the classroom window as a seagull soared past, she recalled what Imogen Spinks had said: ironic things can be cruel. Maggie shivered suddenly. She was married to a man whose life revolved around crimes where cruelties often occurred. But somehow she doubted he would ever voice such a thing at tonight’s school reunion.

  There were lilac trees blossoming in the gardens of the small market town that the lorry rattled through on its way back to the motorway. The stop outside this village, far from the prying eyes of any CCTV cameras, had been necessary, but the driver was glad to be back on the road again, his cargo safely stowed.

  Don’t think of them as human beings, the big man had scoffed. See them in terms of the wad of cash you get every time you bring them in. And he had tried to, he really had, thought Gerry. But the look in the young woman’s eyes as he had bundled her back into that stifling narrow space had given him pause. It had been a look that had reminded him that she was more than mere cargo to be collected from the docks and delivered up to Scotland.

  Gerry remembered the banging behind his cab, a faint sound soon drowned out by the noise of the lorry’s engine. He’d warned the girl during the toilet stop, taken her arm and clutched it so tightly that she had yelped in pain. He hadn’t wanted to touch her, let alone hurt her, but the risk of discovery was too great a threat and so his fingers had left pale marks as he had released her black skin from his grasp. Then, that look. Those great solemn eyes had regarded him with an expression of utter fearfulness; no woman had ever looked at Gerry Collins like that before. He would be glad when the long journey north was over and he had delivered her to the big man.

  The roof of the lorry brushed the trees overhanging the street, scattering the sweet-scented blossoms on to the pavement to be trodden underfoot or blown away in the chill April wind.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Everything was so much smaller than William Lorimer had remembered; even the playground where he had kicked a ball around every day with his mates seemed cramped, though perhaps that was due in part to the flat-roofed single-storey structure hemming in the space, a sorry-looking building that was clearly meant as temporary accommodation for the growing numbers of students. How many boots had kicked the wooden strip around that classroom door? Lorimer thought, looking at the patches of bare concrete exposed below the torn and battered fascia.

  For a moment the tall detective hesitated, wondering if even now it wasn’t too late to change his mind. Would it really matter if he turned back and left an empty place at the dining room table?

  ‘My God! Big Bill Lorimer! How’re you doing, pal?’

  Lorimer blinked as the voice behind him became the figure of a short, thickset man whose suntanned face was beaming up at him. Someone who knew him, recognised him, and from whose expression it was evident that some recognition should be returned.

  ‘It’s me,’ the man said. ‘Stuart Clark! Don’t tell me I’ve changed that much, big man?’

  Lorimer took the outstretched hand, grasping it firmly, the years falling away as his old school friend’s face became familiar once more.

  ‘Stu! Good grief! Hardly recognised you! Where have you been all this time?’

  They fell into step and approached the main door together as Stuart’s wide smile brought back memories of the class joker who had been everybody’s mate.

  ‘Emigrated after my first marriage broke up. Out in Brisbane now. Got my own business and doing quite well.’ Stu grinned, his teeth white against the tanned skin. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Did you come back just for the reunion?’ Lorimer replied, sidestepping the question.

  ‘Yes and no.’ Stuart’s smile faded a little. ‘Needed to see my daughter. We keep in touch fairly regularly but I only get over here once a year so thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.’

  ‘Looks like we’re being herded into the main hall first,’ Lorimer said, pointing to an arrow beneath the printed sign CLASS REUNION as they stood outside what had once been the school office.

  ‘Hey! Is that Stu Clark! My God! Long time no see, how are you?’

  Both men turned at once.

  ‘Eddie? Eddie Miller? Good Lord, you havenae changed a bit, not like some of us!’ Stuart joked, patting his own ample stomach.

  Lorimer shook hands with the new arrival and gave a perfunctory smile. If Eddie Miller hadn’t changed much, then perhaps it was down to his athletic prowess. Miller the Miler, they used to call him, Lorimer recalled. The lean man who stood regarding them both quizzically had the look of someone who was uncomfortable wearing a shirt and tie, and Lorimer guessed that his normal garb was still some form of tracksuit.

  ‘Let me guess,’ Stuart said at once. ‘You’re a PE teacher.’

  ‘Right first time,’ Eddie murmured, though he looked less than happy to admit to the fact. ‘I work here as a matter of fact,’ he added reluctantly.

  ‘No getting out of tonight’s celebrations then, eh?’ Stuart nudged the man with his elbow and laughed again.

  They had reached a short flight of stairs at the end of a corridor, and as the three men approached an archway that led to the main school hall, the noise of raised voices told them that most of their fellow classmates had already arrived.

  ‘Crikey, bit of a crowd! Didn’t think that many would turn up!’ Stuart exclaimed, rubbing his hands together as though ready and eager to join the fray. Below them in the centre of the hall several circular tables were set out for dinner, flanked by two long refectory-style tables laden with drinks, the laughter and loud voices suggesting that many old friends were already reuniting over a bottle or two.

&
nbsp; ‘It’s the whole year group,’ Eddie explained. ‘Not just our class. I’ll leave you for a minute if you don’t mind,’ he apologised. ‘Need to help behind the scenes.’ He nodded at them and headed towards the far end of the hall. Lorimer’s eyes followed him until he reached a red-haired woman holding a clipboard.

  As Eddie spoke to her, she turned to look straight at them and Lorimer felt a strange sort of tug somewhere in his chest.

  ‘Look who it is!’ Stuart grinned, digging Lorimer in the ribs. ‘Your old flame, Foxy Lady.’ He looked up at him as if trying to gauge a reaction, but the years of maintaining a bland countenance in the interview room allowed the detective superintendent to conceal the turmoil of his feelings.

  Instead he merely nodded and then turned to a board beside them displaying the seating plan for the evening.

  ‘Let’s see where we are, eh? Maybe they’ve put us together?’

  But as they peered at the A4 sheets of printed names, Stuart Clark gave a snort of disappointment.

  ‘Goodness’ sake! All in alphabetical order. You’d think they’d have more imagination than that!’

  It was true, thought Lorimer as he found his own place at table two, the G–L group. But the Vivien Fox he remembered had never lacked an imaginative spark, and he saw to his amusement that her name was at the top of the same list.

  The next few minutes passed in a blur of handshakes and cries of ‘Lorimer!’ as he entered the hall and mingled with several men and women who seemed pleased to see him after a space of more than twenty years. Then, drinks in hand, they were called to attention by the clinking of a knife against the rim of a glass and all eyes turned to see Eddie Miller standing behind a lectern at the front of the hall.

  ‘Friends, former classmates, distinguished guests or otherwise…’ A small ripple of polite laughter followed his deliberate pause.

  ‘Welcome back to Glenwood High School, though in truth some of us have hardly left the old place!’

  There was a slight murmur amongst a few of the crowd, and Lorimer noticed a woman raising her eyebrows in surprise at something her neighbour was telling her as they looked at Eddie.

  ‘As you may know, I am now principal teacher of PE at Glenwood, and it gives me immense pleasure to co-host this reunion and to see so many of you here tonight.’

  Lorimer watched as Eddie nodded towards the slim red-haired woman, who acknowledged his words with the tiniest tilt of her head.

  The rest of the speech was lost to him as Lorimer gazed at her, taking in the trim figure and the familiar flame-coloured hair, shorter now than it had been back then but just as luxuriant. In profile Vivien Gilmartin was even more striking looking than she had been as a teenager; the years had added some gravitas to her face. And were there other changes? Weren’t those cheekbones sharper? And the fingers clasping the stem of her glass: weren’t they just a little thinner than the ones that had clasped his own as they’d strolled hand in hand through the summer meadows?

  Eddie’s speech ended with a ripple of applause, the signal for everyone to take their places at the tables as dinner was about to be served. There were handshakes and exchanges of feigned surprise as men and women caught sight of their place cards and began talking to their neighbours. As far as he could make out, there were more women than men present, but someone had gone to the bother of trying to slot the guests into the conventional man, woman, man, woman arrangement. For some reason Lorimer felt irked by this. Why not just let friends sit where they liked? After all, the whole point of the evening was to reunite people, wasn’t it? Then, as he looked at the name on the place setting beside his own, he began to wonder.

  From the whispers around him and the glances of the women, Lorimer knew that Vivien was coming towards their table before he actually turned to see her.

  ‘So you came,’ a husky voice whispered in his ear. ‘I wondered if you would.’

  Lorimer rose from his seat to greet her, an innate courtesy that his late father had always said marked a man out as a gentleman, but the woman whose skirts swished as she sat down on his left waved this away.

  For a moment they looked at one another, appraising the changes that had made the boy into a man, the girl into a very lovely woman. That wicked smile he remembered was more subtle now, the merest hint of mischief in those green eyes. And there was no denying that time had given Vivien Fox a dignity in her forties that had been lacking in the impetuous teenager. What did she see in him? Lorimer wondered as they spread napkins across their knees and made small talk with the people on their other side. Did she see the lines around his eyes, the way that years of chasing criminals had given a more sombre cast to his countenance? There were quite a few of the men at adjacent tables whose heads were either shaved or thinning on top; he’d been luckier, he thought, running a hand through his thick dark hair as he glanced over the platinum-blonde coiffure of the woman on his right. He had seen from the place card that her name was Janice, but try as he might he simply could not remember any girl from his schooldays in this matronly lady.

  ‘You’re looking well,’ Vivien said, suddenly turning to him, a glass held aloft. ‘Cheers,’ she murmured, offering the rim. ‘To us,’ she said, glancing at him.

  As he touched the wine glass with his own, Lorimer knew that her whispered words were just for him.

  ‘To old times,’ he replied, momentarily confused by the warmth of her glance.

  ‘And what did you do after you left school?’ Janice asked loudly, her face turned up to Lorimer’s.

  ‘University for a bit,’ he replied. ‘Then I joined the police.’

  ‘I knew that!’ a woman opposite said triumphantly, her bosom swelling inside a too tight black dress. ‘I’ve seen your picture in the papers. And you’ve been on the telly. Crimewatch, wasn’t it?’

  He forced a smile and nodded, wondering if this had been a mistake after all. He could barely remember these women’s names, let alone their faces.

  ‘Weren’t you involved in that football club?’ someone else asked. ‘The one where that referee got shot?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And that woman —’

  ‘I think William is here to see old friends, not to be quizzed on his night off,’ Vivien said smoothly. She had not raised her voice in the slightest, but it held the sort of tone that made other people sit up a littler straighter, take notice of her words. It was, in short, a voice that contained authority, and Lorimer began to wonder just how Vivien Fox had spent the last twenty years.

  He breathed a silent sigh of relief as the conversation turned to the other men and women around the table, their polite exchanges supplying nuggets of information that could be shared later with absent spouses.

  ‘And what about you?’ he asked softly. ‘Did you ever achieve that dream of becoming an actress?’

  There was a sadness in her eyes as she smiled at him, the slightest shake of her head signifying that no, that dream remained unfulfilled.

  ‘But why?’ His brow furrowed. ‘You were so focused on the whole thing back then…’

  One shoulder was raised in a shrug, but the red-haired woman seemed disinclined to offer any sort of explanation.

  The frown remained. She’d been so adamant that the life of the stage was for her. And she had been so talented, good enough to be accepted by RADA, for goodness’ sake. The notion that Vivien had abandoned him needlessly made Lorimer feel like that disappointed boy once more. She should have achieved fame and fortune, a tiny voice insisted. Hadn’t she made a sacrifice to take up that course? Shouldn’t they have stayed together?

  For a moment it was as if a darkness had clouded his mind, then she smiled again and Lorimer remembered who he was, and where: a senior police officer, a happily married police officer, at a simple school reunion.

  The night drove on in a whirl of conversation and laughter. Several of the men and women became tipsy, some getting up to dance around the fringes of the tables as the disco got under way and the
music changed from quiet background melodies to the more raucous sounds from their youth.

  ‘Hard to talk above all of this noise,’ Vivien said, leaning in towards him. ‘Fancy a walk outside?’

  Lorimer glanced around at the others on their table, clearly engrossed in different conversations. Their own exchanges had skirted around work and family life (no, she had never had children either, Vivien had told him), but there was a strange wistfulness in some of her glances. It was as if there was more to be said; things that she wanted to tell him privately. And his detective’s curiosity was aroused.

  As Lorimer hesitated, he saw her rise from her place at the table, one eyebrow arched in amusement at his indecision.

  ‘Come on, then,’ she said, and began to walk across the hall.

  It was only polite to follow, Lorimer told himself. There was nothing wrong with her request to have a quiet chat, was there? And yet as he passed Stu Clark’s table and saw the man’s eyebrows raised and that mocking grin, he knew what his old friend must be thinking.

  Vivien had stopped by a row of pegs that was their cloakroom for the evening and Lorimer watched as she pulled on a dark green coat, wrapping it around her slim body then flicking her hair out from the collar.

  There were several people around the doorway, smokers who had left the hall behind for a cigarette, but none of them commented on the well-dressed woman and the tall policeman stepping out into the chill of the April night.

  They walked on in silence, past the darkened windows of classrooms and around a corner of the main building until they reached the playground. As they approached the scarred metal benches, Vivien looked back at him enquiringly.

  ‘Remember…?’ she began, a small smile on her lips as she took her old place on the bench. And of course he did remember. All those hours after school when they had sat here putting the world to rights, the whole of the playground quiet at last except for the occasional cleaner passing by or the janitor who never seemed to notice them there at all.