Never Somewhere Else lab-1

by Alex Gray

  ‘Bad end,’ echoed Norma, a silly smile still fixed on her face.

  ‘Perhaps you remember the pictures?’

  ‘Why should I remember them? A product of Satan, that’s what they were. No graven images were ever allowed in this house. She never got those ideas from me. She had a good and Godly upbringing here.’

  ‘Did you ever meet any of Janet’s friends?’

  ‘No.’ The word was spoken quietly now, her outburst suddenly over.

  ‘Did Janet often come back here?’

  The woman shook her head silently, a look of hatred in her eyes. Was her wrath directed against her dead daughter? Lorimer wondered.

  ‘May I ask a question, Mrs Yarwood?’ Solomon cocked his head to the side in a gesture of deference. ‘Did you get on well with Janet?’ For a moment the woman looked as though she didn’t understand the question so Solomon continued, ‘Were you friends?’

  ‘I was her mother.’

  Solomon nodded as if she had told him a great deal in that one answer. Lorimer rose to his feet.

  ‘I’m sorry to take up your time, ladies. Perhaps if I could have Mr Yarwood’s address?’

  Lorimer ignored Annie’s puzzled look. He had that information already but he wanted to see the woman’s reaction to the question. Mrs Yarwood stood up, hesitated for a moment, then walked out without a word. Norma sat on, her chubby hands plucking at the voluminous folds of her skirt.

  ‘What about you, Norma?’ Lorimer whispered conspiratorially, once her mother was out of earshot. ‘Was Janet your friend?’

  Norma nodded solemnly, the pigtail jerking up and down behind her.

  ‘Janet’s gone to the bad fire,’ she whispered back, one hand cupped against her mouth.

  At that moment Mrs Yarwood returned and handed Lorimer a piece of paper.

  ‘Thank you. I may have to contact you again, I’m afraid.’

  The woman shrugged slightly then led the way to the front door.

  As they filed out, Lorimer looked around the room, mentally contrasting it to the city flat Janet Yarwood had chosen for her home. There were no pictures here, no photographs anywhere at all. There was just one decoration on the wall: a text with the words ‘God is Love’ embroidered in painstaking detail. Lorimer gave an involuntary shudder and quickened his steps to join the others out in the fresh air.

  Nobody spoke until the car drew away from the cottage.

  ‘Well!’ exclaimed Annie. ‘You wouldn’t need a psychology degree to work out why Janet Yarwood left home!’ Then, realising her gaffe, she glanced in the rear-view mirror. ‘Oops! Sorry. No offence, Dr Brightman.’

  Lorimer looked away, trying to hide his smile. ‘None taken. And you’re right. I only wonder what took her so long to make the break.’

  ‘And I don’t blame the husband either,’ Annie went on, warming to her theme. ‘She’s not exactly a barrel of laughs to come home to, is she?’

  Lorimer didn’t answer, keeping his face turned towards the fields all around them as the car turned onto the main road and headed back to Glasgow. Things weren’t always as simple as his young WPC made out. He was interested now to meet Janet Yarwood’s father. Would he have been closer to his elder daughter?

  Norman Yarwood was a stocky man in his early sixties. The red hair that Lorimer had expected was peppered with grey and thinning on top. His florid complexion was either high blood pressure or too much booze, thought Lorimer. His black suit had seen better days and was shiny along the sleeves. Despite the chilly day, the man was perspiring freely and had already taken out a white handkerchief to mop his brow.

  Lorimer and Solomon had arrived at Yarwood’s address shortly after their visit to his former home. Now the man was reduced to a rented room in one of the old Pollokshaws tenements. His landlady, Mrs Singh, had been none too pleased to see Lorimer’s warrant card, pursing her lips in disapproval as she showed the two men to her lodger’s room.

  ‘I couldn’t believe it when they told me,’ Norman Yarwood began. ‘I still can’t.’

  He sat on the edge of his bed, head bowed, twisting the handkerchief between his large red fists.

  ‘I mean, who’d want to do something like that to Jan?’

  Lorimer was seated on the only chair and Solomon stood motionless by the end of the bed, his hands clasped in front of him. Lorimer was reminded of a Rabbi come to pay his respects.

  ‘When was the last time you saw your daughter?’ the detective asked.

  Norman Yarwood sighed deeply. ‘Only a couple of weeks ago. We had our tea in that place in the park. You know. The art place where she worked.’

  ‘Did you ever visit her at home?’

  The man raised his head and the eyes which had threatened tears suddenly became shrewd.

  ‘Are you trying to suggest something?’

  ‘Mr Yarwood, we need to know if any of Janet’s friends or family had visited her flat shortly before her death.’

  The man nodded, then went on. ‘Yes, of course I did. I didn’t bother her much, mind. She had her work and it wouldn’t have been fair me dropping in forever.’

  ‘When did you last visit Garnethill?’

  ‘Must have been about a week, maybe ten days before the last time I …’ His voice faded and the red fists screwed the handkerchief into a ball. ‘The last time I saw her,’ he finished.

  ‘Did you notice the pictures in your daughter’s flat?’

  Norman Yarwood gave the ghost of a smile. ‘Pictures? The place was full of ruddy pictures. She never stopped working on them.’ The touch of pride in the man’s voice was unmistakable.

  ‘I’m particularly interested to know if you remember the framed pictures she had hanging on her lounge walls.’

  The shrewd look came back into Yarwood’s eyes.

  ‘Somebody nick them?’ When no answer was given, he shrugged then frowned in concentration. ‘There was the big African thing, the embroidery, the one with the donkey and — ’ he paused, wiping his brow again. ‘There were others but I can’t exactly remember where they were.’

  ‘On the wall by the kitchen?’

  Yarwood nodded. ‘That’s right. I remember now. They were portraits.’

  ‘Your daughter’s work?’

  Yarwood gave a short laugh. ‘No. Not her style at all.’

  ‘And do you know who the subjects were?’

  Lorimer strove to keep the excitement out of his voice but Yarwood was fighting to control a spasm of rage.

  ‘Oh, aye. I know who they were all right. That Lucy girl. The one who was found in the park.’

  ‘Lucy Haining?’ Solomon asked, moving across and sitting beside Norman Yarwood.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you ever meet Lucy?’

  Lorimer sat back and folded his arms, interested to see how Solomon would proceed.

  ‘Aye, just the once. She was a cheeky wee English get! Thought she had the right to tell me off!’

  ‘How was that, Mr Yarwood?’

  The handkerchief was applied to his face once more.

  ‘Ach, a lot of baloney. Went on about how Janet was a liberated woman and didn’t need her parents. A lot of garbage. As if I didn’t know my lassie was better off away from yon …’

  His fist smashed hard against his knee.

  ‘So you didn’t like Lucy?’

  ‘Not much. But that’s no’ to say I meant her any harm. I was sorry for our Jan when her friend got killed. It fair broke her up.’

  ‘Mr Yarwood,’ Solomon said, leaning forward in order to make eye contact, ‘I know it must be very painful for you but could you tell us exactly how Janet behaved after Lucy’s death?’

  ‘Will it help catch whoever did it?’ the man asked, turning to face Lorimer.

  ‘It might,’ Lorimer told him.

  A long sigh escaped from the man then he straightened himself and began.

  ‘She was so happy when we left home.’

  ‘You left at the same time?’ Solomon asked.


  ‘Oh, aye. Didn’t you know? That’s what it was all about. I took Janet’s part when she wanted to start the Art School. Then all hell broke loose, of course.’ He paused, glancing up at the policeman opposite. ‘You’ve met my wife?’ When Lorimer nodded he continued, ‘Aye. Right. You’ll know why then. Jan couldn’t hack it any longer. And then when my sister died I gave all her money to my girl. She deserved it after putting up with that place all these years.’

  ‘And your wife asked you to leave too?’ Lorimer enquired.

  ‘Asked?’ the man laughed sourly. ‘Oh, there was no asking. I was told.’ He looked around the shabby room and waved a hand. ‘See this? This is paradise on earth compared to what I had before.’

  ‘And when Lucy died?’ Solomon prompted, bringing Norman Yarwood back to the point.

  ‘She fell to pieces. Wouldn’t eat. Looked terrible, like she couldn’t sleep.’ His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I even thought she might do away with herself.’

  There was a hush in the room as they digested this, then Lorimer broke the silence.

  ‘But she carried on; painting, working with the other students?’

  Yarwood shrugged. ‘What else could she do?’

  Lorimer drew out a piece of card from his inside pocket and placed it directly in the man’s line of vision.

  ‘Recognise him?’

  Yarwood shook his head. ‘No, but I’ve seen that picture before.’

  ‘Oh?’ Lorimer’s eyebrows rose.

  ‘Crimewatch.’ Yarwood looked intently at Detective Chief Inspector Lorimer. ‘That was you, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lorimer answered shortly.

  ‘And d’you think this man — this one — killed my Jan?’

  ‘It’s a possibility.’

  Lorimer briskly pocketed the picture.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me if I know of anybody who’d want to murder her?’ said Yarwood.

  Lorimer was about to reply but Solly broke in first. ‘Why, do you?’

  ‘No. But that’s what they always ask, isn’t it?’

  ‘Who, Mr Yarwood?’

  ‘Police. On the telly.’ The man stood up abruptly and stuffed the handkerchief back into his jacket pocket. ‘There was no one. No sane person could have had any reason to do what he did.’

  Lorimer stood up and handed his card to Norman Yarwood.

  ‘If there’s anything else you want to tell us,’ he said, then added, ‘And we might have to talk to you again, sir.’

  ‘Aye, but talking’s no gonnae bring her back, is it?’

  In two strides Norman Yarwood had reached the door and pulled it open. Lorimer and Solomon made their way out into the hall where Mrs Singh emerged from the shadows. Neither of them was surprised as the door slammed loudly behind them.

  CHAPTER 30

  Art School Link in St Mungo’s Murders

  Exclusive by Martin Enderby

  Police investigating the death of postgraduate student, Janet Yarwood, have not ruled out the possibility that her killer may also be responsible for the murders of three girls found in St Mungo’s Park last year. Ms Yarwood, who was 29, had been a close associate of Lucy Haining, the second victim who was, like the others, brutally strangled and mutilated. The postgraduate student was found in her Garnethill flat on Wednesday after failing to turn up at the School of Art where she worked as a research assistant.

  In a bizarre twist to the series of killings, it has been revealed that Dr Solomon Brightman of Glasgow University Psychology Department, who has been assisting police in his role as criminal profiler, was seriously assaulted in his own home only hours after interviewing Ms Yarwood. Neither Dr Brightman nor Chief Inspector William Lorimer, who is leading the murder inquiry, was available for comment. However, sources close to the investigation team indicated that a thorough questioning of students and staff at the School of Art is taking place.

  Christopher Inglis, a fellow research student, told our reporter, ‘We are all stunned by Janet’s death. She was a quiet, hardworking artist with immense talent.’ Meantime the taxi service which is a security measure for students travelling from the Postgraduate Centre at Bellahouston Park back to the Art School in the city centre has been extended for all female students travelling after dark, at the discretion of the Principal.

  Leader comment page 14.

  Lorimer rustled the pages furiously to see what the news editor had made of his refusal to channel information to the Press Office. As he expected there was harsh criticism of the police force and of himself in particular: ‘Even with the help of a professional like Dr Brightman, the police appear no further forward in their search for this killer.’

  Comparisons were made with the Yorkshire Ripper and statistics bandied about concerning the cost of mounting police operations. Lorimer’s mouth was set in a grim line. At least there’d been a passing reference to that sore spot. Of course manpower cost money, and of course the Home Secretary would be under pressure to provide additional resources. Lorimer threw the paper down in disgust. It was all talk. There might be a public outcry but the Chief Constable’s budget was unlikely to be stretched to provide extra manpower. The latest round of Home Office cuts had hit the force with a vengeance. The public was entitled to a continuation of the success of the Urban Policing Programme but now all areas of police work were seriously strapped for cash. Martin bloody Enderby should maybe give some space to that, thought Lorimer.

  He was still on a high of fury after his telephone conversation with the reporter.

  No, he wasn’t about to reveal his sources.

  No, he wouldn’t say how he knew about Dr Brightman.

  But did the Chief Inspector have any comment to make? The Chief Inspector was bloody well damned if he had but saved his expletives until he’d rung off.

  How in hell’s name had that reporter found out so much? What ‘sources’ in his investigation team had spoken to the Press? According to Alistair Wilson they were all as amazed as their Chief. Remembering Solomon’s insinuations, Lorimer turned his thoughts towards the members of his team, then felt a surge of anger that he could begin to doubt them. Someone other than the student, Inglis, had spoken to Enderby, and he had to find out just who that someone was.

  At least Solomon had been told to keep his mouth shut.

  The psychologist was at HQ to discuss statistical data from his cross-checking of the house-to-house investigations but he listened in silence as Lorimer ranted on about the Gazette’s revelations.

  ‘Wouldn’t say how he knew it all! Bullshit!’ Lorimer thumped the desk between them. ‘You were right. Someone in here’s been feeding them a line.’

  Solomon stared past the Chief Inspector at a spot on the horizon. It was as if he hadn’t heard a word. Disconcerted by his silence, Lorimer tried to catch the younger man’s eye and failed. At last, however, Solly turned his head and looked straight at him. Lorimer took in the man’s heightened colour and the way his lips parted to speak then closed helplessly. But it was the abject look of apology in his eyes that spoke volumes.

  ‘You?’ Lorimer exclaimed in disbelief. The psychologist nodded unhappily. Whatever Lorimer had expected, it certainly wasn’t this. ‘But why? How?’ He broke off, then his expression hardened. ‘I think you have some explaining to do.’

  Solomon sighed, then spread his hands upwards in resignation.

  ‘It seems I gave an interview to Enderby’s girlfriend.’

  ‘You what?’

  Slowly Solomon unfolded the way he had been interviewed by Diane McArthur and the passing reference he had made to Lucy Haining.

  ‘I’m sorry. It didn’t seem like talking to the Press in quite the way you meant.’

  Lorimer shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe Solly’s stupidity but then he suddenly leaned back, crossing his arms and gazing at the ceiling.

  ‘Enderby’s been doing his own investigating, has he?’

  The policeman’s voice was thoughtful. Solomon l
ooked up, sensing the change of tone.

  ‘His was one of the names Janet Yarwood gave me. It didn’t mean much at the time. Apparently he’d been to see her at the House for an Art Lover.’

  ‘Go on.’

  The light of anger was gone from the pale blue eyes, and they had narrowed in speculation.

  ‘He claimed the Gazette wanted to help mount a retrospective exhibition. At least that was his cover for talking to Janet Yarwood.’

  ‘And what do you think?’

  Solomon hesitated. ‘His was one of the names on my list. Men who might have known Lucy.’

  ‘That was the list on your back-up disk?’

  ‘The very one.’

  Lorimer pushed back his chair and paced restlessly across the room.

  ‘And how did you find out that this McArthur woman was Enderby’s girlfriend?’

  Solomon blushed again. ‘I telephoned the Gazette.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I was unhappy about the interview. She was too sweet and wholesome about it all. So I checked up. There was no feature on my work planned at all.’

  Solomon sounded slightly aggrieved and Lorimer managed a thin smile at what he presumed was the young man’s vanity. Solomon’s next words dispelled this notion, however.

  ‘The features editor at the Gazette seemed to think it was a mix-up on my part. She said it wasn’t Ms McArthur who’d been trying to contact me, but Mr Enderby. She said Ms McArthur must have been doing her boyfriend a favour. Actually,’ — and here Solomon’s smile was faintly embarrassed — ‘I don’t think she believed I’d been interviewed at all. I do believe she thought I was trying a bit of self-publicity.’

  Lorimer hooted derisively.

  ‘You’ve got all the publicity you’ll want now!’

  ‘Yes,’ Solomon assented vaguely but Lorimer could see his mind was already elsewhere. The psychologist leaned forward suddenly and shook his finger thoughtfully. ‘But if Enderby did know Lucy Haining, then maybe that’s the reason for his sudden interest in me.’

  ‘OK, I’m with you on that,’ Lorimer said, his eyes bright with interest. A few things were beginning to make sense. ‘But why would Enderby …’