Five Ways to Kill a Man

by Alex Gray

  Afterwards she would say that Dougie had been wonderful, letting her crush his hand as the contractions kicked in. And the midwives. They’d been brilliant, she told her friends. So unruffled, so controlled. Even when she’d begun to swear like a trooper they’d never batted an eyelid. Gentle words had continued to soothe until the pain had overwhelmed her and the world threatened to tilt off its axis in one enormous rush.

  Then the cry. That wonderful sound that had brought tears streaming down her flushed cheeks; their little son come safely into the world. Kate would never forget that sound, not if she lived to be a hundred.

  It was the other silly things that stuck in her mind: throwing up her breakfast of toast and tea into the cardboard sick bowl; the bunch of anemones Dougie had brought in for her; her awe at seeing Gregor’s little fingernails - perfect pink ovals curling into a tiny fist that struggled towards his bow-shaped mouth.

  All thoughts that this was a Monday morning when she ought to be at work vanished as Kate cradled her son, Dougie’s arm around them both, cocooned in the filmy wonder of new motherhood.

  ‘Where the hell is everybody?’ Detective Sergeant Wainwright banged a fist down on his desk, making the pile of papers jump sideways.

  Dodgson winced. The DS was in a foul mood and the non-appearance of both female CID officers this morning was threatening to make this a bad start to the week.

  ‘Have you tried her mobile, Sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Course I have!’ Wainwright stormed. ‘Not answering her landline and her mobile seems to be switched off.’

  ‘She was supposed to be going to some party at the weekend,’ Dodgson offered.

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  Dodgson shrugged. ‘Don’t know. But she could hardly wait to get out of here on Friday. So maybe it was out of town somewhere. ’

  ‘God almighty, this is all we need. Our SIO’s gone AWOL, Kate’s not come in and Lorimer’s breathing down our neck,’ Wainwright growled.

  ‘Like dragon fire, perhaps?’ a voice behind them asked.

  Dodgson and Wainwright turned around as one, the DS blushing furiously as he realised he had been overheard.

  At that moment the telephone rang, sparing the man any need to apologise.

  ‘Ah, hello Mr . . . oh. Oh!’ Wainwright’s face broke into a broad grin as he spun round in his chair, pointing towards his belly with one hand and making a thumbs-up sign. ‘Brilliant news!’ he continued. ‘Aye, tell her we’re all chuffed to bits. Thanks for calling us.’

  ‘Kate?’ Lorimer queried, leaning against the filing cabinet in the officers’ room.

  ‘Aye, the wee fella was born this morning,’ Wainwright told them. ‘That was Dougie’s faither on to let us know. Whew!’ He took out a large handkerchief and mopped the beads of sweat that had gathered on his brow. ‘At least we know where our Kate is, then. Och, that’s nice for them,’ he added, ‘but a bit of a surprise being so early, eh?’

  ‘My sister’s first baby was three weeks early and she was fine. A good weight as well.’ Dodgson nodded, his face split in a smile. The hostile atmosphere had evaporated like a passing rain cloud with the news of Kate’s new baby.

  ‘We’ll have tae have a whip round,’ Wainwright told them. ‘One of the women can choose a wee thing for the wean.’ He rose from his desk as if to go out into the other rooms and spread the news.

  ‘I was looking for DI Martin,’ Lorimer said, before Wainwright could leave. ‘Do you know where she is?’

  ‘Haven’t a clue, Sir. I’ve been trying to get a hold of her all morning.’ Wainwright made a face. ‘She’s maybe been held up at some fancy house party. Too hung over to let us mere mortals know when she’ll grace us with her presence,’ he said with a twist to his mouth.

  ‘No email then?’ Lorimer asked.

  ‘Naw.’ Wainwright hesitated. ‘D’you want to have a look at her inbox, though, Sir? See if there’s anything urgent that needs doing? That’s her code up there.’ The DS nodded, pointing to a list of figures pinned above the DI’s desk.

  Lorimer stared at the detective sergeant’s back. Wainwright was involved in a case with three murdered old ladies and yet was behaving as if he didn’t give a toss. Would the DS have been so cavalier if it had been three younger women? Lorimer asked himself, cynically. Maybe the man was just an example of a police officer who was inured against any sort of tragedy, he thought, giving the man the benefit of the doubt.

  At least Dodgson had slipped back to his own desk at the other side of the room, intent on some work, leaving the Superintendent to boot up DI Martin’s computer.

  It didn’t take Lorimer long to scroll down the messages in Martin’s inbox and find the email from Callum Uprichard. All thoughts of why the officer might not have made it into work disappeared as he printed off the report. This was more like it! he thought. A bit of superior forensic work might indeed help to nail the bastard who had murdered these three old women.

  ‘Want to read this, young Dodgson?’

  The lad was out of his chair and beside Lorimer’s outstretched hand in a shot.

  ‘Good grief, Sir!’ he said at last. ‘This could . . .’

  ‘Bring us a lot closer to finding out who killed them,’ Lorimer finished for him. ‘How far have you got with the investigation into local cycle clubs?’

  ‘Well, we’ve been concentrating on the two main ones, Inverclyde Velo and Johnstone Wheelers. The Wheelers tend to go out for practice rides with other club members and so although it’s got a huge membership, they all seem to know one another quite well. Davie McGroary didn’t belong to either club,’ he added.

  ‘Didn’t think he would. Not the type,’ Lorimer said.

  ‘But we do have some familiar names, sir. Mr Tannock is a member and so are the two Jackson children.’

  ‘Anybody else from the Kilmacolm area?’

  ‘Aye, quite a few. But most of the members are from the Paisley, Johnstone and Elderslie areas.’

  ‘Names? Addresses?’

  ‘We’ve got a whole list of them compiled, sir, but there hasn’t been any authorisation of a home visit to them. We just haven’t the time to do that sort of thing - unless it’s justified,’ he added, glancing at the paper in his hand.

  ‘We want to know the whereabouts of all these cyclists on the nights the three women died. And,’ he added with a sudden stern look that made Dodgson take a step back, ‘I want the date of the Jackson fire included as well.’

  The young officer stood speechless for a moment, taking in the enormity of Lorimer’s words.

  ‘You don’t think it was the same person, sir?’ he asked at last. ‘I mean, oh, dear Lord . . .’ Dodgson’s eyes widened in astonishment.

  Lorimer did not answer but his mouth became a hard, thin line.

  Dr Solomon Brightman had suggested this to him only yesterday. And, although the theory had chimed with Lorimer’s own thoughts, the psychologist’s words had had a converse effect on him, making him question it all the more.

  The police constable nodded as their eyes met. It was a long shot. A hunch, maybe. He’d heard of senior officers acting on such things before. Police lore was full of stories like that. Up until now the young man had only experienced the hard graft that police work demanded and he felt a sudden thrill as he stood beside this tall man whose very presence spelled out authority.

  ‘I’ll have a word with DS Wainwright,’ Lorimer murmured, ‘but expect me to take over as SIO on this one. At least until DI Martin turns up,’ he added with a twinkle in those piercing blue eyes.

  As the morning wore on, it became evident that Rhoda Martin was not going to come in to Greenock for work on time. Wainwright had chuckled that she’d be roasted for her absence when she finally did appear. It was clear from his attitude, thought Lorimer, that there was no love lost between the older man and his senior officer. For the hundredth time he found himself wishing to be back in his own division in Glasgow where the officers around him were more than mere colleagues. Wi
th Kate now out of the team Lorimer felt that sense of loneliness he had experienced on his arrival in Greenock. Or was it simply a Monday-morning feeling after an enjoyable weekend with his wife and mother-in-law at home?

  Alice’s arrival had made the house feel more alive, somehow. They’d watched television together on Saturday evening like a normal family and he’d even played a couple of games of Scrabble after one of Maggie’s Sunday roasts.

  With a frown he suddenly recalled where Rhoda Martin had been going at the weekend: Serena Jackson’s house-warming party. Searching through another buff-coloured file, Lorimer picked up Serena’s home details and dialled her number. He let it ring out until the answering machine clicked on, giving a female voice that to his ears always sounded like an automated Barbie doll. He waited impatiently until the sing-song message had finished.

  ‘Detective Superintendent Lorimer for Miss Jackson. I’d be obliged if you might call me at Police Headquarters, Miss Jackson,’ he said, giving the Greenock number before ringing off. He looked at the telephone thoughtfully. If Rhoda Martin had spent her weekend down in Serena Jackson’s flat then where were they both now?

  The black car drove slowly along the cul de sac then turned, stopping right outside the house with the white painted door. For a moment the driver sat still, hand on the steering wheel. A blackbird pecked at some unseen prey below the surface of the grass, worrying it in a series of jabs. The sound of a lawn mower could be heard round the back of the houses, its drone competing with an airplane overhead. But the street itself was deserted, just as she had expected; not one single person strolled along the pavement to witness her arrival. Slipping a black leather bag over one shoulder, she left the car.

  At the back of the house Flynn walked up and down, the din of his mower a vague noise behind the sounds from his iPod. His head moved in time to the beat as the grass was swallowed up by the blades of the machine. This was a satisfying sort of job, he thought, watching the stripe of bright green appearing in the overgrown lawn. The Lorimers wouldn’t know the place by the time he’d finished.

  Flynn had been glad when the other gardener had agreed to drop him off with the mower for a half-day. Jimmy had owed him, he chuckled to himself, thinking of the man driving the pick-up truck back to the park. He had still looked a wee bit worse for wear after the weekend when he had been through to Edinburgh for the rugby and Flynn had covered his Saturday shift.

  Flynn would be able to cut and strim the grass and still have time for a wee blether with Maggie’s mum before Jimmy picked him up later. He began to sing tunelessly to the words of a song as he turned at the end of the lawn, whisking the machine in an expert arc and beginning a new strip. He didn’t glance towards the kitchen window where the orange cat sat, washing its paws. Nor did he hear the metallic thud of a car door closing or the sound of the bell shrilling through the house.

  Alice rose slowly from her chair. This recliner was going to make her so lazy, she thought, feeling the stiffness in her back as she tried to straighten up. This must be the nurse coming in to visit. ‘Hope you’re as nice as the ones in the Southern,’ she muttered under her breath, edging towards the far side of the room, grasping at the backs of Maggie’s dining room chairs to steady herself. They hadn’t given her an exact time so she had been slightly agitated all morning, waiting for the sound of the doorbell. She shoved the door open wider with her stick and shuffled out into the hallway.

  Chancer gave a purr and slithered down from his patch of sunlight on the windowsill as soon as he heard the front door being opened.

  ‘Oh, hello, I’ve been expecting you. Come away in,’ Alice began, looking up at the blonde woman on the doorstep. But the figure standing there made no move to enter the house. Instead she held up a plastic card for a moment then pocketed it again.

  ‘Detective Inspector Martin,’ the woman told her, unsmiling. ‘I’m afraid there’s been an incident. It’s Detective Superintendent Lorimer,’ she added gravely. ‘Can you come right away, please?’

  Alice tightened her grip on the walking stick, one hand thrust out against the wall for support. She was aware of her heart hammering uncomfortably in her chest. When she tried to speak, to utter some sort of words, her lips simply parted in a silent ‘O’ of shock.

  Just behind her the orange cat arched his back and hissed, tawny eyes glaring balefully at the stranger. The blackbird flew up and away, its alarm cry shattering the cold morning air.

  Then the woman’s hand was outstretched, offering assistance. Alice felt the strong grip under her elbow as she was ushered out of the house and into the waiting car. Detective Inspector Martin. She remembered hearing the name. She was from Bill’s job down in Greenock.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she whispered as she was helped into the passenger seat. ‘Does Maggie know?’

  But all she received was a sombre look and a shake of the head as a seat belt was fastened across her lap. Then they were off down the road and Alice had the strange sensation that everything was being put into reverse. She had scarcely arrived and now she was being taken away again, she thought wistfully, gazing as they left the house behind them and a disgruntled cat on the doorstep.

  Half an hour later Joseph Alexander Flynn came whistling into the kitchen. ‘Mrs Fin? Do you fancy a cuppa? Mrs Fin?’

  ‘Lorimer,’ he said, as the call came through.

  ‘God, at last!’ Flynn gave a huge exhalation of relief. ‘D’ye know if Mrs Finlay was supposed to be going out anywhere? She’s not in the hoose and I’ve been doon the road looking for her. Yer cat’s goin’ mental an’ all,’ he told Lorimer.

  The sound of Flynn’s voice, high with stress, made Lorimer straighten up. ‘What do you mean she’s not in the house? Have you looked upstairs?’ he demanded, then realised how stupid the question was: Alice Finlay was not yet able to manage the stairs, was she?

  ‘Aye, she’s no onywhere in the hoose. I’ve looked everywhere. There wasnae anybody fae the hospital comin tae take her for physio or that, was there?’ Flynn asked anxiously.

  Lorimer sat silently for a moment, his mind whirling with possibilities before replying, ‘I don’t think so. Maggie would know, though. I’ll call Muirpark. Hold on and I’ll get back to you. But,’ he added, ‘ring the station here if she turns up, okay?’

  His fingers were trembling as he dialled the number of Maggie’s school and asked to be put through to his wife. What the hell was he going to tell her? Visions of his mother-in-law wandering off on her own came to his mind. But that was absurd! Alice had had a stroke. She wasn’t suffering from the sort of awful dementia that made old folk wander out of their homes and into the unknown.

  As he waited those interminable minutes for Maggie to come to the phone, Lorimer recalled his mother-in-law’s ability at yesterday’s games of Scrabble. Nothing wrong with her wits, he told himself. So why would she suddenly take off like that?

  ‘Maggie,’ he said, relief flooding him at the sound of her voice. ‘It’s your mum.’

  The police station on the south side of the city took the Superintendent’s call and within minutes patrol cars were scouring the streets around Lorimer’s home on the lookout for an elderly lady fitting Alice Finlay’s description. Flynn had made two pots of tea so far; one for the officers who had arrived then another for Maggie, her car screeching into the drive.

  ‘When did you last see her?’ Maggie asked, her mug of tea barely touched.

  Flynn shook his head. It was a question he hadn’t been able to answer when the police officers had asked him earlier.

  ‘I honestly don’t know. You’d been gone a wee bit afore I began the grass. Your maw,’ he broke off, his voice choking back sudden tears, ‘she wis here sitting on the recliner when I went outside.’ He scratched his head as if the gesture would restore some absent memory. ‘I havenae a clue whit time it wis. Or whit she wis doin when I wis out there.’

  ‘It’s okay, Flynn.’ Maggie squeezed his hands gently. ‘No one’s blaming you. Ma
ybe she just went for a wee walk,’ she suggested, though her strained tone gave the lie to the words themselves.

  ‘Huv they heard frae the hospital yet?’ Flynn looked over Maggie’s shoulder at the female officer standing in the kitchen, mobile phone to her ear.

  The woman’s nod and look of apology made the young man groan.

  ‘She’s not there, I’m afraid. There was no out-patient appointment for Mrs Finlay at all. The nurse is actually on her way now. What do you want me to tell them?’ the uniformed officer asked Maggie.

  ‘Better let her come,’ she replied with a tremulous sigh. ‘Maybe she’ll have some idea what to do.’ She shrugged, attempting a smile. ‘Perhaps it’s not so uncommon a situation for them.’