Glasgow Kiss lab-6

by Alex Gray

  Barbara Cassidy, senior reporter

  Frank stared at the column, reading it over and over again, then looked up at Mary, his lower lip trembling.

  ‘They’ve let him go?’ Then his face crumpled and he drove one fist against the newspaper. ‘They’ve let him go!’ he screamed.

  Mary backed away, heart pounding, as the stream of obscenities left her husband’s mouth. This would do no good at all. Frank had it all wrong, she was certain of that, just as she was sure Julie had made up the whole sordid little story about that nice young man having attacked her. Mary Donaldson was no expert on human behaviour but she’d been around long enough to know the difference between a decent man and a bad one. Mr Chalmers hadn’t done what Julie said he had. And he surely had no hand in her killing.

  Frank’s face was red with fury as he thumped the wall with his hand, leaving a mark. Mary shivered. The man who stood there filling the kitchen with his frustration and grief was far more likely to vent his anger against another human being than Julie’s teacher ever was. But there was no way this side of eternity that she was going to express that particular thought.

  The Gazette had done their dirty work for them, Maggie thought, pushing the newspaper deeper into her satchel. Already crowds of kids were huddled together in their different year areas and she could practically feel the tension in the air as she strode across the playground towards the main building. A few heads turned her way, and she caught their appraising glances. It was the detective’s wife they saw, not Mrs Lorimer of the English department. Most of them would know by now, Muirpark Secondary’s bush telegraph having done its work. It would help to make life a little easier for the registration teachers, but there might still be kids who hadn’t heard the news and were still to be shocked by Julie’s murder. And there were bound to be questions, particularly from her articulate Sixth Years who would want answers from her. She made a face. Being the wife of DCI William Lorimer had given Maggie a wee bit of notoriety following her husband’s successful apprehension of a multiple murderer, just weeks before term began. Then the Gazette was full of praise for the senior officer who, unarmed, had faced down the gun-wielding killer. But all news was short-lived and today’s would surely fade out as soon as someone was arrested.

  Maggie Lorimer clenched her teeth as she walked along the glass-sided corridor that overlooked the playground. It wouldn’t fade out so quickly for those poor parents, for Julie’s friends. Or, she reminded herself, for Eric and Ruth and their families. Bill was never slow to remind her just how many victims there were whenever a murder was committed. And looking down now at the kids trooping in to the sound of the bell, she told herself that there was going to be one hell of a lot of young folk numbered among the victims today.

  Maggie’s eyes were drawn to the frieze of pupils’ work that one of her colleagues had mounted on the corridor wall and she slowed down to read some of their offerings. It was early in the session for anything new to be displayed. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth as she took in the ‘First Impressions of Muirpark Secondary School’. S1 had not pulled any punches. These kids seemed unafraid to criticise any aspect of their new regime, she thought, noting their opinions on everything from school dinners to the amount of books they had to carry from class to class. Maggie was so absorbed that she didn’t notice him at first.

  ‘You’ve heard, then?’ Tim Wetherby, one of Maggie’s Sixth Year boys, stood just outside her classroom door, barring her way. Maggie took one step back so that none of her form class could see them together. If Tim wanted to talk then it would be in private, away from any curious eyes.

  ‘Naturally, given that my husband’s in charge of the case.’

  ‘And you’ve seen this.’ Tim pulled a copy of the Gazette from behind his back.

  ‘They’re trying to make it look like Mr Chalmers murdered Julie, aren’t they?’

  ‘Trial by media is something we should be used to by now,’ Maggie replied cynically. ‘Not that I’d condone it for one minute,’ she added. ‘The press has its uses and can be positively helpful when reporters cooperate with an investigation. But,’ she shrugged and made a move towards the classroom door, ‘some of them don’t always look at it that way. Some of them’, she gave a deliberate glance towards the headlines on Tim’s paper, ‘are far more interested in the kudos of getting to a story before anyone else. Anyway,’ she said, tilting her head to one side, ‘your sister must be in a bit of a state. I take it she’s not in today.’

  Tim dropped his gaze. ‘Yeah, Mum thought it best if she took a bit of time off. It’s been hard on her. .’ He trailed off, reluctant to voice the problems between his parents that had no doubt reached the ears of his teachers.

  Maggie put a hand gently on his arm. ‘Tim, it’s been hard on you both. The school understands that and given this tragic event-’ She broke off, biting her lip. ‘Well, let’s just say that there will be professional counselling services offered from today. And everyone can take advantage of them. Do you know what I’m saying?’

  The boy’s head flew up suddenly. ‘Me and Sam don’t need a shrink to sort us out, thanks. We’re doing just fine.’ And shaking off her hand, the boy held open the classroom door to let Maggie enter, a small courtesy designed, she was sure, to demonstrate just how in control he was.

  The door closed behind him and for once Maggie felt trapped inside her own room. Even the familiar things like her favourite posters and the daft cartoons she’d pinned beside her desk failed to comfort her. Every eye was upon her, waiting.

  She swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

  ‘Many of you already know about Julie Donaldson,’ she began. One or two of them looked puzzled and Maggie knew she was going to have to spell this out.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry to have to be the one to tell you this,’ she said, her voice softening as she was suddenly all too aware of the vulnerability in some of these young faces. ‘Julie Donaldson — your classmate — has been found dead in Dawsholm Woods.’

  A gasp from the back of the classroom told Maggie that for at least one person this was news and she broke off for a moment, letting the awful news sink in.

  ‘For those of you who saw this morning’s Gazette, you will also know that the police have been questioning two people already.’ Maggie paused again, looking around at the kids she had known for the last three years. They were young adults now, looking ahead to university in a couple of years and the prospect of a good career. Perhaps it was the frieze outside on the wall but she had a sudden memory of that first day she’d had them all assembled here, their faces turned to her, uncertain of what life would be like for them at Muirpark. She felt some of that same uncertainty now and wished she could offer the warm assurances she’d given them way back in First Year.

  ‘I know you’ll want to ask me questions, but can I say something first?’ Maggie heard her voice, confident and assured, as if it was coming from somewhere else, belying the nerves churning in her stomach. ‘My husband is the Senior Investigating Officer in Julie’s murder.’ She took another deep breath as one of the girls began to cry. ‘What I wanted to say was that I can’t divulge anything about the case that isn’t in the public domain, so don’t ask me. Please. Mr Lorimer is bound by codes of confidentiality. I’m sure you appreciate that.’

  A few murmurs arose and Maggie saw some heads nodding, though she lacked the courage to look at Julie’s closest friends; she could imagine what they must be feeling. A swift glance to her left showed the place where Kyle usually sat was empty this morning. But she mustn’t mention his involvement.

  ‘One of the things mentioned in the paper is Mr Chalmers’ suspension.’

  Some muttering could be heard towards the back of the class but Maggie pretended not to hear it.

  ‘Please remember,’ she said quietly, ‘this is a newspaper, selling stories, not a definitive judgment by a jury of fifteen people. It’s a sad fact of life that you have to learn not to be gulled into believing e
verything a newspaper tells you. Your teachers here will keep you all updated about this awful tragedy. And if anyone needs to talk to me in private, well, you know I’ll be here whenever you want me.’

  The muttering had ceased now though there were still soft sounds of weeping from a couple of the girls. Normality — Maggie thought, remembering Manson’s mantra — give them some shape to their day. Then she raised an arm towards the girl at the very back of the class.

  ‘Jessica, since Kyle’s off today would you mind taking the register down to the office. Thank you.’ Maggie let them begin to talk among themselves as she busied herself with ticking off names on the beige record book then writing down the names of pupils missing from her class. When she came to D for Donaldson, Maggie bit her lip, trying hard to conceal the pang of dismay that she felt.

  Once Jessica had left, Maggie came round to the front of her desk, perching on the edge as she usually did. ‘The school will be visited by police welfare officers today,’ she told them, ‘and there is also the opportunity for professional counselling, should anyone feel the need for that.’

  ‘Mrs Lorimer?’ Manda had raised a languid hand. ‘Is it true that Mr Chalmers has been arrested?’

  ‘In the light of the accusation Julie made, Mr Chalmers was questioned by police, Amanda. That’s not the same as being arrested.’

  ‘Helping the police with their inquiries.’ One of the boys offered the well-used phrase.

  ‘Exactly.’ Maggie nodded. ‘And any of you can do the same if you have any information about Julie’s disappearance. Anything can be useful to the police, no matter how small or insignificant you might consider it to be,’ she told them, grimacing as she realised her words echoed every episode of Crimewatch. But at least she had diverted their attention away from Eric.

  As the bell rang for the end of registration and the Fourth Year trooped out, Maggie wondered at her last words to them. Was that tempestuous scene between Julie and her RE teacher big enough and significant enough to share with the police? And would it be her courage or her loyalty to Eric that would fail her?

  Kyle woke up, the pain in his face throbbing. How he’d managed to sleep after last night was anyone’s guess. If it hadn’t been for Jamesey coming in and pulling his da off. . Kyle gave a groan as the memory flashed vividly back to him, his father’s curses ringing in his ears. The words had hurt him almost as much as the blows. Did he think he’d actually murdered his own school pal? He was mad, that was true enough, Kyle told himself, but surely not mad enough to believe that? There’s always wan, the old man had shouted, and yer maw always a bad streak, he’d yelled. Kyle had lost it then, had lashed out at the old man, but he’d been battered stupid instead. He sat up, fingering the swollen skin below his eyes where it hurt most. He’d have a couple of keekers, he thought, blinking painfully.

  Kyle suddenly remembered the tall policeman with those penetrating blue eyes who had looked at him as if he could see right into his mind. He could sort out his da if anyone could, he thought. Why couldn’t he have been born to a man like that? Life just wasn’t fair.

  ‘Ye awake, wee man?’ Jamesey stood in the doorway, one hand holding a dinner plate full of bread and jam. ‘Ye want wan?’ he added, nodding towards the pieces, his own mouth already full.

  Kyle shook his head. The very thought of eating turned his stomach and even watching Jamesey’s jaws masticating the thick wedges of bread brought a sour taste of bile into his mouth. ‘Wouldnae mind some Irn Bru, though,’ he muttered.

  ‘Aye, well, see if therr’s ony left,’ his brother replied, moving out of the room. The sound of the fridge door opening and shutting was followed by a metallic snap as Jamesey tore off the widget.

  ‘Here ye’are,’ he said, holding out the can. ‘Phenomenal!’ he added, grinning stupidly.

  ‘Great,’ Kyle gasped between gulps as the orange liquid slid down his throat. ‘’S better. Thanks.’

  Jamesey settled himself on the edge of the bed. ‘Whit was a that aboot last night, then?’

  Kyle didn’t reply, tilting his head back and pretending to drink the last drops from the can though it was already empty.

  ‘Mean, th’old man wis fair ragin wi ye. Cannae blame him, righ’nuff, huvin tae go doon the polis fur ye. Dinna tell me ye were at the skag, eh?’ The older boy nudged Kyle slyly, his gap-toothed grin creasing his unshaven face. He could be a moody bastard, Kyle thought, but he had his better moments like now when he was trying to be nice. James Kerrigan had a certain sort of charm whenever he smiled, a fact that he used to his advantage and not only with the lassies. He’d talked his way into the prospect of a good job since leaving school, though Kyle was certain Jamesey could have gone on to college if he’d wanted to. Now his big brother was well in with Tam, the eldest of the three boys and the district’s main drug dealing thug who was the spitting image of their father.

  ‘Jamesey,’ Kyle began, ‘see what he said last night. About my mother?’

  ‘Ach, ye dinna want tae listen tae thon garbage, man,’ Jamesey snorted in disgust.

  ‘Aye, but is he serious?’ Kyle persisted. ‘Is he no my real father?’ He paused, awed by the enormity of the idea. ‘D’you know anything about it?’

  James scratched the side of his nose for a moment then sniffed. ‘Aye, well, he’s said it aften enough, since he came hame, hasn’t he? Mibbe ye should look it up at the registry. See yer birth certificate, eh? They cannae stop ye now, can they?’ The older boy slid his bottom off the bed and began munching on another piece of bread. ‘See’f it wis me ah’d gie him a right doin. Glasgow kiss. Like that. Oof!’ James lunged his head forwards imitating the blow. ‘Nane o yer Queensberry Rules, kiddo. Dae him right.’ James gave him a wink and sauntered back out of the room.

  Left alone once more, Kyle considered his brother’s words. Jamesey and Tam had been brought up to admire street fighters like old man Kerrigan. They’d carried blades since primary school and like their father they wouldn’t hesitate to use one if they had to. That’s what had landed Kerrigan and his hot temper in the jail and Tam, so like his father in every way, could easily end up there too. But Jamesey? Kyle shuddered to think of it. The middle boy ducked and dived; he’d always preferred talking his way out of trouble to raising his fists.

  Why was it, then, that he wasn’t like the other men in his family? Kyle had never known that aptitude for violence, had never wanted to get into knives or stuff; boxing, now that was different. In the ring he was a calculating animal, padding around its cell, waiting for the moment to strike out at his opponent. It was a sport, not a way of knocking someone’s brains out, he thought disgustedly. He could no more batter the living daylights out of his father than fly in the air.

  Then the irony of his situation suddenly struck home: Kyle Kerrigan might have the makings of a boxing champion but he’d never have swung a punch in anger. So how could they believe he was capable of Julie’s murder?

  CHAPTER 25

  Aheron flapped noiselessly over the estuary, the morning light turning the underneath of its wings to gold. Because it was still so early, the clouds were tinged with pink, trailing grey shadows in their wake above an eggshell-blue sky. It was one of those mornings that gave false promises, the light shining on the river dazzled the eye; ‘too bright too early’ had been her mother’s favourite saying for such a start to the day. So they had come before breakfast, mindful of the forecast telling of rain coming in from the Atlantic; Ireland would see it first, that darkening of the skies, obscuring the horizon’s sand-coloured light and this expanse of blue arcing overhead.

  They’d taken a taxi down to the river’s edge; her car had been a write-off after the accident and Solly didn’t drive. The taxi driver had stared at them curiously, thinking them mad no doubt as he’d left them there with a promise to return in an hour, the dark bearded man and the slight blonde wrapped up in a long beige cardigan. She smiled at the memory, snuggling against Solly as they sat looking over the Clyde. Just a few miles
downstream, yet it was so different from the sluggish waters that coursed through the centre of the city. Rosie gave a huge sigh that prompted Solly to raise questioning eyebrows, but she merely shook her head and gave him a reassuring smile; the sigh had been one of pure pleasure at being able to breathe fresh air that was tinged with just a hint of autumn chill and to stare out across the sandbanks where hundreds of birds were foraging for food, beaks pecking in the slate-coloured mud. Occasionally an oystercatcher would flap noisily from one patch to another, disturbing that large group of birds with long red legs. What were they? she wondered, taking a mental note of their appearance. Lorimer would know, Rosie suddenly thought; he was such a keen birdwatcher. He saw other things with his sharp blue eyes too, she mused, things that many people would miss. The sigh she gave now was not one of contentment, but rather the longing to be well again, to be fit for work and part of an ongoing case where her expertise as a forensic pathologist gave her such satisfaction.

  Perhaps he’d caught something in her mood for Solly’s arm came around her shoulders, hugging her closer, and she let her head sink gratefully onto his shoulder, glad to have his strength while still mourning her own weakness. It would take time, the surgeon had warned her. She’d been lucky, so many of her fellow medics had stated once they’d known the extent of her injuries and how close she’d come to the brink. Rosie shuddered and Solly rubbed her arm as though to warm her. It was something they didn’t talk about any more. What was the point? She had a future to think about and that was reason enough to feel positive, wasn’t it?

  But the thought of Detective Chief Inspector Lorimer and the missing toddler had been planted into her mind now and Rosie’s eyes no longer saw the shifting clouds or the change in the hills as the shadows lengthened. Her work had taken her into many distressing situations before and she had enough imagination to see just what that young mother must be feeling: such pain, such terrible, unbelievable pain.