Glasgow Kiss lab-6

by Alex Gray

  ‘Do I have to?’ Samantha Wetherby lifted a tear-stained face to her mother.

  ‘Yes, darling. You must tell us everything you can,’ Mrs Wetherby said, her own eyes brimming full of unshed tears.

  ‘It’ll help us find whoever did this to Julie,’ the policewoman explained gently. ‘Just tell us who else Julie had been going about with over the summer, where she had been hanging out, that sort of thing.’

  Sam looked from one woman to the other, her expression still full of doubt. Then, swallowing hard, she gave a little nod. ‘Julie was seeing Kyle,’ she whispered. ‘But they’d broken up.’

  ‘Kyle Kerrigan?’ Mrs Wetherby sat up ramrod straight. ‘That boy whose father was in prison for murder?’

  Sam rolled her eyes, ignoring her mother’s tone of disapproval. ‘Kyle’s been in our class since Primary. We’ve known him for ever,’ she added, clicking her tongue in exasperation.

  ‘When exactly did she split up from her boyfriend?’ The policewoman’s tone was even, not betraying any sign that she may have hit upon something that might make her SIO’s eyes light up.

  Sam shrugged. ‘Can’t remember. After she’d come back from camp, I think.’

  ‘And had they been an item for long?’

  ‘Not really. Just since the end of last term. He’d got off with her at the Third Year disco.’ Sam shrugged, feigning a nonchalance that was at odds with her white face and trembling hands.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought he’d have been Julie’s type,’ Mrs Wetherby stated, arms folded across her thin chest, ‘a boy with that kind of background.’

  ‘Mu-um!’ Samantha protested. ‘Kyle’s okay. Just because. .’

  ‘Perhaps you could tell me about the places Julie went over the summer holidays?’ the policewoman cut in, sensing the tension between mother and daughter. ‘And a wee cup of tea would be very welcome, Mrs Wetherby,’ she added, smiling. A quiet word with Samantha was what she needed right now, without an overwrought mother putting in her tuppence worth.

  ‘I remember when she told me. .’ Samantha broke off, frowning. ‘When she told me about Mr Chalmers. .’ The girl looked up at the policewoman. ‘Julie looked scared,’ she said at last, her lower lip trembling. ‘And I didn’t know why.’

  They were sitting at the kitchen table, Maggie pouring tea into two mugs that were decorated with dancing sheep, a holiday souvenir from one of the craft shops in Mull. Lorimer watched as she laid down the teapot, her slender fingers uncurling from its handle. Everything about Maggie was fine and graceful, he thought; from those high cheekbones and her slight figure down to the bare feet that were swinging back and forward as she sat sipping her tea. Yet, like so many women, Maggie Lorimer failed to see just how lovely she was, choosing instead to focus on what she thought of as her bad points: a tumble of dark, unruly hair, those small breasts Lorimer loved that she lamented as being too unwomanly and long slim feet that turned shoe shopping into a terrible chore. The very fact that she was so unaware of it was part of her own loveliness.

  ‘How are the kids at school? Still a lot of tension?’

  Maggie gave a sigh. ‘You’d think the school routine would help. A bell after every class, you know. Gives a shape to their day. But some of them. .’ She trailed off, shaking her head. ‘There’s one girl in my Fourth Year English class. Kept her head on the desk all through the period,’ Maggie told him. ‘Couldn’t see her face but we all knew she’d been crying.’

  Lorimer nodded, covering her hand with his own.

  ‘She’s been off school, like some of the others in Julie’s year group.’

  ‘But wise parents sent her back before she made her depression worse sitting all day in her room, I suppose,’ Lorimer said.

  ‘You’re right. It’s horrible, though, this silence in registration class instead of the usual load of noise. Never thought I’d hear myself say that.’ She grinned weakly. ‘Even some of my S4 boys are actually tackling their work in a meaningful way.’

  ‘So it’s not all bad, then.’

  ‘I’d feel better if you weren’t on the case,’ Maggie blurted out, then looked away as she saw the tight line of her husband’s mouth.

  ‘It was decided there was no serious conflict of interest,’ he said in clipped tones that made Maggie realise he was trying to contain his temper.

  ‘But nobody asked me!’ she protested.

  ‘You weren’t part of the decision-making process,’ Lorimer began.

  ‘And why not? I know these kids better than most folk,’ she stormed at him. ‘I’ve been Julie and Kyle’s registration teacher since First Year as well as their English teacher! Doesn’t that count for something?’

  ‘Look,’ Lorimer said, ‘I understand how this is affecting you. Of course I do. But wheels have to be set in motion like every other case. I have to appear as dispassionate as I can here for the sake of good objectivity. Don’t think I can’t feel anything for these kids, though,’ he added, taking Maggie’s hand in his.

  For a moment it seemed that she would pull away from his grasp, but she didn’t. Maybe she realised she’d been overreacting. Not seeing things from his point of view.

  ‘Just today we heard that a careers woman is coming into school,’ Maggie told him, a flag of truce waving in the deliberate change of subject.

  ‘An outsider can be a big help at times,’ Lorimer said, his voice gentle with relief that the spat between them seemed to be over. ‘It’s something to focus their minds away from all of this. When does she start?’

  ‘Next week. We’ve drawn up a timetable for her to interview all the S4 pupils. I’ll be keen to see just what they all decide to do. Visits to the careers fair will be the next thing to tackle.’ She sighed.

  Lorimer listened as she talked on, sipping his tea, not saying much. It had been his decision not to let Maggie know the latest information about Kyle Kerrigan and how the boy might well be back in the frame for the murder of Julie Donaldson. And only Julie. It had happened before: a series of killings that they assumed to be the work of one person turning out to be quite different. But how could the teenager’s death fail to be part of this larger inquiry?

  Lifting his mug, Lorimer drained the last of the tea and rose from the table, a faraway expression in his eyes.

  Maggie clicked shut the dishwasher, pressed the start button and leaned against the sink. The sound of the evening news was coming from the room next door. More murder and mayhem in some other part of the world, she thought cynically. Was he watching it, or was the sound simply a background noise to drown out the worst of his thoughts?

  She was well aware that there were things about this case that her husband was leaving deliberately unsaid. They were both skirting around the subject. I have to fit in some extra time to do a little bit of sleuthing, she might have told her husband. But this was treading in a delicate area. To make enquiries among the pupils, however discreet, was perhaps going against the very authority that her husband represented.

  Yet, however much she tried to justify her plans to herself, Maggie Lorimer realised that she was being driven by a sense of guilt. Whether that was a feeling born of doubts about Eric or the knowledge that she ought to have owned up to witnessing Julie’s passionate anger that day, she didn’t rightly know. What she did know was that if she could find out something, anything, to exonerate the RE teacher, it would assuage all of these guilty thoughts.

  CHAPTER 28

  She heard the footfall behind her just as she turned into the street. It was becoming darker now and already the sodium glow from the street lamps was making yellow puddles of light on the pavements. Don’t turn round, Jessica told herself. That’s what he wants you to do.

  There was a large, glass-fronted shop opposite so she gave a quick glance left and right to check for traffic, then hurried across the street. The shadowy figure that had dogged her steps for the last ten minutes hesitated then Jessica could only hear one set of feet pattering along the hard tarmac, her own high-heele
d boots that were hastening her ever nearer to home.

  As she fitted her key into the lock, Jessica could not resist turning to give a quick glance behind her. Was that a shadow by the trees across the road? Or was it a figure standing stock-still, watching her? Shivering, the girl slipped into the empty house and closed the door firmly behind her. The ringing telephone made her scurry through the long hallway into the darkened kitchen.

  ‘Hello?’ Her voice was breathless.

  A small pause that seemed to open up a black space in her head was followed by the click of a handset being replaced. Had it been a wrong number? But why not ask for someone by name? Why that infinitesimal sigh of nothingness? Jessica put down the telephone, the cold wrapping itself around her as she crept towards the front of the house once more.

  Sliding along the wall of the living room, she peeked out into the night. That shadow by the trees had vanished. Shouldn’t she feel relieved that her pursuer had gone? Biting her lip to stop it trembling, Jessica visualised him walking away somewhere out in the darkness, mobile phone in his pocket and a sense of satisfaction on his invisible face that he’d succeeded in frightening her.

  She yanked the curtains closed, a sense of outrage making her heart beat faster. It had to be someone from school, some idiot boy trying to scare her. How else would they know her number? Or that she’d be all alone in the house, her parents away on business?

  Her mind only half-aware of what she was doing, Jessica went from room to room, turning on every light, banishing every trace of shadow until she came at last to her own bedroom that looked out towards the street. Jessica stood just inside the doorway, hesitating, her hand on the dimmer switch. This was her sanctuary, her safe place. Should she announce her arrival in the room by turning on this light too? What if he was still out there, watching? The wall opposite her window glowed with the reflection cast by the street light; would she be seen slipping across the room? With a muffled sob, she flung herself down on the bed, pulled off her boots and scrambled under the duvet, not bothering to undress.

  For several minutes she heard nothing but the thumping of her own heart. And then the phone began to ring once more.

  CHAPTER 29

  ‘Her name is Miss Munro. She is going to be interviewing you all later today and tomorrow for careers guidance, so make sure you have plenty of questions to ask her,’ Maggie continued, her eyes taking in all the expressions on the faces of her Fourth Year pupils. Announcing the arrival of a careers officer along with all the other administrative details was being met with the usual bored indifference by most of them; Amanda and Jessica were deep in conversation about something, heads down and whispering behind their smooth curtains of hair. Only Kyle Kerrigan seemed to be sitting up a bit straighter, his eyes glued to Mrs Lorimer as if he could see right through her. Did he see her as his teacher any more or had she become a different figure of authority simply by being DCI Lorimer’s wife? Maggie shivered, aware that she was already having misgivings about meddling in affairs that were rightly her husband’s.

  As they filed out after the bell, Kyle hung back.

  ‘Yes, Kyle,’ Maggie began briskly, trying to hide the anxiety that was gnawing at her innards.

  ‘This careers officer,’ Kyle began, then paused, biting his lower lip.

  Maggie looked at him for a moment. What was wrong? Why was the boy acting so nervously?

  ‘Would she know anything about forensic medicine?’

  ‘Why?’ Maggie frowned. ‘What do you want to ask her?’ Was this something to do with Julie? A sense of pity swept over her. Following the girl’s tragic death, had they lost sight of the need to take care of this troubled boy?

  ‘I’m. . you might not like this, Mrs Lorimer.’ Kyle hesitated, a flush of red gathering at his neckline. ‘It’s just that. . you know how we talked about me doing English at uni? Well, I’ve kind of changed my mind about doing English past Fifth Year.’ His voice tailed off in a mumble.

  Maggie felt her shoulders relax as the truth dawned on her. ‘You want to concentrate on your science subjects instead so you can study forensic medicine? Is that it?’

  The boy nodded, suddenly looking like the fifteen-year-old that he was.

  ‘You’ve certainly had good marks in physics and chemistry, Kyle, and though I must admit I’m sorry you won’t be following my subject, there’s no reason why we can’t see our doctors being well read in contemporary literature.’ Maggie twinkled at him and was rewarded by a tentative grin.

  ‘So this careers woman. .’

  ‘Miss Munro,’ Maggie supplied. ‘She’ll give you all the information you’ll need. In fact,’ Maggie hesitated as a sudden thought struck her, ‘I have a friend who is a consultant forensic pathologist. Would you like me to ask her if she’ll give you some pointers? She’s actually off her work for a while, so maybe she would have some time to speak to you. What do you think?’

  The answering beam on the boy’s face was enough. ‘That’d be great, Mrs Lorimer. Thanks.’

  And as Kyle sped off down the corridor to his next class, Maggie allowed herself a long exhalation of relief. Her own silly conscience was all that had made her think — what? That this boy had guessed she was doing some snooping of her own into Julie’s murder? Maggie shook her dark curls. Too much imagination: that was all that was wrong with her. Gathering up the papers on her desk, she watched as the noisy movement of pupils in the corridor outside began to disperse to the next class.

  She would talk to the kids, to Julie’s friends, although that was easier said than done. There was always the Scripture Union club, she remembered. And a chit had been put into all their pigeonholes asking for someone to fill in for Eric while he was away. Maggie looked thoughtful for a moment. Could she do it? Surely it was simply a matter of singing a few choruses and giving Bible readings? And she was good at reading aloud, wasn’t she? The kids were always saying how she brought stories to life for them. Yes, she decided. If no one else had offered yet, Mrs Lorimer would step into that particular breach; she had to start somewhere after all and Eric’s SU club was as good a place to begin as any.

  The corridor leading to Eric’s room was painted a pale, cold blue. Maggie glanced absently at the wavy line where some naughty child had taken a pencil for a walk along it, the curves suddenly taking an upward flow and breaking off: she could just imagine the offending pencil being pocketed as a teacher turned the corner. She paused outside the RE teacher’s room. It wasn’t fair, Maggie told herself for the hundredth time. There was no way the man was guilty of any terrible crime. He’d never interfere with an underage pupil, nevermind try to silence her in the most evil way. Eric just wasn’t like that. But is that simply what you want to think? a little voice asked. Was she trying to convince herself of Eric’s innocence simply because she couldn’t handle the idea of actually knowing a killer? Suddenly she recalled the personal accounts of a particular serial killer’s life from his friends. He’d been quiet but harmless, one had reported; a little brusque sometimes but never in a million years had anyone thought him capable of such terrible acts of cruelty, others said.

  Brushing down her skirt as if she were ridding herself of these thoughts, Maggie stepped into Eric Chalmers’ classroom. Somewhere in his filing cabinet she would find the SU folder.

  There it was, decorated by a single silver cross stuck on the front, the words Scripture Union written in Eric’s flowing hand. The contents consisted mostly of sheets of paper with lists of names and little mini sermons that he’d headed ‘stories’, but as Maggie flicked over the sheets, a few photographs fell out on to the desk. Curious, she picked them up.

  At first Maggie was shocked to see Julie’s face laughing out at her from the group surrounding Eric. Then the feeling was replaced by one of immense sadness. She should still be here, laughing or crying, making a nuisance of herself whispering in class, flirting with the boys.

  ‘Oh, Julie,’ Maggie Lorimer said softly, turning the photos over one by one, her eye
s picking the girl out as she posed on the beach, smiled with the rest of the group or made daft faces for Eric’s camera. But it was the final photograph that made Maggie take a sharp intake of breath.

  It might have been taken by a professional portrait photographer, this picture of a young girl — no, Maggie thought, correcting herself — a young woman. Julie was sitting sideways, long blonde hair flicked casually over one shoulder, her eyes focused on the cameraman, a look of sleepy sultriness in her eyes and a smile that could only be described as sexy. Had Eric taken this? And if so, why had he kept it here in this folder? Maggie turned the photograph over but there was nothing written on the back. It was so out of keeping with these other images of youngsters having fun, larking about at SU camp, that Maggie found herself shivering.

  Then another thought occurred to her and she looked back at the group photos, her eyes scanning each pupil to see who had been at the summer camp. One by one, familiar faces looked out at her until she came to the tallest boy standing right at the back. It was Kenny Turner, one of her Sixth Years. Kenny? Maggie raised her eyebrows in surprise: fun-loving, football-daft Kenny Turner? Well, that was a turn-up for the books, seeing him at SU camp. Maggie cast her mind back to her class’s subject choices; she was sure Kenny didn’t take RE, so why had he been at Eric’s summer camp? Slowly Maggie laid out the photographs and examined them more carefully until she found what she had been looking for. Yes! That group photo with Eric in the centre didn’t have Kenny in among them, so had he been behind the lens? And if so, had this photo of Julie with those come-to-bed eyes also been taken by Kenny?

  Maggie Lorimer experienced a little frisson of delight at her discovery. Maybe her idea wasn’t quite as mad as she’d thought and perhaps she had the makings of a decent detective after all.