by Alex Gray
Then they were gone and Lorimer could pick up the discarded threads of his day. First off, he wanted to know just what was happening downstairs. Cameron and Weir had brought the teacher in for questioning; Lorimer suddenly felt a spasm of envy for his more junior officers. He didn’t often have a chance to get involved with the cut and thrust of interviewing suspects and if promotion to Superintendent did come these occasions would be even fewer. Remembering how he had hated it when his own superiors had interfered in a case, Lorimer stifled the desire to muscle in on Cameron’s present task. It would just have to wait and he’d hear about it later.
There was still a lot to be done if they were ever to find Nancy Fraser, he told himself, opening an already well-thumbed file. Given that he’d been designated SIO in this latest murder case, Lorimer would have to delegate Nancy’s case to a more junior officer – someone like DI Jo Grant, for instance – but so far the paperwork was still on his desk. He’d try to run the two cases if it was physically possible but past experience told Lorimer that it simply wouldn’t work. Besides, a sense of loyalty to that young mother who trusted him to find her child was warring against the gnawing anxiety that the murder of Julie Donaldson was a bit too close to home, with Maggie having been the girl’s teacher. Would that complicate things? Perhaps, but he was managing to cope with this extra workload and so would the other officers involved in these cases.
‘Interview beginning at three-twenty p.m., August twentieth.’ DS Cameron’s lilting voice spoke clearly as the recording equipment hummed into life. Outside the faint drone of traffic could be heard from one small window set high up in the bare walls of the interview room. What air did venture into the box-like room did little to dispel the stuffy smell of the countless unwashed, sweaty bodies that had passed through the place.
Across the formica-topped table Eric Chalmers sat, hands clasped on his lap, his eyes fixed on the men who had brought him from Muirpark Secondary School. On their way across town, Cameron had formed the impression that Chalmers was a friendly sort of guy; he’d asked questions about the Detective Sergeant’s accent then gone on to reminisce about a childhood holiday spent in Harris and Lewis. A more relaxed murder suspect would have been hard to envisage. His avoidance of the subject of Julie Donaldson had been interesting, though.
‘You are Eric Peter Chalmers of fifteen Queen’s Court, Anniesland.’
Chalmers unclasped his hands and shifted in his seat. ‘That’s right,’ he replied, a small shadow crossing his face as if Cameron’s tone was alerting him to something even more serious than the accusation of sexual assault on a minor.
‘May I ask you, Mr Chalmers, where you were between five o’clock and midnight last night?’ Cameron stared at the man, seeing his head tilt in a questioning frown.
‘What are you asking me that for?’ he blurted out. ‘What on earth has this to do with the hearing?’
‘Just answer the question, please, sir,’ Cameron continued, his manner as controlled and polite as ever.
‘Well, I was at home, of course, with my family!’ Chalmers’ frown deepened and Cameron had the sense that the man was annoyed. Good. Annoyed would do fine. A wee bit of rattle to his cage might reveal quite a lot.
‘For the entire evening?’
Eric Chalmers leaned back, his hand massaging his chin as he considered the question. ‘Well, I did go out for a while. Yes, that’s right. I’d forgotten about that. I took Ashleigh for a drive.’
‘Ashleigh?’
‘Our new baby. She’s still a bit fretful now that she’s home from hospital. My wife, Ruth, becomes quite tired and I suggested that I take Ashleigh for a drive around to see if that would settle her.’
‘Please could you tell us approximately what time you left your house and what time you returned?’
‘Oh, now you’re asking. I’m not sure, actually. It was some time after dinner. About nine? Maybe my wife would remember better. We drove around for maybe an hour or so. I did take a bit longer than I’d anticipated. Thought it would be nice for Ruth to have a break. Ashleigh is quite a wakeful baby, you see.’
‘And did she go to sleep in your car?’ Cameron gave the faintest of smiles as if he were conversant with the troubles of a new baby, which he was not. But it always helped to seem understanding; creating a rapport with a suspect was usually a good thing to achieve early on. He’d watched Lorimer in action often enough to know that.
‘She went to sleep almost right away,’ Chalmers replied. ‘The motion of the car put her out minutes after we’d left the house.’
‘So why didn’t you return for, what, an hour?’
Chalmers shook his head. ‘I already told you. I wanted Ruth to have a rest. Could you tell me what this is all about?’ he added.
‘Whereabouts did you drive, sir?’ Cameron continued, ignoring Eric’s last question.
‘Oh, heck, where did we go? Erm . . . well, I drove up the boulevard past Knightswood then back down to Anniesland Cross and over towards Canniesburn.’
‘Past Dawsholm Park?’ Cameron interrupted.
‘Well, yes, I suppose I would have driven past there.’
‘Did you go into the park?’
‘No. I was driving all the time, I told you—’
‘Did you arrange to meet Julie Donaldson at any time last night?’
Chalmers sat back with an expression on his face as if Cameron had physically hit him. Seeing the colour drain from the teacher’s face made the DS wonder. Had they come to the crux of the matter, then?
‘No,’ he whispered at last. ‘What on earth has given you that idea?’
‘Mr Chalmers, I have to tell you that the body of Julie Donaldson was found in Dawsholm Woods earlier today. We have reason to believe that she died some time yesterday evening. Perhaps during the time you were away from your own home. With your little baby sound asleep in the back of your car,’ Cameron insinuated, his hands clasped in an authoritative manner, his stare unflinching.
Eric Chalmers said nothing, but his mouth fell open in a gasp of horror, the blue eyes wide with shock.
‘Julie’s dead?’ Eric said at last, his voice barely discernible. Then he swallowed hard. ‘What happened?’ As the silence in the room gave him no answer, he looked wildly from one officer to the other. ‘You don’t think . . . ? No, you can’t think . . . I wouldn’t . . .’
Then, to Cameron’s discomfiture, Eric Chalmers put his head into his hands and began to weep.
Glancing across at Weir, Niall Cameron saw a pair of raised eyebrows and an expression that said as clearly as if it had been uttered that the Religious Education teacher was on the point of confessing to murder.
The DCI snatched the telephone off its cradle before the second ring.
‘Lorimer?’ It was impossible to keep the question out of his voice. Whilst there was no sign of Nancy Fraser there was still the tiniest flicker of hope that she might be found. But the caller was not bringing anything more to bear about the little girl. It was one of the officers in charge of Glasgow’s extensive CCTV cameras. Lorimer listened as the woman explained what had been found.
‘You’ll send us the images, then?’ he asked at last.
As soon as he broke the connection, Lorimer was up and out of his room. ‘Time to gather the troops,’ he said under his breath, striding towards the general office where he hoped to find at least some of the team. Weir and Cameron’s action was taking place downstairs, but this new information concerned them too.
Three pairs of eyes looked up as the DCI entered the open-plan room: Irvine, Wilson and DI Grant were all at their desks, but Lorimer was aware of bringing something into the room with him, an almost tangible sense of excitement.
‘Nancy?’ DC Irvine began and then looked down as Lorimer shook his head.
‘Central CCTV cameras have images of Julie Donaldson in Royal Exchange Square,’ he began. ‘They were taken on the afternoon that she absconded from school. They’re emailing them over now,’ he added. ‘My o
ffice. Okay?’ Lorimer turned on his heel and retraced his steps, hearing the scrape of chairs as some of the others left their desks to follow him. He could easily have watched the images himself first, but the team deserved to be there. Plus it would be all the quicker to issue further actions if what his caller had described was true.
In a matter of seconds Lorimer had accessed the forwarded footage. There was silence as they watched the grainy pictures, their staccato stop-frame images blinking across the screen. These particular cameras, like many in the city centre, did not have fixed heads but swivelled from side to side like intelligent robots, sucking up visual information as they swept the streets. At first all they could see was the bottom of a flight of steps and a pavement cafe where people were sitting around tables in the sunshine. Then the camera shifted its stance and the whole of the staircase came sweeping into view.
‘That’s her,’ Lorimer said, pointing at a figure on the screen.
‘Who’s the boy?’ Wilson asked, but Lorimer had already raised his hand for quiet and they continued to watch in silence.
At first it looked like any other boy and girl sitting on the steps on a summer afternoon, chatting to one another. Lorimer noted the way the pair sat together. She knew the boy well; there was no great distance between them and she was smiling at him as if he were an old friend. But then things changed. The camera caught a moment when the girl swept her hair back revealing an expression of fury. The boy stood up and so did Julie, yelling something and gesticulating wildly. Suddenly he had her by the arm and Lorimer heard Irvine gasp behind him as she watched the CCTV footage. But the boy caught by the camera didn’t strike out as it seemed he might; instead, he yelled something at Julie making her run off down the steps. There was something menacing in the stance of his rigid body: fists clenched by his side. Then he too disappeared from the camera’s view.
‘I—’ Irvine began, but Lorimer shook his head.
‘There’s more. Wait,’ he told her, concentrating on the computer screen. Another figure swam into view, a woman, turning in the direction where the boy had gone, a look of severe disapproval on her face. Then the camera shifted once more and the link was cut.
‘Right. That recording was made at two-thirty-five yesterday in Royal Exchange Square, only an hour or so after Julie called Samantha Wetherby to say she was in town. Now we know she hadn’t told her pal about meeting anyone, but maybe she wanted to keep that to herself.’
‘Good image of the boy,’ DS Wilson offered. ‘Shouldn’t be too hard to find him.’
Lorimer smiled. ‘That an offer?’
Alistair Wilson looked up and grinned. ‘Why not? Shall I begin with the Donaldsons?’
Lorimer nodded. ‘And Muirpark Secondary. He looks school-age, doesn’t he? Let’s get some of these images frozen and printed off.’
‘Hold on a bit, though. Wouldn’t chummy downstairs recognise him if he were a Muirpark pupil?’ Alistair Wilson suggested.
‘Worth a try. Let’s hang fire with the parents just now. No need to upset them any more than is necessary. If Eric Chalmers can give us a name it might even be to his own benefit.’
‘Here.’ Cameron handed a large clean handkerchief to the man across the table, cursing whoever had forgotten to replace the empty box of Kleenex tissues. Carrying a white folded hanky was a habit ingrained from his youth when Ma would tuck one into his blazer pocket. ‘You never know when you might need one,’ she’d always told her menfolk.
Eric Chalmers blew his nose, wiping away the evidence of his sudden distress. ‘Sorry,’ he gulped, trying a watery smile, ‘I just never thought something like this might happen to her.’ He looked at the crumpled handkerchief, a question in his eyes.
‘Keep it,’ Cameron told him shortly. ‘I’ve got plenty.’
‘She was such an innocent wee girl,’ Eric began. ‘Always ready to join in things. But quite impulsive.’ His face clouded. ‘She . . .’ He broke off, looking down at his lap. ‘She thought she was in love with me,’ he continued. ‘Fantasy stuff; silly wee girl nonsense that most male teachers have to put up with from time to time.’
Studying him, Cameron thought there might have been plenty of times that Chalmers had had to endure attention from teenagers whose hormones were raging around their young bodies. He was an especially good-looking man, the thick blonde hair, that fine brow and blue eyes gave Eric Chalmers the appearance of a young Robert Redford. No wonder Julie Donaldson had come on to him.
‘So what did you do about it?’ Cameron asked.
‘Well, I didn’t murder her,’ Eric replied quietly. ‘The last time I saw Julie she was at school and not very happy with me. I told her not to get any silly ideas about us. Told her I was a happily married man and any feelings she had should be kept for boys of her own age. She didn’t like that.’ Eric grimaced.
‘And you say you did not go near Dawsholm Woods the night she was murdered?’
Eric leaned back, hand on his chin. ‘No, I didn’t say that. I was near to the woods since I drove past, but as I didn’t get out of my car then I wouldn’t have been in any position to see her.’
‘But your only witness is your two-week-old baby, who was sleeping at the time,’ DC Weir cut in, a sneer in his voice.
Eric looked at him, the expression on his face changing to one of almost pity.
‘No, you’re wrong there. I had a witness, the best possible witness. The Lord God knew exactly where I was, what I was doing, what I was thinking and even what I was feeling. And He knows that I am totally innocent of any accusation you can bring against me.’ The words were spoken with such firm conviction that John Weir sat back, half-embarrassed.
Cameron wanted to believe the man but there were other ways of obtaining the proof that they required. ‘Forensic evidence may help to clarify who was last with Julie and so I would ask you, if you are willing, to supply a sample for us to test, sir?’ Cameron glanced across at John Weir as if to verify that this was customary procedure.
Chalmers nodded. ‘Of course.’
‘Interview ended at four-o-five p.m.,’ Cameron intoned for the record. ‘Let’s get you off to see a police doctor, shall we, sir?’
But as the door opened, Cameron saw DS Wilson looking over his shoulder for the Religious Education teacher. ‘Need a minute of his time, Niall,’ he whispered. ‘Can we go back inside?’
‘Sorry about this, sir,’ Cameron said, one hand on the man’s arm.
‘Just a routine matter,’ Wilson began, a reassuring smile on his face as the door to the interview room was closed once more. Seating himself where Cameron had been a moment before, the Detective Sergeant placed a picture in front of Eric Chalmers.
‘Can you say if you recognise this person?’
Eric drew the picture towards him, nodding. ‘Yes. Everybody knows him. That’s Kyle Kerrigan. Muirpark’s sporting hero. Got the makings of a real boxing champion, that boy.’ For a moment he bit his lip as though another thought had occurred to him. Then a look of alarm crossed his face. ‘Nothing’s happened to Kyle, has it?’
‘Thank you, Mr Chalmers,’ Wilson replied and got up, sweeping out of the interview room without so much as a backwards glance, leaving the men staring after him with puzzled expressions on all of their faces.
CHAPTER 21
It had been a long day and now this staff meeting was going to make it even longer, Maggie grumbled to herself, shoving a bundle of photocopied poems into the desk drawer. Three-thirty was the official end of the school day but Maggie, like many of her colleagues, usually stayed on until just before five o’clock. Having her own classroom to prepare lessons and carry out the never-diminishing mountain of administration was a huge bonus, though she still carted piles of marking home most nights.
As she walked along the middle corridor a familiar notice caught her eye.
YOUR ATTITUDE CAN MAKE
A WORLD OF DIFFERENCE.
Manson loved having these sorts of things around the school; they wer
e meant to give the kids some kind of lofty ideals but Maggie had long since ceased to notice them, suspecting that the same applied to most of the kids. Yet today this one had leapt out at her. Could her own attitude make a difference? Would being fiercely loyal to Eric (and saying nothing about seeing him with Julie) help to reinstate the teacher to his rightful place in Muirpark Secondary? The hearing had taken place earlier in the afternoon but Maggie had been teaching right through from lunchtime so she’d been unable to discover how things had worked out for Eric. That was surely what this meeting was about.
Taking a seat at the back of the assembly hall, Maggie looked around for Sandie, but she was nowhere to be seen among the rows of teachers. The woman next to her shifted sideways in her chair with a sniff, as if by coming in late Maggie had somehow committed an offence. It was Myra Claythorn. Maggie stifled a groan. One of the senior staff, Myra was a teacher who was not well liked by either the pupils or her own colleagues, given the acid tongue that could flay a child into tears. Maggie had tried to feel sorry for Myra after the death of the woman’s husband, but had to admit that she’d failed miserably. Myra was simply one of those vexatious persons that ‘Desiderata’ urged one to avoid, especially as she clearly had it in for poor Eric. Now Mrs Claythorn was staring straight ahead as if Maggie no longer existed, her thick ankles tucked under the chair, arms folded under her ageing bosoms.
Manson had taken the platform and even from the back of the hall Maggie could see that something was wrong. The head’s normally ruddy complexion had a grey hue to it and he looked as if he had aged ten years since the beginning of term.
‘I have to apologise for asking you all to stay behind today, especially those of you who have had to make other arrangements to pick up children,’ Manson began.
Maggie Lorimer’s heart sank. It wasn’t like Manson to be all nice and considerate like this. What had happened?