whip-round for one of our young guys getting hitched. I remember Ken saying he'd tried that once himself.'
Paul Crichton leaned forward, cupping the mug of tea in both hands. 'It was as if he'd made a big mistake and didn't want to be involved like that ever again.' He looked sideways at Lorimer.
'Know what I mean?'
Lorimer merely smiled. Too many marriages ended unhappily nowadays and he was only grateful that his own had lasted the distance.
But it would be worth finding out about the ex and asking questions.
'How long ago was it that he'd been divorced?'
'Sorry, haven't a clue. He was living on his own all the time I knew him. About eighteen months, I suppose since he joined the centre. So it must have been before that.'
'And you have no idea who might have wanted him dead?'
Paul Crichton shuddered visibly. 'Hell, nor he muttered. 'It must have been a mistake. I mean, you hear of that don't you?
Didn't the IRA shoot folk by mistake?'
Crichton had leaned back, relaxing a little, Lorimer noted, this new idea releasing him from the shock that had gripped him. The words would flow now, a reaction after the strain that had gripped him so tightly.
'That must be it, don't you think? A Me of mistaken identity!' he finished, sitting up straighter as though he'd scored a point. 'That is always a possibility that the police must consider, Mr Crichton,' Lorimer told him blandly. Yet it wasn't something that happened often in this city. Still, if Crichton wanted a lifeline to rescue him from the awfulness of his experience, he could have it.
'I take it the car sharing scheme was pretty much a regular thing?'
Crichton nodded. 'Week about. This was my week, Ken's would have been next week. We always had the same shifts. We even had the same week off on holiday. This was our first day back.'
'Do you know if Mr Scott was away anywhere?' Lorimer tried to keep his tone as neutral as possible. This might be leading somewhere and he didn't want Paul Crichton becoming overexcited.
'I was in the Canary Islands with my girlfriend. Fuerteventura.'
He shrugged. Ken said he might go up north to see some mates.
No idea whereabouts, though.' but someone else from work might know?'
'Suppose so. Don't have a lot of time to chat at that place. Talk enough on the calls to IT support as it is,' he added. There was something rather defensive about Crichton's tone and Lorimer noticed he was digging his fingernails into the soft flesh of his palms. He was trying to hold it all together; not show any signs of the emotions churning his stomach. There was just one last detail Lorimer needed then he'd let the poor bloke go.
'Your workmates were aware that you travelled together week about?'
Crichton's eyebrows rose in surprise. 'I suppose so. It was no big deal. Loads of folk car share these days. Cost of petrol,' he repeated in case the police officer had missed it the first time.
Lorimer ignored the slight. The man was still in the aftermath of shock.
'Okay, I think that's us done for now, sir. If you can leave us your contact details that would be appreciated. Anything else you might think of, give me a ring,' Lorimer drew a card out of the box on his desk and handed it over. 'Don't suppose you'll feel like going to work now?'
Crichton shook his head. 'Think I'll phone in sick,' he said.
'Pick up my car later on.'
'I'll find someone to drive you home, sir. But I'd be grateful if you don't mcntion the incident to anyone at the call centre until the police have had time to contact the management there first.'
Lorimer stood up and offered Crichton his hand. It was like shaking hands with a wet fish, the young man's hand was so sweaty and cold. A sudden vision of Ken Scott came to mind, his limbs dead and cold, rigid now with the onset of rigor.
A nice, ordinary bloke, his mate said. Perhaps. In Lorimer's line of work there were often hidden depths to the most ordinary appearances. Maybe there had been more to this victim than Paul Crichton could ever have imagined.
'No sign of the ex-wife, sir,' Detective Constable Annie Irvine shook her head, an expression of annoyance on her face. 'We have her last known address but there's no sign of any car ownership, so no joy there.'
'Employer?'
Irvine made another face. 'Hasn't signed on and there's no trace of tax being paid for the last few years.'
'What about full-time education?' `Ah,' Annie's mouth took a little time to close as she pondered this option. 'She's well into her thirties, but I suppose..
'New life after marriage? New directions?' Lorimer suggested.
'It happens, you know'
'Oh, and talking of new things, there's that new detective constable in with His Nibs right now, sir. Omar something,' Annie risked a smile as she left Lorimer's room.
Lorimer nodded. His day was so full of distractions from the important matters like the sudden death of an ordinary man; he'd clean forgotten that this was the starting date for a new member of his department. Detective Constable Omar Adel Fathy had come with the highest recommendations from his previous division in Grampian Region. He'd passed out of Tulliallan with the best results of his initial training too, Lorimer remembered from reading the fellow's CV. A fast tracker, Detective Superintendent Mitchison had told him, pointedly. It was a matter of pride to the Superintendent that his CID team were mostly university graduates; and a matter for scorn that DCI Lorimer had chosen to drop out of his own university course to join the police force. He'd have to see Fathy sooner or later, he supposed, but he hoped Mitchison would keep him for now.
Lorimer's hopes were short-lived. `Ah, Detective Chief Inspector Lorimer,' the nasal tones of the Detective Superintendent greeted him from the doorway and Lorimer gave an inward groan even as he stood up to receive his visitors.
Detective Superintendent Mark Mitchison strode into the room, ushering in the man by his side.
Lorimer's first impression of Fathy was how much of a contrast he presented to the super. DC Omar Adel Fathy was a slightly built young man, bright and quick in his movements as he came forward to shake the DCI's hand. Northern Egyptian, Lorimer guessed, from the darkness of the man's skin. Nubian blood somewhere judging by that gracefully sculpted head, he thought, recalling the statuary he had seen during his history of art years, though this particular man lacked the height he associated with those elegant people. Beside him Mark Mitchison looked washed out, his conventional handsomeness faded by contrast. 'It is a pleasure to meet you, sir,' Fathy told him, giving the merest hint of a bow as he spoke. But it was not an obsequious sort of gesture, more an innate courtesy. The direct way he looked Lorimer in the eye, a smile hovering around his mouth, was instantly appealing to the DCI. Here was someone he could work with, he thought. Someone who'd not suffer the sort of bullshit that Mitchison doled out on a daily basis.
'Detective Constable Fathy comes with a glowing report,'
Mitchison drawled and Lorimer was heartened to see that this utterance had the effect of making the Egyptian frown slightly in embarrassment.
'Good,' Lorimer said. 'You'll be ready for anything then? Like a new murder case, hm?'
Fathy's grin was answer enough.
'I'll leave you gentlemen, then, must press on,' Mitchison nodded to them both. 'Door's always open if you need to talk, Fathy.' Then he was gone.
Lorimer exhaled in relief. His immediate boss was the only thorn in his flesh in a job that he loved. When his previous super had retired the word on the grapevine was that Lorimer himself would step into his shoes, but that hadn't happened, and, apart from a couple of secondments as acting superintendent, Lorimer still hadn't gained the expected promotion. It was only a matter of time, his wife Maggie had reassured him. But Lorimer wasn't so sure. The fast trackers with university degrees like the man before him were the ones destined for greater things, he believed.
'Sit down, Fathy. That's the correct pronunciation, is it? Fa-thy?' 'Yes, sir. The TH is hard, almost like a V sound. Of course many will call me fatty,' he grinned, showing perfect white teeth.
Lorimer returned the smile. The officer's spare frame gave the lie to that.
'This murder inquiry, sir?' Fathy continued. 'May I be included in the investigation team?'
