She nodded. 'Yes,' she said. 'It seemed so simple really. If I could have him taken away, out of my life somehow. Then you said, why not have him killed?'
'Please explain the background to this for the record,' Solly heard Lorimer say, his voice stiff with disapproval.
'Oh, sorry,' Marianne said, turning to look at the recording machine.
'I had these terrible dreams,' she began.
Lorimer closed the door to his office with a sigh. It had been too easy, really. Once Solly's question had prompted her, the flood – gates had opened and Marianne had told them everything. How Scott had followed her everywhere, making her change her address in a series of bedsits, until she was almost at screaming point; how the chance to earn some serious money had come her way when Billy had suggested that she help out this wealthy man from Lahore. Then she had enough money to pay for that matter. She hadn't referred to it by any other term, Lorimer had noticed, never even calling Stevens a hit man, always referring to him as Billy's friend. When he had at last charged her with conspiracy to murder, Lorimer had noticed no change in the woman at all, only a vague nod as though this was something she had expected to happen, part of a process she was willing to undergo.
There was still so much to be done, he thought, suddenly longing for home with Maggie there, waiting as she always did. He still had to speak with Amit Shafiq and arrange for Brogan to be brought up to Glasgow once his plane touched down in Heathrow Airport. There were hours before he could see her, touch her hair, bury himself in her caresses. And all this while Maggie was worried sick about that operation, miserable because she thought it might make her somehow less than the beautiful woman he knew her to be.
Standing there in the room that had become almost a second home to him, Lorimer suddenly came to a decision. Sometimes changes were inevitable, like Maggie's operation, but he knew right now that it was time for him to change his career, put all of today's tragic events behind him. He would accept Joyce Rogers' proposal, take the job in the Serious Crime Squad. There would be some conditions attached, though. First he would take the leave that he was owed, making sure that it coincided with Maggie's time at home after her surgery. Then, he thought, with a sigh, he could make a fresh start again, seek out new challenges.
CHAPTER 39
Mr and Mrs Fathy were sitting side by side in the family room when Lorimer walked in. The first thing he noticed about the mother was her resemblance to Omar. Mrs Fathy had that same angular face, smooth dark skin and natural grace that he remembered so well. He swallowed hard. This was not going to be easy.
'Detective Chief Inspector Lorimer,' he said, moving forward.
Mr Fathy stood up and accepted the outstretched hand but his wife remained seated, tense fists clutching a large handbag on her lap.
'Thank you for coming, Chief Inspector,' Mr Fathy said, his voice gruff with emotion. 'It means a lot to us.'
'Omar was a fine officer,' Lorimer began, then, giving a sigh, he passed a hand over his own eyes. 'I can't tell you how sorry I am…'
Mr Fathy touched his sleeve. 'I can see that,' he murmured. 'It is good that you show this.'
'He was tipped to go far in his police career,' Lorimer continued.
'Even those at the highest level recognised that.'
'That is some comfort,' Mr Fathy replied, though it was hard for Lorimer to tell whether Omar's father was uttering mere platitudes or whether he really meant it.
'He should never have joined up in the first place!' Mrs Fathy cried, looking at Lorimer, her face twisting in pain. tried to stop him. I really tried!'
Lorimer nodded, his blue eyes meeting her own dark gaze.
There was something in that look, some unspoken, guilty secret.
Then, as though she had said too much, she dropped her gaze and opened her bag, rustling around for a handkerchief.
And at that moment it came to him, the answer to Omar's persecution.
It was you, his own mother, Lorimer thought to himself, but he did not say the words. How she had managed it, was anyone's guess. Bribing officers within Grampian and Strathclyde to put notes in her son's locker, perhaps? Sending messages to his home address? Anything to try to stop him in the career that she hated.
Thank God he hadn't had time to put anything officially into motion.
Whatever had been going on, it simply didn't matter any more.
They'd got off with it, but Lorimer hoped that somewhere in Aberdeen and Glasgow there would be officers whose consciences would weigh heavily upon them for the rest of their careers.
Perhaps, though, Omar's mother would always feel a sense of vindication. The danger she had feared for her beloved son had come to pass in the most tragic way, despite what she had seen as her best intentions.
Lorimer cleared his throat. 'Omar is to be given the police medal for bravery,' he said. It's something that is often awarded posthumously,' he added gently. 'And, with your permission, we would like his funeral to be conducted with full police honours.'
Mr Fathy nodded. 'He would have liked that, wouldn't he, Mother?' he said, turning to his wife.
But Mrs Fathy simply bent her head and wept, her racking sobs reaching into Lorimer's heart like a knife.
Billy Brogan twisted uncomfortably against the handcuffs that were pinioning him to the metal walls of the prison transporter.
The journey from North Africa hadn't been so bad. He'd managed to chat to the stiff-looking English officer who had met him from the consulate and taken him back by plane. Being cuffed to the man had been okay, except when he'd had to go to the tiny onboard toilet. How did couples manage to join the Mile High club? he'd joked, but that had cut no ice with his poker-faced com panion.
Now he was almost back in dear old Glesca Toon, but whether Billy Brogan would see much of the city was doubtful. Barlinnie prison was his destination and, as far as Brogan knew, that high walled institution gave no views of the surrounding landscape.
The transporter rumbled along, giving Brogan no clue as to whereabouts they were and he suddenly realised that this was how it was going to be. No matter what sentence was handed down to him for conspiracy to murder, he'd lost control of his own destiny for a long time to come.
And Marianne? What of her? Nobody had let him know a thing about his sister. Perhaps once he was incarcerated and part of the system he could find out what was going on from his brief. Brogan shrugged. Stupid thing to do, really, hiring Stevens to get rid of Ken Scott. Seemed to make sense at the time.
Surely helping his only sister get rid of a filthy stalker would cut some ice with a jury? he told himself, trying to justify his actions.
The vehicle slowed down and Brogan felt his body sway as it turned a corner. Instinctively he knew they had arrived. He took a deep breath. 'Right, Billy boy,' Brogan murmured to himself.
'Time to turn on the charm.'
Amit was walking beside the Hundi. It was autumn now and the city had wrapped itself in a mistiness that chilled him to the bone.
'We have to be careful, my friend,' the Hundi told Amit. 'There are many who would wish us to perish like our friend, Jaffrey.'
Amit nodded sagely. This Hundi had been good to him, hadn't he? Introducing him to Brogan and Marianne so that he could stay in this country, ensuring that his financial needs were taken care of and now, giving him the sort of fatherly advice that the younger man respected. Instinct had warned him to say nothing about the Hundi to that tall policeman, only mentioning Brogan's part in the transaction. And that was good, wasn't it? Amit felt the big man's hand rest upon his shoulder as they strolled through Kelvingrove Park, past the pond where a heron stood motionless, waiting to strike.
'Everything is fine with Dhesi?' the Hundi asked and Amit nodded.
'He is a good friend to me,' he said simply. 'And an honest business partner.'
