Seeing Maggie’s expression gave him his answer. ‘I might have known! She’s been encouraging you to make a break for freedom. Is that it?’
‘Don’t you think I’ve got a mind of my own? OK so Divine told me a bit about Florida and, yes, that’s where I’m going on an exchange. But you’re entirely wrong in imagining that she put me up to it,’ Maggie snapped back at him. Then her face softened as she added, ‘I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t want to.’
Lorimer nodded. He wouldn’t let this escalate into a row. Looking at his wife’s face he realised how important this moment was. If he made too much fuss then he could alienate her all together. All his expertise as a police officer had taught him that he must play this quietly. The best thing now was to reassure her, not to let her see how she’d hurt him.
‘Right. Come over here and tell me about it all over again,’ he patted the sofa cushion beside him.
Maggie hesitated for a fraction of a second then got up to join him. Lorimer resisted the urge to hold her tight and simply took her hand, giving it a friendly squeeze.
He tried to make out that he was listening carefully as she told him all over again; about the job in Sarasota, about the high school system, about the accommodation being made available to her, and about the holidays.
‘I could see you at Christmas,’ she whispered, a little sadly.
‘I should hope so,’ Lorimer replied, his tone light, belying the heaviness he really felt inside.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
It was a perfect night. The moon had slid behind the blue-black clouds leaving just the glow from city streetlamps shining on the parked cars. He leant against the wall and waited. There was no hurry and certainly no fear of being seen. Apart from the fact that the CCTV cameras didn’t work in the staff car park, he was simply part of the natural background of the station, a railway worker going about his lawful business.
He shivered, anticipating the real business of the night. It was more lawful than anyone could guess, commanded by the highest authority. The woman had been hanging around for three nights in succession, eyeing up the stragglers from the last Edinburgh train, flashing her bare legs around the taxi rank. She’d disappeared with a man every night and somehow he knew she would keep coming back. A quick glance at his watch told him it was nearly time.
He heard her high heels click-clacking over the pavement before he saw her walking briskly towards the automatic doors, her short red skirt riding up against those white thighs.
‘Hey!’ he called out softly and grinned as he saw her pause midstride and peer into the darkness.
Moving out of the shadow he waved his hand, gave a flick of the head indicating that she should come over.
As she smoothed down her skirt and sashayed over he could see that she was younger than he’d thought. A momentary qualm was quickly replaced by disgust at how much she’d sullied her youthfulness. The grin on his face was a rictus. It would never do to reveal how he really felt towards her. The woman stopped in front of him, flicking back her white-blonde hair, a black shoulder bag clutched tightly with one hand. He could see beyond the caved-in cheekbones and the dull eyes to the girl she might have been before she’d chosen this way of life. With one crooked finger he beckoned her further into the shadows.
‘Ye wantae do the bis’ness?’ She was chewing gum, her jaw moving in wide circular movements. The sound of saliva slapping against her tongue was like a dog wolfing its meat. Something turned in his stomach.
He swallowed hard, nodded and took the woman’s arm. ‘Over here,’ he said, leading her into the shadows of a small building tacked on to the back of the station. It was where all the green rubbish bins were corralled together behind a mesh fence. A padlock swung loose on its hasp.
‘Ah’m no gonnae go in therr,’ she protested, tugging against his grip.
‘Aw, c’mon,’ he coaxed. ‘Give’s a kiss.’ With one hand he swung open the gate and pushed her inside the compound, his body already hard against hers. There was no struggle as his mouth enclosed her thin lips, more an acquiescence. He could feel her body relent as he pulled her hands around his waist, walking her slowly over to the nearest bin.
It was when she fumbled for his zip that he uncoiled the scarf from his neck and slipped it around her throat.
The ‘Noooooooo!’ was cut off abruptly as the ligature tightened. He felt her body struggle against his in a passion that had nothing to do with sex any more. Her leg came up in a vain attempt to lash out at his crotch but he sidestepped, hanging on to the scarf, yanking against it with all his strength. Suddenly a gurgling noise issued from her throat and she buckled under his grasp. He let go and she fell to the ground with a soft thump.
He took a step back, looking at her for a moment then knelt beside her. The grin that hadn’t left his face was like a mask now, something he couldn’t remove. Not yet. There was still the ceremony to perform.
He clasped her fingers straight within his own, glad of the leather that separated their flesh. How small they were, the warmth seeping through the gloves. He was aware of these things even as he uttered the prayer. The words that he spoke were of forgiveness for sins. She would not commit any more acts of depravity. Sitting back on his heels, he turned to look for the package that he’d left here earlier that evening. It was still there, hidden under the concrete edge of the shed. He slid it out and unwrapped the carnation from its cellophane wrapper. There were tears in his eyes as he forced the stem between her dead palms. It was such a lovely flower, so fresh and sweet. But it was a mark that she was saved now. They would find her and know she’d been redeemed.
He rubbed his gloved hands against his trousers as he stood up. Finished. He was done. The gate made virtually no sound as he fastened the padlock onto its hasp.
It was only a short walk back to the car and there was nobody about to see him slip into the driver’s seat. He peeled off the heavy gloves, letting them fall to the floor. There would be new ones issued tomorrow, unsullied by her kind of filth.
Two black cabs turning into the area made him stop for a moment. Then he released the brake and drove slowly out of the station, up the hill towards Cathedral Street and away, his night’s work complete.
Chapter Thirty
They’d arranged to meet late afternoon. Solly would be free by four o’clock, he’d said, but Lorimer knew from past experience that he was rarely on time. He’d taken the clockwork orange (which was the locals’ name for the Glasgow Underground) as far as Hillhead station, deciding to stroll along Byres road to clear his head.
The woman’s body had been identified as Geraldine Lynch. She was a known prostitute in that area, the railway staff had said. Already there were punters coming forward with information about her. Lorimer’s mouth hardened. She’d been dead for hours before they’d found her, dumped beside the huge industrial rubbish bins at the back of Queen Street station. One of the Transport officers had made the discovery. That, at least, had had the advantage of keeping the area sealed properly for forensics.
There had been an angry scene outside the Gazette’s offices, girls and women who had known Geraldine Lynch and Deirdre McCann making their presence felt. Jimmy Greer’s piece about Glasgow prostitutes had enraged them. None of them ever denied what they did, but to have the city’s newspaper deriding them the way Greer had done was particularly insensitive. It was the usual ploy, Lorimer guessed, to generate letters to the editor.
The Police liaison team had invited the women into Pitt Street to discuss their security. It was doubtful that many would turn up, though. These Glasgow girls liked to think themselves tough, and some of them were, but others were just wee lassies finding themselves at the bottom of the drugs spiral.
Lorimer tried to rid his mind of the murdered girl’s face as he walked along the road, taking note of the shops and buildings. Much of the area had changed dramatically since his own student days, but there were still landmark pubs like the Rubaiyat further down where he was to meet Solly, and of course the Curlers next to the Underground. They’d been revamped over the years but they continued to provide that ethos of camaraderie and heavy drinking a student clientele had come to expect.
Outside the station Lorimer sidestepped the flower vendor with his basket of brightly coloured blooms. He
