paused for a second. He’d never been in the habit of buying flowers for Maggie except on the rare occasions when they’d been supermarket shopping together. The vendor, a slim boy with lank, dark hair, caught his eye even as Lorimer hesitated.
‘Nice roses. Two bunches for a fiver?’ the boy held up several bunches of the long-stemmed blooms for Lorimer to see.
‘No thanks,’ he shook his head briefly, eyeing the single carnations stuck into a green bucket. Inquiries had been made all over the city. This boy had probably been questioned more than once. Should he stop and buy some flowers for Maggie? He had walked away from the stall even as the thought crossed his mind. No, they’d only wither by the time he reached home, he argued with himself. Anyway, she’d maybe think he was trying to apologise for something.
As Lorimer waited for the lights to change on the corner of University Avenue his attention wandered to the shops on the other side of the road. On dayglo orange stickers, Going Places travel agency was proclaiming cut- price fares to Florida. He could always see what flights were available in October, say?
The lights changed to the wee green man and Lorimer strode across, his mind drifting away from fares and flights to Geraldine Lynch. The only place she would be going was into Rosie Fergusson’s post-mortem room.
As he crossed over, his eye was caught by three older men deep in conversation. Two had greying beards compensating for what they lacked on top and the third was a tall, angular fellow whose mane of white hair made him an imposing figure.
Three academics, Lorimer smiled to himself as they swept past. They still seemed to favour baggy linen jackets and distressed leather briefcases, just like his old Prof. He’d felt at home here once, Lorimer realised. What would life have been like if he’d pursued his original studies to their conclusion? Would he have ferreted into all the intricacies of Art History instead of investigating contemporary crimes? Would Maggie have been happier married to an academic?
Walking in the direction of Partick, he caught sight of another familiar landmark. The newsagent was still there. Lorimer saw with a pang that several youngsters were busy taking down details of flats to let from the cards in the window. This unofficial letting agency had been there for as long as he could remember. He had a sudden memory of standing in the pouring rain in his ancient duffel coat scanning the cards for a room to let where he and Maggie could set up home. They’d talked such a lot about moving in together but it had never happened.
Instead Lorimer had left university for his police training while Maggie had finished her degree. They’d done the conventional thing after all, working and saving to buy the house before they’d finally married. His young man’s dream of a love nest had been set aside when he’d left the university world behind for the new experiences of the police force.
The pub on the corner seemed caught in a time warp, Lorimer thought as he pushed open the door. The Rubaiyat might have a name that conjured up a literary world but it wasn’t so far from the traditional spit and sawdust. The same scuffed brass foot rail had been there in his day and although the banquettes were newer, their vivid patterns continued the attempt at evoking the idea of ancient Persia. Lorimer ordered a pint and settled into the curved seat opposite the door.
‘Lorimer. Hallo,’ Solly’s face displayed his usual boyish grin as he caught sight of him. Seemingly oblivious to the warmer weather, he was wearing a long gabardine raincoat over his leather jacket; he unravelled himself from these layers of clothing, discarding them in a heap over his bulging briefcase.
Lorimer smiled. Solly would never change.
‘What are you having?’
‘Ah. Something nice and cold. I don’t mind,’ he answered vaguely.
‘White wine? Beer? Orange juice?’
‘Yes, lovely,’ he replied.
Lorimer raised his eyes to heaven and ordered another pint for himself and a glass of squash for Solly.
‘So,’ Solly suddenly put the drink down, giving Lorimer a considered look. ‘We have another young woman who’s been strangled.’
Lorimer sighed. ‘I can’t believe four women have been killed and we’ve no trace of their killer.’
‘No,’ Solly replied. ‘It’s a difficult one.’ There was a pause as he seemed to examine his glass carefully, then he placed it on the table and shifted close towards Lorimer. ‘More difficult than I think you realise.’
‘Oh? How’s that?’ Lorimer looked at Solly. There was something familiar in the sad smile, something that told him Solly was about to be the bearer of bad news, as if he hadn’t enough to contend with.
‘We don’t have one killer. We have two.’
Lorimer nodded slowly. It was something that he’d fleetingly considered himself. ‘That would be a lovely idea, pal, but how do you account for the modus operandi? Besides, the guy places flowers into her praying hands each time. Same signature.’
‘But a different locus. And a different type of victim,’ Solly tapped the edge of the table to underline his point.
‘Granted. But how can you explain the hands? Even the press didn’t get hold of a picture of any of the bodies. Their mock-up shows a different position altogether. It has to be one and the same person who’s carrying out these killings.’
‘I don’t agree,’ Solly told him quietly. He heaved a sigh. ‘The whole picture didn’t make sense from the time of Kirsty MacLeod’s death. I simply couldn’t build a profile. Now I think I know why. There are two people to profile, not one.’
Solly watched as the policeman’s mouth set in a grim line. The murder case sat heavily on his shoulders. Until they could solve it there would be a feeling of inadequacy heightened by something he couldn’t yet put his finger on, an extra weight that he was bearing. His energies were directed at finishing off this job if he could. That was good for the case and good for Strathclyde CID, but was it good for William Lorimer?
Just then a crowd of students piled into the pub, their voices loud with post-exam relief. Soon it would be standing room only in the Rubaiyat.
Lorimer bent forwards, suddenly aware of any ears that might be tuning into their conversation. ‘Look, why not finish off here and we’ll go for a walk? Fancy the Botanics? It’s a nice night.’
Solly nodded and raised his glass. The two men sat back opposite one another, drinking in a silence that was full of questions.
‘We’d have to check all the members of the team, too,’ Lorimer told him. ‘If your theory’s correct, and I’m not saying you’re wrong, then someone inside the investigation has let slip details of the signature.’ Lorimer didn’t dare voice any other thoughts than that. Carelessness, that was the only crime any of his team could be guilty of, wasn’t it?
‘It could have been the railwayman who discovered the first victim,’ Solly reminded him.
Lorimer gnawed a raggle on his fingernail. Nobody had noticed the flower until he’d arrived at the scene. Still, it was worth checking out. ‘If the nurses have been killed by a copycat killer then we’re still left with a helluva lot of questions. Like, why?’
Solly didn’t reply. He was walking slowly along the path, face towards the ground as if he was looking for a lost penny. Lorimer glanced sideways at him.
What was going on in that brain? He’d given the psychologist the benefit of the doubt and, in an uneasy way, he felt he was on to something.
‘What about the prostitutes, then?’
Solly looked up and stopped, smiling sadly. ‘Oh, that’s easy, I’m afraid. The killer is suffering from some kind of delusions. Religious delusions. Fairly common, I have to say. He’s probably hearing voices telling him to take away the bad women of the night.’
‘A religious nut, then? What we thought all along?’
‘Yes. And I think this latest crime shows he’s definitely got a link with Queen Street station.’
‘The staff car park’s close circuit camera is out of order,’ Lorimer told him gloomily.
‘There. Have a closer look at who has access to that area at night. Or even during the day.’
‘Anything else?’
‘If forensics haven’t found any DNA matches between railway personnel then maybe you could dig a little deeper into each member of staff’s background.’
