A ring on the front doorbell startled Lorimer from his thoughts.
Solomon Brightman stood on the doorstep, a tentative smile on his face.
‘Solly, what on earth?’ Lorimer began, then, ‘Has something happened?’ he frowned, opening the door and ushering Solly inside.
‘Yes and no,’ Solly smiled again, catching sight of the instant irritation his words produced.
Lorimer ran a hand through his hair. ‘Well, let’s have it, then.’
Solly unravelled his long knitted scarf and set it down on the edge of a settee before removing his heavy black overcoat.
‘Come, on, sit yourself down.’
Solly pulled aside a plastic basin full of cleaning materials before sitting down. His eyebrows were raised in a silent query that Lorimer deliberately ignored.
‘It’s the profile,’ Solly began. ‘Mitchison has been on at me to draw something up. Oh, I know,’ he said, gesturing with his hand in the air as if to ward off any verbal assault. ‘It’s your case and he’s interfering. But be that as it may, I do have a duty to provide some form of paperwork on this.’
‘And?’
‘And I have,’ he replied, simply. ‘There’s not such a mystery over all of this. It’s not as if it’s a stranger killing. You should have no fears that we are dealing with some damaged person who has an escalating hit list.’
‘I never thought we were.’
‘No,’ Solly looked thoughtful. ‘There wasn’t a very strong reason for my presence in all of this, except your Superintendent wanting to be certain that there was no outside element involved. No loner attaching himself to the Glasgow music world.’
‘Himself. You’ve established that, then?’ Lorimer’s sarcasm was cutting.
‘A large man,’ Solly went on, oblivious to Lorimer’s tone. ‘Somebody with the strength to wield a percussion hammer effectively and to strangle a fit woman with a harp string and dispatch her body beneath the stage. Someone who is conversant with the music world from a professional point of view.’
‘Not necessarily another musician, then?’
Solly shook his head. ‘But it could be?’
‘Of course. Many of them had the opportunity. It remains to be seen if they might also have had a motive. There was forethought into George Millar’s death, the evidence itself shows that. The
Lorimer drummed his fingers impatiently against the leg of the chair. Solly’s ponderous silences maddened him.
‘There could well be some high emotion behind this. There’s a personal motive. George Millar was careless with his relationships.’
‘Was he also careless with his business affairs?’ Lorimer asked. ‘Could it be that his colleagues in the dealing of stolen goods or those in the drug scene had a reason to put out a contract on the man?’
‘But it is the instrument itself that causes me to question our killer,’ Solly murmured into his beard.
‘Go on.’
‘There is a certain amount of irony, is there not, in a killer choosing a musical instrument as a means to kill a musician. We agree that this was a well-planned murder. So.’ Solly counted off on his fingers, ‘There is the time to think things through. Time to immobilise the CCTV cameras, to know about the technician’s illness, perhaps? He even had inside knowledge of Maestro’s habit of secluding himself in his dressing room, let’s assume. So why not arrive prepared for killing with a more effective instrument than a hammer picked up from the percussion stand?’
‘He enjoys the risk?’ Lorimer suggested.
Solly shook his head. ‘Maybe that happens at the time, but he does not anticipate the thrill. No. We must try to think what goes on inside his head prior to the killing. What his intentions really were.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Lorimer stared hard at him. ‘Are you trying to say that this was not intended as a murder at all?’
Solly shrugged. ‘One blow to the skull might have felled him to the ground if it had been a massive weapon. In this case the killer was lucky. Or perhaps not.’
‘Why attack George Millar, then?’
‘To stop him from playing at the concert? Or maybe as a lesson to him from an outside agency, though I don’t really think so.’
‘No,’ Lorimer frowned. ‘If it had been a professional hit then he’d have been targeted somewhere far less public.’
‘My point exactly!’ Solly beamed.
‘But you haven’t made any point yet,’ Lorimer protested.
‘He wanted George Millar to be brought down in a public place. And not just any place. It had to be the Concert Hall and it had to be during a performance,’ Solly exclaimed, his eyes shining. ‘Don’t you see? It was part of a performance itself, this drama. Whoever the killer is, he shows a certain penchant for creativity.’
‘Sounds a bit unhinged to me,’ Lorimer replied acidly.
Solly shook his head vehemently. ‘Not at all. He is quite lucid. Clear in his intent and maybe even anticipating the effect his actions will have. He’s making a statement. And there’s a reason for that.’
‘Do you think it’s a member of the Orchestra?’
‘Could be, could be. Someone fit and healthy, strong, young, too. Early thirties at the most and single.’
‘How do you work that out?’
Solly shrugged again. ‘He’s willing to take such risks. It is as though there is some youthful bravado to his nature, foolhardiness, maybe. An older person is more inclined to worry about the consequences of their actions. And I feel he’s unhampered by any ongoing relationship. A single person has more freedom. He’s not worrying about what a partner might think of him if he’s caught.’
‘Carl Bekaert, maybe?’
Solly frowned. ‘I don’t think the Danish man has enough irony in his soul. But that’s just my own feeling. He certainly fits any physical profile I’d draw up.’
‘And that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?’ Lorimer said. ‘You don’t want him arrested, is that it?’
‘What evidence have you against him?’
‘He was the last musician out of the Concert Hall the night of Karen’s death.’
‘There’s no forensic evidence, though. No DNA at either scene of crime to match up to anything on Bekaert.’
‘We’ve arrested folk on less than that before,’ Lorimer reminded him.
‘And what good would it do? If Bekaert’s not your man the real killer will simply breathe a sigh of relief and continue with his life. unless he feels threatened by anyone else.’
‘Yes, that’s something I’ve been concerned about,’ Lorimer frowned.
‘Flynn?’
Lorimer nodded silently. Joseph Alexander Flynn of no fixed address, who was to be his house-guest until Christmas, might easily be a target if he still had some knowledge about George Millar. And Lorimer was certain that he did.
Jimmy Greer had hinted as much and the journalist had sounded a tad put out that the boy hadn’t opened up to him completely.
‘Couldn’t you put an officer to watch the house?’
‘Nobody outside the investigating team will know he’s here; even the ancillary staff at the Division have been warned to keep quiet. No, he’ll be safe enough. Anyway, I expect he’ll be watching TV all day. He’s not fit to go out. In fact there’ll be a nurse coming in to see to that head wound. It’ll still need dressing for a while.’
‘So,’ Solly smiled as he indicated the plastic basin. ‘You’re preparing for his visit?’
‘Aye. Och, the place was becoming a midden. I should’ve asked you for a loan of that cleaning woman you have in. Maybe I still will,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘D’you think she’d come in after Christmas?’ he asked.
Solly laughed then his face became serious again. ‘To get back to Bekaert. what are you going to do?’
‘We’re not intending to arrest him. Yet. If you must know, we’ve had a tail on him since his interview, hoping
