meet up and talk about other things, Lorimer told himself.
‘Any chance of seeing you today? I could come over to your place if you’d rather not come down here,’ he suggested.
There was a snort of derisive laughter from the other end of the line. ‘Naw, the place is a tip. And I’d rather not have you over, if you don’t mind. How about somewhere down the coast? Say Cardwell Bay Garden Centre. D’you know where that is?’
‘Sure. I can be there in less than twenty minutes. What time suits you?’
Again the pause as Colin Ray considered the proposal. Lorimer wondered what state the man was in, whether he was even up and dressed properly at this time in the morning.
‘Make it another hour, eh? Would nine-thirty be okay? Meet you in the tea room.’
‘Fine. See you there.’
‘Aye, an’ you’re paying.’
Lorimer could just discern the faintest trace of humour in the retired DCI’s tone as he put the phone down.
Leaving a message for the staff, Lorimer grabbed his coat and headed down to the car park. Swinging the dark blue Lexus out into the dual carriageway, he felt a slight sense of playing hookey as he left the divisional headquarters behind. But, he reasoned, the other officers would surely appreciate him giving Colin Ray his place? At least, those whose loyalty to their old boss was not in question.
Cardwell Bay lay on the outskirts of the seaside town of Gourock, on the road towards Inverkip and the Ayrshire coast. It was the main route to Wemyss Bay, the small village where ferries arrived from the Island of Bute a mere half hour’s sail away. Rothesay, across the stretch of water from the mainland, had been a popular holiday destination during much of the twentieth century, particularly after the rail link had been established between Glasgow and the coastal towns. He and Maggie had spent some relaxing weekends there during their courting days. Now, as he drove past the old open-air swimming pool in Gourock, Lorimer felt a certain nostalgia for those times.
Being in the city had given him a different perspective on things. Like crime and criminals. Perhaps it was time to see life from a more rural point of view. Maybe the fire-raiser’s attack on the house in Kilmacolm should be seen as a stupid prank that simply went wrong? Not as a vicious, deliberate killing. But, thought Lorimer as he looked out over the blue waters of the Clyde, their white caps tossed by a sudden squally wind, somewhere along the line a finger had been pointed at the anonymous low-lives in the district. Thugs from Port Glasgow was one suggestion he’d read on the initial report. The fire service was always being called out to random fires down there. But with no corroboration, that was all speculation. And speculation wasn’t hard evidence.
As he turned into the huge open gateway at the garden centre, Lorimer watched other drivers parking as near to the entrance as they could. They’d be returning in an hour or so with trolleys full of stuff for their gardens. It was almost mid-February and the planters by the automatic doors were full of winter pansies and snowdrops. Too late for planting bulbs and too early for bedding plants, these keen gardeners might well be paying attention to stuff like feeding their winter grass or mending some storm-wrecked fencing. Or did they simply want a quick getaway after their morning coffee? The rain was never far away here on the west coast. It might be bright and blue now but give it another wee while and dark clouds could obliterate that sunshine.
Colin Ray was sitting with his back to Lorimer as he entered the capacious tea room. He remembered Ray as a big man but seeing him sat there hunched over the table, Lorimer felt that he’d been diminished by his wife’s death.
‘Colin?’ The man stood up and for a moment each looked into the eyes of the other, hands clasped in a warm grasp that betokened nothing more than one man’s feeling for the other. That was all it took, just that one handshake and a look that said how sorry Lorimer was, how grateful it hadn’t been his Maggie and how he wanted to make things easier for the man who’d lost the love of his life.
‘Aye,’ Colin Ray said at last, the word drawn out like a sigh. ‘Well, here you are, then,’ he added, nodding his head as though he were acknowledging his fate.
‘Tea or coffee? And something to eat?’
‘Coffee. Just something with milk. Oh, and see if they’ve got any Danish pastries, will you?’
Lorimer grinned as he turned away. He’d order a plateful of them, reasoning that Ray probably hadn’t had breakfast; besides, he’d a weakness for Danish pastries, himself, a fact that was well known back in his own canteen.
‘I didn’t get down to see her often enough,’ Ray began, looking down at the mug of coffee, one finger hovering over the selection of cakes. ‘Too busy.’
Lorimer nodded but said nothing. It was a perennial problem with senior officers: the job taking precedence over home and family life, sometimes to the detriment of a marriage. They were always too busy. Crime didn’t take a holiday, did it?
‘Tried to see her when I could and then…’ Ray broke off with a shrug that expressed more than mere words could achieve. ‘Well, the job suddenly wasn’t important any more, was it? Grace was running out of time, you see. I just couldn’t be arsed, if you want to know the truth.’
‘Don’t think I’ll quote that in my report.’ Lorimer smiled at him gently.
‘Och, I’m past bothering what you write, frankly. Retired, pensioned off. Who gives a monkey’s what I say now?’
‘Actually I do,’ Lorimer told him.
‘How’s that?’ Ray’s head came up suddenly, frowning as he looked his former fellow officer in the eyes. ‘Stickler for the details, is that it? Didn’t have you down as a pen pusher, Lorimer. Thought that was more Mitchison’s style.’
‘Stickler for the facts, maybe,’ he replied. ‘Look, Colin, I don’t like doing this review any more than your former officers like having me hanging round their necks, but there are things I really want to know about that fire. Call me a nosy beggar, if you like, but there were rumours at the time that not everything was being done by the book.’
Colin Ray held Lorimer’s blue gaze as long as he was able, his own eyes fierce with a sudden anger. Then he looked away again, taking a sip of his coffee as if to delay his answer.
‘What are you saying, Lorimer?’
‘I’m asking you, Colin. About the case. It wasn’t just that you spent time with Grace. And God knows no one in their right minds would blame you for that. No. It’s the way the finger was pointed at local villains. But not at anyone in particular. Get what I mean?’
‘You think that smells funny?’
‘Aye, I do. Strikes me that not a lot was done to investigate the victims’ own background.’
Colin Ray shook his head. ‘Och, well, I suppose it’ll all come out somehow and better you hear it from me than one of the others.’
Lorimer stopped his cup halfway to his mouth and put it back on to the table.
‘Was hauled in to Pitt Street for a wee chat with our Chief Constable. David Isherwood. Did you know that he lives up in Kilmacolm? No? Well, anyway, he wanted to warn me off any sniffing around Jackson’s business affairs.’
‘And ordinarily you might have ignored that and just got on with the job?’
‘Aye, I’m as ornery a bastard as you are, Lorimer.’ Ray smiled properly for the first time that morning.
‘But Grace…’
‘… was a damn sight more important than bothering my ginger with what I was supposed not to do, see?’
‘And now?’
Colin Ray gave another wintry smile. ‘If I were in charge of a review I’d make it my business to see everything that had been missed. No stone unturned. No ignoring any wee slimy creatures that could be lurking among Jackson’s affairs.’
The sky had closed in, grey and louring, by the time he left Cardwell Bay and headed back up the coast
