‘Okay. Mind you both leave a seat for me, won’t you?’ Lorimer grinned, waved a hand in the direction of her abdomen and was rewarded by Kate sticking out her tongue at him. He might be the senior officer around here but they were old pals and it did his heart good to be reminded of that right now.
The Harbour was not the usual police howff since there was a bar dedicated to officers from K Division just on their doorstep. But perhaps Kate had wanted a bit more privacy, Lorimer told himself, carrying their drinks back from the bar; she might not want to be seen to be fraternising with the enemy. That’s maybe how some of the others saw him, he thought grimly.
It was happy hour here and he had to push his way through a press of bodies to get back to the table where DC Clark was sitting. She’d chosen a corner by the open fire, a secluded spot in the noisy bar where they might talk in peace and not be overheard.
‘So, when’s the baby due?’ Lorimer asked, putting down his half-pint.
‘End of March,’ Kate replied. ‘Six weeks and five days if he’s on time,’ she grumbled. ‘Hope it’s earlier, though. I cannae be bothered with this much longer.’
The woman shifted, obviously uncomfortable even with a padded tapestry cushion between her and the wooden seat.
‘Are you going to take some maternity leave early before he arrives?’
‘No chance. I’m staying put right till the last minute. My blood pressure’s fine. I’ve no reason to go home and rest and, besides, I want as much time off afterwards as I can manage.’ Kate grinned. ‘Slainte,’ she added, raising the tumbler of lemonade to her lips.
Lorimer nodded in reply as he lifted his glass. He’d allowed himself a half-pint of lager. He was driving and, besides, he had to watch his time if he were to reach the Southern General for visiting hour. But after the first swallow, he wished he’d made it a pint. He could do with a good drink right now — like the punters milling around the bar, their cares forgotten for this interlude between work and home.
‘Well, as nice as all this is, hadn’t you better tell me what’s on your mind? Other than the future of the Clark dynasty?’ Lorimer asked.
‘Ah, you sussed me out, then,’ Kate joked. ‘Aye, and you’re right. There is something I wanted to talk to you about. And I think it involves the case we had yesterday.’
Lorimer listened as Kate took him through her thoughts about Mary MacIntyre, Jean Wilson and their two very similar deaths.
‘You always said you didn’t believe in coincidences and I’ve just got this horrible feeling…’ She broke off, grinning. ‘Woman’s intuition. And don’t give me any of that stuff about a preggie bird’s hormones, eh?’ she warned.
Lorimer smiled. It was refreshing to have a junior officer like Kate who apparently didn’t give a toss about acknowledging his rank. Perhaps her pregnancy made the woman feel that there were more important things in her world than the hierarchy of the police. Whatever, it felt good to be sitting here listening to her theories.
‘Intuition should never be discounted. A friend of mine says that it can point to the subconscious working things out logically after you’ve obtained all the disparate facts,’ Lorimer told her. ‘And if you have seen similarities in two deaths then of course there’s justification for digging deeper. Though whether there’s enough evidence to suggest the deaths are suspicious is a matter for the Procurator Fiscal to decide. But DI Martin’s said she’ll look into it,’ he added.
‘Aye.’ Kate sighed as if she wasn’t quite sure that Rhoda Martin was going to do as she’d promised. ‘But…’ she tailed off, looking into the middle distance. Lorimer could tell she was struggling with something else. A lack of trust in her colleague?
‘See, if I was in charge of this,’ Kate began again, ‘I’d want to make inquiries about that cyclist. See if anyone had seen him around the area. How would we go about that?’
Lorimer raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, if it were a category A we could use Crimewatch. But there’s not enough evidence to suggest we have a serial killer after old ladies on our patch, is there?’
‘So what do we do?’ Kate asked, her eyes suddenly turned to his own, a challenge flaring in them.
Lorimer put down his glass again. ‘ We? As in the investigation team? Or did you have something else in mind?’
Kate squirmed uncomfortably, a movement that Lorimer instinctively knew had nothing to do with her burgeoning shape. ‘I thought… well, that is, I wondered. Och, hell’s teeth, Lorimer can we no’ just sniff around and see what comes up?’
‘You have something in mind DC Clark?’ Lorimer asked, his face deadpan.
For a moment the woman hesitated, the use of her rank and his expression giving her pause.
‘Aye,’ she replied at last. ‘I have. How about putting feelers out among the local snouts? I’ve got a couple of lads in mind. One’s a taxi driver. Ex-con but a reliable sort,’ she told him.
There was a silence between them as Lorimer digested this; a silence that Kate Clark must have interpreted as his disapproval, for she sighed heavily.
‘Should’ve realised it was a bit much to ask,’ she muttered, beginning to gather up her coat and bag.
‘Wait on a bit,’ Lorimer said, raising a hand. ‘I don’t think you should give up that easily. DI Martin hasn’t warned you off this case, has she?’ And as Kate shook her head he added, ‘Well, then. Go with your gut feeling. See this informant and you never know. He might come up with something. But you know I can’t interfere in something like this.’
‘Okay.’ Kate gave him a half smile. ‘But it doesn’t feel like I’m doing very much.’
‘And you really believe these two old dears were murdered?’
‘Well, Jean Wilson’s son certainly believes his mum was killed. And I have a feeling he’s not going to let us sweep anything under the table.’
‘I have to go,’ Lorimer said, suddenly, looking at his watch. ‘Hospital visit. But keep me in the loop with this one, will you?’
‘Sure. And thanks for the lemonade,’ Kate replied, grinning at him as they stood up and he helped her on with her coat.
As Lorimer drove along the M8, thoughts of Kate Clark kept coming back to him. She’d wanted to talk to him and he felt flattered by her confidence. But it disturbed him too that she couldn’t put the same trust in a senior officer like Rhoda Martin. He was an outsider, only there to tidy up a particular case, not one of their own colleagues. And yet Kate had wanted his advice. He had to be careful. Feeling gratified about the woman’s faith in him could obscure the more important matter of what had gone wrong within the team under Colin Ray’s command.
Two old women were dead, though. What if it had been Maggie’s mum? How would he have reacted? As ever, Lorimer tried to put himself in someone else’s shoes. Maybe Gary Wilson had every right to protest that his old mother had been stalked and possibly murdered. Maybe, though, he was clutching at anything that would give him an answer to why it had to be his mum who’d died. Maybe he couldn’t accept that accidents happened. Lorimer could see why DI Martin might not want to take this case any further. But Kate Clark’s sharp mind had brought the other old lady’s death into the equation now and Lorimer knew that he would be happy to encourage the DC, even at the risk of making himself even more unpopular.
CHAPTER 17
ON YER BIKE. The words above the picture of two cyclists racing downhill caught Lorimer’s eye as he entered the hospital foyer. It was the same poster they had pinned up at the public entrance in Greenock HQ. But for some reason he stopped now and read it properly. The race in aid of a cancer charity was to take place in just a couple of weeks and he’d already been asked to sponsor one of their own officers. It was a typical Glaswegian phrase, he thought, grinning to himself; the sort of throwaway line a lassie would give an unwelcome suitor. But somehow its slightly aggressive tone worked in this context of encouraging folk to sign up for the cycle race or at least to sponsor a willing participant. Bikes had never been one of Lorimer’s hobbies, though many of his fellow
