‘Do you know, Chief Inspector,’ he said, examining his hands as he spoke, ‘I have never come across an officer who has questioned me like this before.’ His eyes flicked back to meet Lorimer’s and there was a different quality in them, something akin to a slow, smouldering anger. ‘My motivation in directing Ray to a particular area of inquiry was perfectly in order and you have no business coming here asking questions like that!’
‘Perhaps living in Kilmacolm, so close to the scene of the crime, has something to do with it?’ Lorimer suggested, his hands clasped loosely on his lap, his expression both calm and unruffled.
‘Preposterous! What gives you that notion?’ Isherwood thumped the arm of his chair.
‘There must be some reason that you told Colin Ray to stay away from certain areas of Jackson’s life, sir,’ Lorimer continued, knowing that his reasonable tone was probably infuriating the Chief Constable.
‘And I suppose you have begun to poke around in these areas, as you call them!’
‘I’m sorry if this sounds offensive, sir, but I have to remind you that I was appointed by the Procurator Fiscal to undertake this review,’ Lorimer told him quietly. ‘And since I have been attempting to fulfil that objective I have to tell you that the inquiry has taken on some more serious dimensions. The forensic evidence now suggests that whoever began the fire may have had access to the interior of the house. A deliberate step like that was not what I would call a random act of vandalism.’
Isherwood sat back, his hand rubbing his chin. And for a long moment he seemed to consider Lorimer’s words. Then, clearing his throat, he began, ‘I think, Detective Superintendent, that you must do what you think best in this case. But remember, Sir Ian was a well respected member of the community and it would not be to anyone’s benefit to have his name sullied in any way.’
‘You mean by revealing his overseas connections?’
‘Precisely. Nobody is very sure just what these involved. Tax evasion, possibly. But that was a long time ago and what the man achieved for society more than made up for any irregularities.’
‘So you want me to brush anything dirty under the carpet? Is that it?’
‘I want you to do what you are told to do!’ Isherwood roared suddenly. ‘And without casting any aspersions in the direction of this office! Find out who began that fire but don’t drag the good name of Ian Jackson through the mud in the process, is that clear?’
He stood up, obviously considering the meeting at an end. This time there was no handshake. The scowl on his face as he thrust open the door might have deterred a lesser mortal, but Lorimer nodded politely and checked a small salute before turning to leave.
CHAPTER 21
‘ Well, what of it?’ The tall, blonde policewoman looked down at DC Kate Clark, one hand on her hip.
‘I thought you’d be able to help!’ Kate protested. ‘You have got some inside knowledge about that sort of stuff,’ she raged, adding, ‘Ma’am,’ as Rhoda Martin’s eyebrow rose menacingly. It didn’t do to forget who was boss around here when Lorimer wasn’t around, the DI’s expression seemed to be reminding her.
‘So?’ Rhoda Martin countered. ‘Everyone knows I’m a cyclist. I just don’t see what being in the cycle club has to do with the investigation. After all, the only thing our witness can tell us is that it was a bloke riding without any lights on.’
‘He thought the cycle was silver,’ Kate mumbled.
‘Ha! If I had a pound for every silver cycle in the district I’d be retiring next week!’ Martin snorted. ‘Come on, Kate. I mean, there’s not a shred of evidence to go on, is there?’
The DI’s derisive tone made Kate Clark seethe inwardly. Lorimer doesn’t think that, she wanted to tell the woman but mentioning the Super’s name was like a red rag to a bull these days. Kate was ready to bet that Rhoda Martin hadn’t managed to charm the pants off this particular officer. Lorimer had more sense than to fall for the DI’s usual tricks, she thought, remembering his keen blue eyes appraising each one of them during recent meetings.
‘What about the other folk in your cycle club? Would any of them have been up there at that time of night?’
For a moment DI Martin’s face became thoughtful. Kate waited, wondering what her colleague was going to say. But then the woman shook her head and gave a shrug as if to dismiss whatever idea had occurred to her.
‘Is the son still bothering you?’ she asked instead.
‘You mean Gary Wilson? The man whose old mum died?’
Martin nodded. ‘Yes. All that stuff about a stalker seems a bit like clutching at straws to me. Okay, you have to feel for the guy, but don’t let yourself get too involved. It’s a matter for family liaison to deal with, DC Clark. It’s not your job to mop up Mr Wilson’s tears. Besides, I’d have thought you had other more pressing things on your mind these days,’ she smirked, her green eyes flashing with mirth as she pointed to Kate’s belly.
Kate gave a half-smile in return, her hand moving instinctively to the swelling bump as she felt the baby kick. The DI was right enough, she supposed. Becoming too involved with the victim’s family was a bad idea. And she didn’t have all that long to go now until her maternity leave. Maybe this cyclist thing was just a bizarre coincidence. Loads of people rode bikes, after all, and maybe the bloke in Kilmacolm had simply forgotten to switch on his lights that night.
But as she walked back to her desk, something was niggling at the back of her mind. What had Rhoda Martin been thinking about just then? It was typical of the woman not to share her ideas with the rest of them. DI Martin was the type who would work on her own if she could, just to show them all what a great cop she was. Maybe that private school education had instilled the competitive spirit into her, Kate thought. Then the telephone rang, dispelling any further consideration of the incident.
Tommy Rankin stopped by his gate, puffing as he heaved the last of the bags of groceries on to the path. He was getting too old for this. But his pride wouldn’t let him ask that son-in-law of theirs for help. So long as he could walk across to the shops, he’d continue to bring home all the things on Maureen’s list. The old man pushed the gate, fiddling with the catch to make sure it was secure. Maureen had kept him awake half the night moaning about the gate banging in the wind. He was sure he’d closed it last night. Maybe it was Freda-next-door’s? He was about to pick up the bags of groceries when his eye was caught by a bundle of rubbish left at the foot of his neighbour’s steps. What on earth had Freda left out?
But as he bent to retrieve the bulging plastic bags, Tommy Rankin froze. A gust of wind had caught the edge of the heap lying on his neighbour’s path, revealing the sole of a small black shoe.
For a moment Tommy’s mind refused to recognise what his eyes were telling him.
Then he heard a thin cry coming from his own throat as the bundle of rags was transformed into the shape of a woman’s body.
‘Three? That’s not a coincidence then, is it?’ Detective Sergeant Wainwright asked, his eyes gleaming with expectation. ‘We’ve got a serial killer on our patch,’ he added, folding his arms and glaring around as if daring to any of his fellow officers to defy him. ‘Someone’s bumping off poor old ladies. And with the SOCOs having found the tyre tracks, we’ll have to look again at Gary Wilson’s statement, won’t we?’
Rhoda Martin had the grace to keep quiet and Kate Clark noticed that the DI was deliberately avoiding her eye. It was typical, though, that all this had blown up on a day when Lorimer wasn’t around. A meeting with the Chief Constable took precedence over the day-to-day business of policing, she told herself huffily, then immediately felt cross at herself for such cynicism. Most of that morning and early afternoon, officers had been busy at the locus; now that the body had been taken away to the mortuary they were back at HQ for the initial meeting with the scene of crime manager and DI Martin who had been appointed SIO.
‘Ma’am, the doctor who issued the death certificate for Mrs Wilson and Mrs MacKintyre wants to come in and make a statement, ’ PC Dodgson piped up. ‘It’s a Doctor Bennie. He attended the latest death. Seems all three of them were his patients.’
‘Okay.’ DI Martin sighed and looked at the papers attached to her clipboard. ‘That’s something to go on for the time being. Right, what else have we got? Last night’s workload includes the fracas down at the harbour. A
