Colin Ray felt his lip tremble as the tears filled his eyes. And he let them fall, clasping the back of that chair, sobbing for the woman who would never sit there again.
St Vincent’s Hospice was an unassuming single-storey building overlooking farmland, the hills of West Renfrewshire a hazy outline beyond. Ray parked the car in his usual spot, facing the drive so he could make a hasty exit. He was always in a hurry, he thought, cursing himself for the time he’d failed to spend up here. Drawing in a deep breath, Ray smelled something fresh and earthy: the air was soft with the threat of rain to come above the empty flowerbeds waiting for a spring that the patients would never see. Spring was Grace’s favourite season; she loved lambing time and always waxed lyrical about the hedges greening and how pretty all these cherry blossoms were, lining their street. He could almost hear her voice, her old voice, not that hoarse croak he hated so much. People had told him that was something that lingered afterwards — the sound of their voices in your brain. Ray hesitated outside the main entrance. He could slip away now, drive back down the road. He had plenty on his plate with this new case and nobody would blame him for doing his job, would they?
Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door and pasted a smile on his face for Linda, the nice girl at reception. She smiled back, eyes full of a sort of understanding that he hated. That unspoken pity always made him cringe, but once past Linda’s desk he was fine. There were always patients in the dayroom or the corridor leading to Grace’s own room, reminding him that he wasn’t alone in his grief. Seeing those others calmly waiting their turn for death to take them made things seem much more normal somehow, so that by the time he slipped into his wife’s room the bitter lines around Colin Ray’s mouth had vanished.
Grace was asleep, head to one side. He skirted carefully around the oxygen cylinder by her bedside, squeezing himself into his customary place by the window. Sitting back in the comfortable chair, he relaxed for the first time that day. Waiting for her to wake up was one of the best things Ray could do right now; his would be the face she saw when her tired eyes opened at last. It gave him time to rehearse all the things he wanted to tell her, leaving out everything to do with work. It was the little everyday stuff she liked to hear: what the neighbours were doing, how the garden was looking, what he’d eaten for his dinner last night… Ray pictured the untidy tip at home and began to fashion a different place altogether in his imagination, one that was neat and clean with home- cooked meals that he could describe with pretend relish. His lies maybe fooled her, he didn’t know, but she would smile at him anyway, that look of fondness in her eyes telling him that it didn’t really matter. He was there, holding her hand and that was all she needed.
Tales of malice and burned bodies could be forgotten for a while at least.
CHAPTER 8
Maggie’s face lit up as she looked out of the kitchen window. The first of her miniature daffodils! Now she could almost believe that winter was over and begin to anticipate the warming days to come. A couple of weeks and the garden would be a riot of colour: grape hyacinths spreading their blue amongst the wilderness that was supposed to be her rose bed, primulas and daffies springing up all over the place. As yet the trees were leafless but other signs that the long winter months were drawing to a close could be seen in the activity of the small birds that came into their garden. Maggie watched as a greenfinch chased a smaller, brightly coloured bird from their thistle seed-feeder. It had been a particularly good year for goldfinches, she knew, remembering the results of the RSPB’s annual birdwatch. Despite their cat, Chancer, pacing his territory, the birds seemed to thrive here. Maybe it was the wildness of their overgrown place; there was never enough time to cut stuff back, though she was always resolving to tackle all the jobs out there that needed doing.
Turning back into the kitchen, Maggie Lorimer looked at the bags of groceries lying on the work surface, ready to be unpacked. She might well be eating alone tonight, she thought ruefully, if her husband’s telephone call meant anything.
‘A pot of soup,’ she told herself briskly, already thinking what ingredients she would use. ‘That’ll be fine no matter what time he comes home.’ Then, smiling to herself, Maggie began to pack away the groceries, leaving the vegetables she needed to one side.
‘Hi, sorry I’m late,’ Lorimer called out into the darkened hallway. Shuffling off his coat, he looked upstairs for a light from their bedroom but that too was in darkness.
‘Mags?’
‘In here,’ a sleepy voice replied.
He found her curled up in the recliner, a pile of jotters discarded on the floor.
‘Hey,’ Lorimer hunkered down by Maggie’s side, ‘what’s all this? Falling asleep on the job?’ he teased.
‘Mm… Sixth year creative writing folios. Must’ve dropped off.’
‘Riveting stuff then,’ he remarked, giving the jotters a cursory glance.
‘Less of the sarcasm, pal.’ Maggie’s mouth curved into a smile in the darkness. ‘Some of them are not bad at all.’
‘Just a wee tad soporific,’ he suggested, the laugh in his voice making her try to pull herself into a sitting position.
‘That word always reminds me of Peter Rabbit,’ Maggie mumbled, rubbing her eyes. ‘You know, when the Flopsy Bunnies all fell asleep.. soporific effect of too many lettuces…’
‘Come on, bed for you.’ Lorimer leaned over, one arm around Maggie’s shoulders as she gave an enormous yawn.
As they shuffled upstairs, Maggie lifted her head from his shoulder, stopping suddenly. ‘Oh, how did today go?’ She paused, waiting for a reply that was not immediately forthcoming. ‘Grim, was it?’
‘Yeah,’ Lorimer replied shortly, nudging her up towards the top of the stairs. ‘Come on, you’re bushed.’
Maggie Lorimer nodded to herself. Okay, if he didn’t want to discuss it, then that was fine with her. She’d learned a long time ago to let her husband begin any conversation about his work, whether it was about a case of serious crime or the day-to-day annoyances of administration. But this was a bit different. Acting Detective Superintendent William Lorimer had been appointed to another division to review a case that was going nowhere, the type of job that no self-respecting senior officer relished one little bit. There was always a degree of scepticism when a review took place and Lorimer knew well that it was the last thing he’d want on his own turf.
Listening to the sounds coming from the bathroom, Lorimer curled under the duvet. It had been grim down in K Division. Failte Gu Grianaig the sign had proclaimed as he’d entered the town. Welcome to Greenock. But his welcome, if it could be called that, had been pretty frosty. But that was to be expected. Nobody enjoyed being told that their own DCI was incompetent, especially under the circumstances. Colin Ray had messed up, that was obvious, but his wife had been dying of cancer! What more did they want from the guy? Lorimer’s sympathies had been for his fellow officer who had made zero progress in the case of wilful fire-raising in Kilmacolm. But how he had come to be put in as a review Senior Investigating Officer was still something of a mystery. Okay, the request had come from the usual admin channels, but he still felt uneasy about it. Someone in K Division had reported Ray as being less than satisfactory on this job. That was the rumour anyhow. And if he was a betting man, William Lorimer would have put his money on the female DI who had set out to give him such a hard time today.
It was as if Rhoda Martin was on a guilt trip, he thought, remembering the way she’d glowered furiously at him. That was more than resentment on behalf of her old boss who had taken sudden early retirement. And she’d agreed too readily that the case needed to be reviewed, receiving some raised eyebrows from those among her fellow officers who’d been present in the Greenock division. So why did he have the feeling that there was more to her attitude than met the eye?
As Maggie slipped in beside him, Lorimer turned on his side towards her. Folding her into his arms and letting her rub her cold feet against his own warm legs made any thought about Rhoda Martin vanish. That could wait till tomorrow. Right now there was only room for one woman in his bed.
