CHAPTER 8
The short, dark-skinned man in the ill-fitting leather jacket whistled a tune between his teeth. It was a sunny day here in the city and the long shadows reminded him of home. Just for a moment, though. Home was so very different from this place where total strangers might try to engage him in conversation, just to be friendly. It had taken Amit a long, long time to become accustomed to the 'y'all right, pal?' a passing workman might toss over his shoulder as Amit hesitated at the margin of some busy road. But now he was safe. His papers were in order, he had a legitimate reason to be here. The dark threat of deportation had gone and in its place was the prospect of a sunny future.
Amit rounded a corner and shrank back against the wall as two uniformed police officers strode towards him. It took all of his courage to continue walking, eyes cast downwards, praying that they would pass him.
Sudden memories came back as the pair drew nearer: the blows from the baton raining down upon his head; yells that were accompanied by kicks in the tender parts of his body until he held himself tightly, foetus-like on the ground.
When the police officers had passed him by and crossed at the traffic lights, Amit let out his breath and wiped the sweat from his palms onto his trouser legs, trembling uncontrollably. If they should find out…
So far Amit had been lucky. The Scottish p0is, as his friend Dhesi in the restaurant called them, were no' sae bad. But they were policemen and where Amit came from that meant fear and suffering, sudden visits in the night and brothers taken away, never to be seen again. He dragged his feet along the street that led to Glasgow Central station, the shadows from the railway bridge a comfort after the brightness of this summer sunlight. The Hielandman's Umbrella,' his friend had called it the first time they had walked together along this darkened stretch of road. 'Where all the Teuchters came to meet their pals when they'd come down from the Hielands; It seemed a strange sort of meeting place, this gloomy space below the massive railway overhead, but Amit supposed it had at least served to keep these Northerners dry. Hence its nickname.
Amit recalled days of monsoon rains when everybody laughed and danced to feel the warm drops cascading down, the welcoming waters breaking the thunderclouds that had built up such terrible tension for weeks on end.
Then the rivers of his homeland had run red with the blood of family and friends.
It was better to forget such a past if he could. Scotland was his home now. Some days Amit found himself welcoming the strange, fine mist that enveloped the city; and he had been here long enough now to find that the sunshine could break through at any time.
'Wait five minutes an' the weather'll change,' an old lady had cackled in his ear one day. This city was full of them, little old ladies who bustled about, crossing the busy roads fearlessly, too impatient to wait at the designated traffic lights. Amit always waited for the green figure before moving off the pavement, more afraid of drawing attention to himself than of the traffic that criss-crossed the city.
The station suddenly loomed ahead and Amit turned into its noisy, echoing entrance, eyes searching for the escalator that would take him up to the higher level above the street. Their agreed rendezvous was a better meeting place than that dingy street, a bustling coffee shop whose very anonymity Amit found reassuring. Strangers came for a time, drank coffee, their lives suspended between where they had been and where they were heading, coffee filling the gap. Was that what he had with Marianne? A gap between his past and his future? The sudden longing that came to him was tinged with a sense of hopelessness.
As he entered the coffee bar he could hear music being played in the background, the tune and lyrics masked by the barista banging coffee grounds into a bin and the hissing of steam as milk was frothed up for the waiting customers. In one corner a bald, bespectacled man carried on a one-way conversation with his mobile phone. Nobody cared any more about discretion, Amit thought, overhearing snatches of the man's words; business was regularly conducted in such public places.
She had arrived before him and was sitting with her back to the window. There was no mistaking that cascade of red hair tumbling down her back. Marianne looked up sharply as Amit approached her table. Her large black handbag had been placed on the seat next to her as if reserving a place for him and, as she removed it, he bent over to kiss her cheek.
'Hello, Marianne,' he murmured.
'Okay, that'll do. No need for any of that stuff, Amit,' she said.
But there was a smile upon her lips as she looked up at him. `How're you doin' anyway?'
The small dark man shrugged his bony shoulders, making the leather jacket seem even more shapeless than usual. 'I have a day off today,' he replied, carefully. His English was perfect, that of an educated man and better than most of the people who lived in this city, but sometimes even that made him feel set apart.
'Sunday the restaurant is closed.' He shrugged again. 'So I can buy you lunch, perhaps?'
Marianne smiled again. 'That would be lovely, thanks. D'you want to go out of town since it's a nice day? We could get a train to Ayr, if you liked. See the seaside. Eh? How about it?'
Amit looked thoughtful for a moment then shook his head. 'I am sorry' he said. 'I need to see somebody later today' He gave a stiff little nod that might have been a gesture of apology or even a little bow.
Marianne raked her fingers through her hair then let it fall over her cheeks. `Och, well, never mind. It's good to keep in touch, though. See you're doing all right.'
She looked around, noticing a group of travellers with pull along luggage trolleys enter the coffee shop. 'Come on, it's getting too busy here. Let's go and get some sandwiches and sit in George Square.'
As they came back into the main concourse of the station, the woman sensed her companion slow down and move closer to her side. Marianne looked up to see two British Transport Police officers standing talking together outside the entrance to the disabled toilet. She took Amit's hand and pulled him towards the middle of the station where streams of people were walking to and from the platforms. The intimate gesture reminded her suddenly of another man whose hand she had once held. But that hand was cold now, cold and gone. The woman squeezed Amit's hand, suppressing her shiver.
'It's okay,' she urged him. 'You're just part of Glasgow's rich and varied landscape now. There's no need to worry any more. I promise.
Nobody's going to send you back.'
Yet, as they headed for the Gordon Street exit, something made the woman turn her head, just to see if the policemen were watching them.
CHAPTER 9
Detective Chief Inspector Lorimer frowned at the papers on his desk. The ballistics report was complete and Rosie's pathology results were all there, including the toxicology report.
Some background information about Kenneth Scott had been written up by his officers and so far it made pretty boring reading.
There was nothing there. Not a thing to show why a supposedly upright member of the community had been gunned down in the hallway of his own home. And it had all the hallmarks of a professional hit, the gunman even taking time to remove the cartridge case from the scene of crime.
Perhaps Cameron and Scott's mate, Paul, were right. Perhaps this had been a case of mistaken identity. If so, he reasoned, would there be another killing soon? Finding the correct target this time? His mouth hardened. Trust something like this to come up just when he had planned his summer leave. Usually Lorimer and his wife, Maggie, took a break at the beginning of July but this year it hadn't happened. Instead he had allowed the roster to be filled up by fellow officers who had young families and needed to fit their plans in with the Scottish school terms. Having no kids of their own, the Lorimers had decided to let the holidays drift, even though Maggie was similarly constrained in her teaching profession. Next week was the final week of her summer vacation, then it would be back for a couple of in-service days at M uirpark Secondary School before the kids came streaming into the
