One glance at his feet made the line on Lorimer’s mouth tighten. This man’s shoes were size twelve, at the very least.
Alistair Wilson waited patiently out of Docherty’s line of vision. His boss would begin whenever he was good and ready. At last Docherty looked up as if some magnetism stronger than his own will was forcing him to acknowledge Lorimer’s presence. Lorimer sat down, Wilson beside him.
‘Interview with Malcolm James Docherty beginning at 15.00 hours. June sixth. Detective Chief Inspector Lorimer and Detective Sergeant Wilson in attendance,’ Lorimer began in a voice that sounded utterly bored by what he had to do. It was a useful ploy. It made a suspect feel both inferior and at ease, often resulting in a sense of outrage. How dare this cop treat me as if I were some unimportant part of his daily grind?
Docherty’s eyes gave a glitter that told the two policemen that the ruse had worked.
‘You are Malcolm James Docherty of 19 Peninsula Crescent, Springburn?’
Docherty glared at Lorimer then shifted his eyes to take in Wilson who nodded encouragingly. ‘Aye,’ he said at last.
‘Where were you on the night of January 12th this year?’
Docherty licked his lips nervously, eyes shifting from Lorimer to Wilson and back again. His silence was not unusual. Many suspects were at a loss how to begin answering questions in an interview room, especially those who had no previous experience of the situation. Lorimer waited as if he had all day. If Docherty stalled too long, he’d simply pick up the Gazette and begin to read bits out to Alistair Wilson about last night’s football results. That was another ploy that got under their skin, he knew.
But he hadn’t long to wait. Docherty sat up a bit straighter and looked at Lorimer.
‘It’s my work,’ he began.
Lorimer nodded encouragingly, but not too eagerly. He’d make Docherty do the talking if he could.
‘You see, I clean up the railways.’ He paused, uncertain of how to continue. ‘There’s a lot of rubbish everywhere. Everywhere,’ he added, a dreamy look appearing in his eye.
Lorimer tried hard to sit still although his impulse was to lean forward to catch any nuance of speech.
‘I was asked to do these other jobs,’ he told Lorimer, a note of querulousness creeping into his tone.
‘What other jobs?’ Lorimer asked.
Docherty looked surprised. ‘Clearing up the station. Those women can’t come in and do things there,’ he protested, sitting up in his chair with an air of righteous indignation.
‘What women?’
Docherty bent across the desk and glared at Lorimer as if he were stupid. ‘Prostitutes,’ he hissed, his teeth showing in a grimace of hatred.
‘What method did you use to clear these women from your station, Malcolm?’
‘I put them down.’
‘Could you describe exactly what you did, Malcolm?’
Docherty hesitated as if he were trying to find the correct answer then he moved his hands up and clasped them together as if they were round an invisible throat.
‘Like this,’ he said.
‘You strangled them?’
Docherty nodded.
Lorimer swallowed hard. His next question was crucial. Trying to sound as if this was a normal conversation he asked, ‘How many women have you strangled, Malcolm?’
The sound of Docherty’s feet shuffling under the table could be heard as Lorimer waited for the answer.
‘Just two,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’
Lorimer took a deep breath, suddenly understanding what the man was apologising for. It was not contrition about taking lives. It was that he’d only taken two of them.
‘Are you sure it was only two?’
Docherty nodded sadly. ‘Aye. Two prostitutes, they were.’
‘Tell me what you did after you’d strangled them, Malcolm.’
The man seemed to brighten up a little at the question. ‘Oh, I sent them on their way. I gave them a flower and let their hands do a prayer. I said a prayer too. They’re quite safe now, you see. They’ll not harm anything ever again.’
Beside him Lorimer could feel Wilson shift uneasily in his seat. They had a right one here and no mistake.
‘Did you give a flower to any other young women recently, Malcolm?’
‘No. Just those two. It’s not my fault,’ he told them, round-eyed. ‘I didn’t get any other orders.’
‘You said earlier that you were told to do these clearing up jobs, as you put it. Who exactly was it who told you to kill these women, Malcolm?’
Docherty gave a smile. ‘God.’
Lorimer nodded as if this was something he heard every day in the course of his investigations.
‘And how did God make his instructions clear, Malcolm?’
‘He talked to me. He showed me the flowers. His flowers. They’re perfect, you know. All His creation is perfect. But they weren’t perfect. They had to be cleared away. Like the rubbish.’
A nutter, Lorimer thought. A twelve carat nutter. Voices in the head from God. Sometimes they actually heard them from the television. That kind of mental illness wasn’t really so uncommon. But had he had anything to do with the killing of the two nurses? Lorimer had to ask.
‘Where were you on the nights of May 7th and May 14th?’
Docherty shook his head. ‘I don’t know. What days were they? I work during the day. But I don’t go out much at night.’
Lorimer told him.
‘No, I’d be at home. I watch TV at night then go to my bed. Sometimes I go out for a fish supper. Can’t remember, really.’ He shrugged as if the dates were of no importance to him.
‘Two nurses were killed on those dates. They were strangled and somebody left a flower in their praying hands, Malcolm. Just like you did.’
‘What?’ Docherty suddenly sat up, a horrified look on his face. ‘But that’s terrible! Who’d do a thing like that?’ The man’s expression was almost comical, thought Lorimer, one serial strangler condemning another. But then his expression changed as the awfulness of the news sank in.
‘You don’t think…? No. Oh, just a minute, hold on now,’ Docherty rose from his seat, fists clenched, his face a mask of fear.
‘Mr Docherty has got up from his seat,’ Wilson intoned into the listening tape.
His words seemed to calm the man for he sank back down, a look of horror still on his face.
‘Do you deny strangling Kirsty MacLeod and Brenda Duncan?’
‘Of course,’ he whispered. ‘I never killed them!’
Lorimer believed him. But would Mitchison expect him to grind the man down in order to elicit a confession from him? If so, he’d be sadly disappointed. That wasn’t Lorimer’s way. The DNA results might confirm what they were hearing and what Solly had suggested. For a moment Lorimer wished that he could have the psychologist here with them. He might know how to tune in to Malcolm Docherty in a way that would prove his innocence as well as his guilt.
A tap on the door made all three men and the uniformed officer turn round. DC Cameron’s face appeared, signalling for Lorimer to join him outside.
‘DCI Lorimer leaving the interview room.’
Lorimer stopped in his tracks. Beside Cameron was the familiar figure of the psychologist. It was as if his wish had suddenly spirited Solly there. Was the man psychic as well as everything else?
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I wasn’t asked to come in, if that’s what you mean. I just wanted to be here,’ he explained with his usual little smile.
‘Well. I’m not sorry you did,’ Lorimer told him. ‘We’re in the middle of interviewing the suspect. He’s already confessed to the two station murders but says he knows nothing about the other two.’
‘And you believe him,’ Solly said. It wasn’t a question. He could see his answer in Lorimer’s face.
‘Will you come and sit in?’
‘Thanks.’
‘Chief Inspector Lorimer re-entering the interview room accompanied by Dr Brightman,’ Alistair Wilson told the tape recorder.