Maggie’s mum had always been the sort of strong, dependable person who’d laughed off illness and the knocks she’d had throughout her own life. Losing Maggie’s dad so soon after his retirement had been a blow but she’d soldiered on, shrugging off the state of widowhood since it was something that happened to so many older women, after all. But this was different. Seeing her so helpless in that hospital room had made Maggie realise for the first time just how vulnerable her mother was.
Almost seventy, Mrs Finlay was admittedly a bit overweight but she’d never smoked and only took a wee glass of sherry before dinner sometimes. And it wasn’t an illness that had any sort of history in their family as far as Maggie knew.
A car horn right behind her made Maggie see that she had almost overshot a red light. She braked swiftly, cursing herself for paying so little attention to the road ahead; wouldn’t be much use to her mum if she had an accident. Maggie Lorimer handled the rest of the journey with care, trying hard to keep her mind off what lay ahead at the seven o’clock visiting time. By five-fifteen, just as the traffic was building up to its usual stream of madness, she was able to cut off the motorway on to a slip road and head towards the supermarket. There was a list of things she needed to buy if they were to eat anything this week and she wanted some nice stuff to take into her mum, maybe one of these chocolate eclairs that she liked so much. Or was that such a good idea? Would the nurses have her on a diet now to help her lose weight? Maybe a bunch of grapes would be better after all.
‘It was horrible,’ Maggie told Lorimer some hours later. ‘The place is like a noisy zoo. And she looked so wee and frail under the bedclothes, not like herself at all. Not even as good as I thought she was yesterday.’
‘Can’t you ask someone to let her have a room to herself?’ Lorimer asked.
‘I suppose I should have thought about it. After all, you know what Mum’s always fond of saying: If you don’t ask, you don’t get. I’ll go earlier tomorrow and see if I can speak to the sister in charge of that ward. But, really, all I want is to get her out of that place.’
‘Is it really so bad? I mean, do you think there are any grounds for a complaint?’
Maggie shook her head. She was clasping a hot toddy that her husband had put into her hand, insisting that she needed to drink it after coming in shivering with cold and anxiety. ‘No, they’re all nice nurses. Treat the patients kindly and I’m sure Mum’s receiving adequate medical attention. But it’s that telly blaring out and the old women wandering around the ward like wee lost souls. It’s no place for a sick person to rest and recover,’ Maggie insisted.
‘Can’t promise anything, but I will do my best to come with you tomorrow,’ Lorimer told her, putting an arm around her shoulders and giving her the cuddle she needed.
‘How was your day today?’ Maggie asked, suddenly guilty that she hadn’t yet enquired.
‘Fine,’ Lorimer said, not seeing his wife’s rueful grin at the reply.
But, had he known it, this was the last word he would have applied to the days to come.
CHAPTER 13
So, Detective Superintendent Lorimer was reopening the case. Just how good was he? And what would happen to the derelict site that had once been the handsome and much-envied home of Sir Ian and Lady Jackson of Kilmacolm?
Promises had been made. Promises to leave well alone and let the dead rest in peace, that well-worn phrase that was a catch-all for doing damn all about a cold case. Not that this one was more than slightly lukewarm. There were certainly no embers smouldering on the blackened ground around the wrecked house.
Overtures had been made to allow for a funeral to take place. But that hadn’t happened and the sense of things being in limbo had been overtaken now by this new turn of events. I’d made it my business to know about such things, not just from a sense of curiosity but from a sense of self-preservation.
It would be worth my while to find out a bit about this police officer from Glasgow. To see what he was capable of doing. And to see if he posed any particular threat to my own well-being, I thought as I pushed the pedal hard and cycled down the path, away from the fluttering rags of police tape.
CHAPTER 14
Rhoda Martin slammed her locker shut. Things weren’t the same now that this Detective Superintendent had invaded their territory. By rights she should have been called up for promotion by now, particularly since Colin Ray’s abrupt retirement from the Force. And Katie Clark’s link with the tall officer who’d given her that gimlet stare was even more annoying. She’d hoped to have Lorimer more to herself, to be able to talk to him about the shambles of the case and how the way forward could be, as she saw it. Damn it, she’d spent hours of her own time making notes about how a review might be organised. But did he want her opinion? Did he hell! She was stuck with being allocator and working with all the actions from other folks’ statements and the forensic reports, such as they were. And hadn’t she tried her best to make sure this case was closed? Couldn’t they all just leave it alone? She’d known the Jacksons, she’d told Lorimer eventually. Serena and Daniel were people she’d grown up with. Okay, so she hadn’t mentioned any of that to DCI Ray. So what? Serena was her friend, she told herself. Rhoda didn’t want to upset her, did she? But had giving him that snippet of information made any difference to this cop from Glasgow?
The DI smoothed down an invisible crease on her dark skirt, shrugged on her jacket and turned to examine herself in the mirror. What she saw must have pleased her because a sudden smile appeared, transforming the discontented expression into a very attractive face. Her blonde hair was newly washed and straightened and she took it up in two handfuls, experimenting whether or not to pile it into a clip at the back of her head. Serena had looked good like that in magazine pictures. Rhoda let it go instead, watching as it tumbled around her shoulders. She had put on makeup before leaving home, carefully applying foundation and blusher to bring out her slanting cheekbones. Her green eyes were enhanced by smoky shadow and layers of waterproof mascara and now she rummaged in her bag for the little pot of lip gloss that always seemed to lose itself in the deepest corners.
Satisfied, Rhoda snapped the bag shut and gave her reflection a grin. Maybe it was time to let Detective Superintendent Lorimer know who really counted around here. They hadn’t really got off on the right foot, had they? He seemed to be one cool guy, but she hadn’t yet met any officer who was totally immune to her charms, should she choose to turn them on.
‘Jackson Tannock Technology Systems. What do we know about them?’ Lorimer asked. The faces of his team regarded him with some interest as he looked at them one by one. Young Dodgson seemed more at ease now and the older DS, Robert Wainwright, had put a hand to his chin as if seriously considering an answer to this question. But it was DI Martin who gave the first response.
‘One of the biggest employers in the area,’ she began, a smile on her face that made Lorimer look at her a second time. Had she changed her appearance today? Something was different, but he was at a loss to see just what that was. Or was it that softer quality in her voice? Narrowing his eyes, Lorimer gave the woman a little nod of encouragement.
‘Hugh Tannock is the whiz-kid of the outfit,’ Martin went on. ‘Jackson had the money and together they founded the company about five years ago. Floated it on the stock exchange and somehow managed to weather the credit crunch. There were some redundancies but nothing too dramatic.’
‘Nobody so pissed off that they’d harbour a grudge for that length of time and set fire to Jackson’s home,’ Wainwright added.