‘And no malcontents within the firm more recently?’ Lorimer asked.
His question was met by an uncomfortable silence.
‘Not something that seems to have been a part of the initial investigation, then?’ he added, knowing that the question was simply rhetorical. ‘Well, that’s an area I believe to be worth examining, ’ he told them, once more attempting to keep any trace of criticism from his voice.
‘Absolutely, sir.’ DI Martin was looking his way, her face quite serious. Her head was tilted to one side as if listening to Lorimer was the most important thing in her life. For some reason it only made him distrust her more, and he experienced a moment of annoyance at himself for this irrational thought.
‘Forensics suggest that the fire was started in the kitchen area: a burning chip pan. But there were traces of accelerant closer to the main entrance outside the house and so the case was then believed to be one of wilful fire-raising. Okay so far?’
The faces concentrated on the DCI’s all nodded in agreement.
‘Thanks to Constable Dodgson we may have a new piece of evidence. He has kept fumes from a site close to the main source of the fire and these are now being tested. If we find a different type of accelerant from the one already identified, then perhaps this investigation will take a new and interesting turn. You all follow what I’m saying? The source of this accelerant would also suggest that whoever began the fire had some way of gaining entry into the house itself. Late at night.’
‘Are you saying this was a burglary gone wrong?’ Katie Clark asked, her face screwed up in puzzlement.
‘Course not,’ DI Martin immediately retorted. ‘It was definitely a case of wilful fire-raising!’ Then, perhaps realising that she’d sounded somewhat disdainful, she turned a sweet smile towards Lorimer. ‘That’s right, sir, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘There’s no question in anyone’s mind: that fire was started deliberately. The fire officers’ and forensic boys’ reports show specific patterns around the windows in both the kitchen and upper bedroom where the fire was seeking oxygen, so we have some evidence that there were two points of origin. What we have to find is not only how it was begun but why anybody would want to carry out a savage attack like that. We don’t always begin with motive in an investigation, as you all know. But here we should look at anybody who had a reason to hold a grudge against Sir Ian Jackson. Or,’ he added, more quietly, glancing at them all to see their reaction, ‘his wife.’
He let the murmurs break out among them for a few moments at this suggestion. Investigating Lady Jackson’s background was something that had never occurred to Colin Ray or any one of the original team. But Lorimer was used to looking at cases from unusual angles. And here, with a case to review, he’d turn the damn thing upside down and inside out to see what he could find.
‘The business aspect is the most obvious, I’ll grant you,’ he continued. ‘But what needs to be done is a thorough examination of every bit of the Jacksons’ personal lives.’ He paused for a moment. ‘The file on their background is sadly lacking in content. Perhaps I could have someone volunteer to cover the initial administration of that?’
‘I’ll do that, sir.’ Kate Clark’s hand was up and he had the instant impression of a chubby schoolgirl trying to please her teacher. But she was nobody’s fool and this action would probably suit the pregnant woman better than a lot of slogging around the district. And her colleagues would surely realise this as her motivation, Lorimer thought, though he did not fail to see the flash of irritation crossing DI Martin’s pretty face.
‘Thanks, DC Clark. And someone else to take over any out-of-office work?’
DS Wainwright raised a hand in his direction.
‘Right. And we’ll need someone to go over the fire service’s reports again.’ He saw another hand raised and nodded his acceptance.
‘I’m going to see Hugh Tannock myself,’ he told them. ‘Apart from anything else, I think he has the right to know that the case is being reviewed.’ And, he might have added, it would be interesting to see just how the death of Jackson had affected the man. He had lost the co-founder of their business, after all and nobody from the original investigation had noted the man’s reaction in any of the reports.
Jackson Tannock Technologies was situated high above the town, overlooking the sweep of Greenock harbour and the rows of houses that hugged the hillside. As he drove the Lexus up the increasingly steep gradient, Lorimer saw a familiar landmark jutting out of the earth; the Free French Cross, a symbol from World War Two. He hesitated for only a fraction then swung the big car across the road into the parking area and got out.
It was a view that never failed to impress, even on this grey, murky day. Images of the celebrated landmark upon calendars and tourist guides would always show the stark white cross of Lorraine, its stem firmly rooted into an anchor, against improbably blue waters and a cloudless sky. But even today the monument towering over that grand expanse could move him. Slate-grey clouds lowered right down to the horizon’s rim, obscuring the hills of Tighnabruaich and beyond, but below him Lorimer could see MacBrayne’s car ferry ploughing over the waters like a wee toy boat. Few other craft had sought the sheltering arms of the harbour and from this distance the fluorescent marker buoys resembled a handful of orange confetti scattered over the surface of the water.
Up here it was quiet, almost lonely, reminding Lorimer what it might have been like to have stood on the bridge of one of these French boats sailing through banks of mist and out into the dangerous waters of the Atlantic. And it was here, at the tail of the bank, that other huge liners had turned from the river to head out to sea, their destination often the great port of New York.
He turned away from the view and examined the inscriptions on the monument. To the roadside, the words proclaimed:
‘This memorial was designed and erected by the officers and men of the French naval base at Greenock with the help of subscriptions raised among the crews of the Free French naval forces.’
Many had gone out into the grey ocean never to return; their sacrifice at the Battle of the Atlantic had been remembered here ever since. But it was not just the memory of sailors lost in the battle that this cross represented. Walking back to the seaward side, Lorimer read the French inscription etched into the rock surface.
A La memoire du capitaine de frigate Biaison des officeurs et de l’equipage du sous-marin ‘Surcoup’ perdu dans l’Atlantique
Fevrier
He thought of the captain and officers of the frigate, Biaison, lost in the Atlantic that February then grimaced. What unimaginable horror had the submarine’s crew endured in that claustrophobic tube as the Surcoup plummeted to the depths of the ocean?
Turning back to look out across the expanse of land that lay between hill and seashore, Lorimer noticed the winter grasses struggling for survival against swathes of rusting bracken. It was cold up here, making him rub his hands together, despite the wind having dropped. The ground seemed gripped still by the iron fist of winter. Letting his gaze wander, Lorimer spied a gorse bush clinging to the edge of the cliff, its few sulphur yellow flowers a defiant reminder that life still continued in every season. And there was life everywhere, from the flat-roofed secondary school on a plateau to his left to the rank upon rank of houses marching down towards the shore, bungalows up here giving way to grey tenements down in the heart of the town. Below him lay the curve of Battery Park, its bright red swings and roundabouts deserted.
It was time to go. Hugh Tannock was expecting him. Yet paying homage here for those few minutes made the Detective Superintendent feel a certain stirring in his blood. There had been sacrifices made by brave men. And somehow the thought of their unswerving duty gave him strength.