With a sigh she let her head fall forward towards the small steel box, forcing her face sideways so that her nose dipped under its rim.
For a moment nothing happened then she saw the man turn towards her, his eyes narrowing in disbelief.
‘What the hell?’
No. She would never do it now.
As he lunged towards her Tina pushed her face against the space beneath the box with the last remnant of her strength then the whole world exploded in a shrieking wail as the alarm went off.
The sound of exploding canon fire roared from the house when Lorimer pushed open the door. He caught the girl’s body as it fell towards him. Smoke billowed out in grey clouds from the house.
‘Quick! Get her out of here!’ Lorimer dragged the girl over the doorstep as Solly hurried to take her in his arms.
Fanned by the sudden draught from the open door, the flames leapt higher. Through the layers of smoke Lorimer could just make out a figure moving inside.
‘Lorimer! No!’ Solly’s cry went unheeded as the policeman thrust his way back into the burning house.
Coughing, Lorimer pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it over his nose and mouth. The flames were shooting up into the stairwell now, shrivelling the walls like a rising brown tide. Still the music thundered, the crackle of fire a deadly counterpoint. Still he struggled into the lounge, the smoke coming at him in waves.
Simon Corrigan turned to face him, his arms raised as he beat time to the music, one hand holding a half empty bottle of whisky. Through the smoke he could see the musician laughing aloud, his face shining with a delirium of pleasure. With each sweep of his arms the whisky splashed to the ground, flames shooting out around his feet.
Lorimer coughed, waving his free hand to clear the air between them.
‘Get out!’ he called hoarsely. ‘Now. Before it’s too late!’
With a final crash the music rose to its climax and the musician gave a grandiose bow.
His screams as the flames caught his red-gold hair urged Lorimer forward. He grabbed the man’s arms and hauled him backwards in the direction of the open door, Corrigan’s heels dragging on the burning carpet, hampering them both.
The smoke was so thick now that Lorimer could barely make out the outline of the front door. There was a shower of sparks above him, making him look up as the walls seemed to move.
Choking, Lorimer pulled the musician out of the hall just as the banister above them gave way with a sickening wrench of timber.
‘Over here!’
Blindly, Lorimer stumbled forwards, other hands taking Corrigan out of his grasp. He was dimly aware of the flashing blue lights and the uniformed officers crowding around him.
‘Here,’ Solly was saying, ‘Over here!’
Lorimer allowed himself to be led away from the roaring behind him, his eyes smarting from the smoke. His legs felt weak as he was helped into the back of the police car.
‘The girl?’ he coughed as the words stuck in his throat. ‘Is she OK?’ he croaked.
Solly nodded, his hands on Lorimer’s shoulders. He was looking at Lorimer with an expression he had never seen in the psychologist’s face before.
‘You could have been killed!’ Solly was shaking Lorimer by the lapels of his coat, tears brimming in his large, dark eyes. For a moment neither man spoke then Lorimer gently drew Solly’s hands from his collar.
‘What about Corrigan?’
Solly turned to watch as the ambulance drew away from the kerb. ‘Who knows? He was still alive when you brought him out.’
‘Sir! Chief Inspector Lorimer?’ A uniformed officer was suddenly standing by the squad car. ‘We’ve just heard that Carl Bekaert’s been picked up at a warehouse outside the city. They found him with a number of stolen musical instruments. He’s been charged,’ the constable added.
‘Great. Remember to wish Jo Grant and the team a Merry Christmas from me,’ Lorimer nodded.
‘You all right, sir?’ the constable asked, suddenly noticing his superior’s dishevelled appearance.
‘Never better, pal, never better,’ Lorimer started a laugh that rapidly turned into a cough.
‘We should have you checked out at the hospital,’ Solly began. He turned towards Lorimer and sighed, shaking his head in mock despair. ‘That was one hell of a risk you took. Your wife will have kittens when she finds out.’
Lorimer’s mouth opened in horror as he looked at his watch. ‘Oh great! I’m supposed to be at Glasgow airport as of ten minutes ago! Forget the hospital.’
‘What about Mrs Finlay?’
‘Flynn was picking her up by taxi.’ He slumped helplessly against the seat. ‘Just in case I didn’t make it in time,’ he added, his voice heavy with irony.
‘Phone him. Tell him we’re on our way.’ Solly signalled to the constable who was still regarding Lorimer with interest. ‘We need a driver. Now!’
Flynn put down the phone. The flight had been called five minutes ago and Mrs Finlay was fretting by his side, calling her son-in-law all manner of unseasonal names.
‘Well?’ she demanded.
‘An emergency,’ Flynn told her briefly. ‘He’s on his way now.’
‘That’s not much good,’ Maggie’s mother bristled. ‘If I don’t make a move soon we’ll both miss that plane.’
Flynn looked around the departure lounge wildly. Surely there was something he could do? Over by the door he spotted two transport policemen, their jackets vivid yellow against the dreich December afternoon.
‘Wait here a minute. I’ll be straight back. Don’t move. Right?’ Flynn grasped his new mobile phone and leapt out of his seat, grinning slightly at the elderly woman’s astonished face.
A few minutes later Flynn clicked off the mobile phone that Lorimer had given him. It was a wee cracker, but it just couldn’t be helped. With a sigh he dropped it into the water bucket and turned away.
He had just time to return to Maggie’s mum before the alarm went off, heralding the calm voice that resounded through the airport asking everyone to evacuate the building.
Coda
Christmas day in Glasgow dawned bright and clear with just a hint of frosting to transform the park below Solly’s windows into a winter wonderland. The psychologist had risen early, moving away from Rosie’s warm body as quietly as he could. Now he stood wrapped in his dressing gown gazing down at the scene below him. It was early but there were two little boys playing in the park, their heads bare but their hands brightly mittened. His gaze travelled to where a couple walked slowly behind them, hand in hand.
Smiling at them, Solly felt in his dressing gown pocket. His hands closed round the tiny box that had been so carefully wrapped by the jeweller. As he turned it over in his palm he gave a sigh, savouring the moment. He’d waken her soon, but not just yet. Solly watched until the family was out of sight before he turned back towards the bedroom.
Rosie lay sleeping, her hair spread out upon his pillow, the expression on her face so peaceful it almost seemed a pity to disturb its repose.
Solly’s lips brushed against Rosie’s cheek and he grinned as she wrinkled her nose, as his beard tickled her into wakefulness.
‘Merry Christmas, darling,’ he whispered, his fingers drawing the box from his pocket. ‘Merry Christmas.’
Derek Quentin-Jones knocked on the door of the room before quietly turning the handle. Tina lay asleep. In the half-light from the window the bruises on her face were like dark shadows, but her split lip was still dark and swollen. He opened the door, fingers to his mouth as he glanced at the others in the corridor behind him.
‘Still asleep,’ he whispered down at the man in the wheelchair. ‘Let’s leave her for a while longer.’ He looked up at the person grasping the handles of the wheelchair and at the woman standing by his side. ‘How about it, Maurice? Mrs Millar?’
Maurice Drummond bit his lip and smiled. ‘I’ve waited this long for my family,’ he said at last. ‘I think I can wait a wee bit longer,’ he added, his gaze travelling down onto his son’s head. Maybe he would tell Chris one day about Edith’s visit. She had been quite adamant that Chris’s homosexuality had been at the root of the whole business, spurring him on that night to confront his son. In a way she had been right.