'Remember we've to get our tails up to Gilmorehill and start quizzing the departmental secretaries,' she reminded him.
'Yes, of course,' Omar replied, the faintest of frowns producing a crease between his dark eyebrows. 'Would you like me to drive?'
The spire of the University of Glasgow could be seen for miles around, dominating the skyline as it stood proudly on the heights of Gilmore Hill. It was a strange piece of architecture, harsh spikes emanating from that narrow spire, reminiscent of a knight's mace. What the story was behind that particular feature, Annie didn't know. But it always held a sense of foreboding when she looked up from University Avenue at the dark points outlined against the sky.
'No problem getting parked today,' she remarked as Omar slipped the pool car into a space not far from the main gate. In term time it would be a different story, parking spaces close to the university buildings becoming as rare as hens' teeth.
'Wonder if she ever did apply for a course here,' Annie mused as they walked over the hill towards University Gardens.
'Lorimer thinks she's dead,' Omar replied shortly.
Annie stopped and looked at him. 'Well what on earth are we doing here? It's just a waste of our time, surely?'
Omar gave a faint grin. 'Your DCI isn't right all the time, is he?
Besides, he has to cover all the possibilities.'
Annie kicked a stone that appeared on the pavement. It skittered onto the railings with a metallic ping. 'In my experience Lorimer's hunches usually turn out to be spot on,' she said gloomily.
'That's funny,' Omar said. 'I feel certain that she's alive.' He turned to face Annie. 'Don't ask me why. It's just this gut feeling I have. Maybe I'm totally wrong. But then again,' he grinned wickedly, 'maybe it's Lorimer who's got it wrong.'
'Well, let's see if anyone can remember Marianne Scott or Brogan or whatever damned name she was using, shall we?' Annie raised her eyebrows as they continued down towards the rows of departmental offices that were tucked away from the main road.
She glanced at Omar's profile. He was smiling still, happier than she had seen him in days. Was that all that had been bothering him: worried that his own ideas about Marianne Scott were clashing -with Lorimer's? He'd certainly spent loads of time trying to trace the missing woman. Maybe that had made her all the more real to him. And if it transpired that Marianne was actually found dead how would this young policeman react? Annie wanted to reach out and touch Omar's hand, warn him not to become too involved.
But then she thought of the tall brooding figure of their DCI.
Lorimer felt things deeply, too. Didn't say much, but you always knew that he cared for the victims of crime. Would Omar Fathy become like that? She stole another glance at the Egyptian and nodded silently to herself. He'd go far, she realised. Not because he was ambitious but because he shared the same qualities as their boss.
Marianne was not dead but sometimes she felt as though her life was ebbing away from her. The nights she had spent in this hotel had not been free from the recurrent dreams she had so longed to escape. Certainly the constant noise of traffic had kept her awake for long spells until exhaustion had forced her into a troubled sleep. Waking to a morning that was bright behind the heavy hotel curtains made her realise that another day must be faced and decisions made.
The truth was that Marianne had no real idea what to do. The telephone calls she had tried to make to Billy were left unanswered, the first foreign ringtone telling her that his mobile, at any rate, was somewhere across the Channel. Why hadn't he called her? Was he somehow involved in these deaths? Marianne shook her head slowly as she sat on the edge of the great white bed.
That ringtone had preceded the events in his flat. Billy had left Glasgow before all these things had happened, hadn't he? But why? They trusted one another, didn't they? Surely Billy would have let her know if something was wrong. Amit had broken the news of the two dead men to her solemnly, as though she was one of their family, one of the bereaved. Remembering his grave tones, Marianne realised what the Pakistani had been thinking:
Billy Brogan, her brother, had killed two known drug dealers and had fled the scene.
Marianne knew better, but it galled her to realise how Billy would be being perceived by Amit, a man who had been helped by her brother in the not-so-distant past. Besides, she knew Billy Brogan better than anybody. Including Joan, that daft wee girl in the registry who fancied him so much. Marianne gave a sigh. Billy Brogan simply didn't have it in him to kill another human being in cold blood. Wasn't that why he'd quit the army, after all?
Lifting her mobile phone from the bedside cabinet, Marianne scrolled down until she came to one particular number. Should she try to see if Billy's army pal was still in town? Maybe they could meet up for a bite to eat? He'd sounded nice and uncomplicated.
He was a friend of Billy's from the old days, she told herself. And if there was anything she needed right now it was the company of someone outside all of the tangled web that was threatening to close in on her.
The hit man smiled as he put down the phone. Sometimes luck simply came your way. He had suggested meeting the woman in the entrance of the NCP car park in Cambridge Street, the idea being that they take a trip out of town. She'd sounded keen. His smile widened into a grin. And no wonder. With both the police and the Asians looking for her, Marianne Brogan would do well to keep out of the city as much as possible. He whistled as he opened the wardrobe door, wondering what to wear for his next performance.
CHAPTER 28
September wasn't Rosie's favourite month of the year and she was glad her baby would be born later, once the nights had really drawn in and the darkness settled. Now she fretted as the summer drew to a close, the warmth making a mockery of the shorter days and fading leaves. Down in the park the dust was blowing in swirling clouds as though some unseen force was changing everything. Girls and boys still strolled slowly along the paths, their sleeveless T-shirts paying homage to the fact that it was still officially vacation time and the good spell of weather had lasted.
The bird man was there again, she noticed, standing stock still beside a line of bushes, outstretched hand resting on the railing.
She had seen him often over the last few months, his little packet of seeds scattered onto his palm. Sometimes, if he stood quietly, a blue tit would come down from branch to branch, peck at the offering then fly off. From this upper window Rosie couldn't see if he had a bird on his hand or not, but she recognised him all the same: his shock of dark hair falling over a pale face, the same khaki jacket that he always wore, camouflage for the purpose of feeding the wee birds, she supposed. One day, she mused, she would push her pram along the path and stand to watch the bird man, his quiet patience usually rewarded by a tiny visitor to his hand.
Rosie was not aware that she had begun to smile. The expression on her face was one of calm serenity, all the lines that so furrowed her pale brow when she was bent over a cadaver in the mortuary had disappeared with this pregnancy. Instead of being in pain or discomfort, the pathologist was at that enviable stage in her third trimester when all seemed well with the world and she could revel in her swelling body. A first baby could arrive early or late, Em had warned her. Two weeks either way, her technician had said, wagging a finger at Rosie.
'If you do come early it'll be nice to get to know you,' Rosie whispered, circling the bump gently with her fingers. 'See who you look like,' she added fondly. If it were a boy, she would love him to have Solly's dark looks, but she'd prefer a wee girl to have her own fair hair. 'Maybe one of each,' she said dreamily. 'In time.'
Solly's mum fretted whenever she called from London, asking if Rosie was all right, reminding her to eat properly; she was eating for two, remember. The pathologist hadn't the heart to remind Ma Brightman that she was a qualified doctor and knew exactly what was going on inside her own body. Let her mother-in-law have her say. After all, Ma Brightman had given birth to her beloved SoIly, hadn't she? And she couldn't fault the job she'd done in bringing him up.