'I met Marianne one day in the park,' Amit said softly, his eyes shining with tenderness at the memory. 'She was a kind lady, very lovely, and I could see that she was willing to be a friend to me,' he raised his hands and looked at the officers in expectation. 'You see, I needed to stay here and Marianne offered me that oppor tunity,' he said simply.
'Yours was a marriage of convenience?' Lorimer asked.
The man nodded. 'Yes. It could have been described as that, I suppose. Certainly it was convenient for me and I suppose the money I gave my wife made it convenient for her,' he said, his tone suddenly cynical. 'But we were not like a business partnership,' he insisted. 'You see,' he went on, smiling a sweet sudden smile, 'after we returned from the United States she became my friend.'
Lorimer nodded in understanding. Marianne had become his wife, had been set up in a rented flat so she could pursue her studies, then all of a sudden this man had found himself in love with her. What had begun as a means to an end had become an affair of the heart, at least on the part of Amit Shafiq.
'So you see, I must find her,' he went on. 'I worry that something dreadful has happened to make her run away from me. But I did not know anything about the death of the man who had been her previous husband,' he said quietly.
Lorimer looked at him intently. He believed him though what a jury might make of his statement was another matter. He wanted to ask about Brogan but knew it was more important to let this man tell his story first.
'What did you think might be the longer term prospects for you and Marianne?' he asked instead.
'I had hoped that she might be my wife in the proper sense, not just on the paper we both signed,' Amit said and it was not hard to hear the wistfulness in his voice.
'Marianne was a student at the University of Glasgow when you first met, is that right?'
'Yes. She wanted to study psychology, become a doctor of some kind. She even spoke about travelling to work in America one day.
I thought…' he shrugged as he tailed off.
'You thought she might have gone to the US when you found her flat empty?'
Amit nodded, exhaling slowly in a sigh of resignation. 'I wondered if I would ever see her again. Then I heard you and the lady speak about her on the programme..
Lorimer asked a few questions about the date of their marriage, where it had taken place, making scribbled notes on the pad in front of him, though there was a tape running to record the entire interview. Sometimes doing a trivial thing like note-taking brought a sense of formality to an interview situation. And right now he could see that the Pakistani needed something like this to rise above the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.
'And you paid her a sum for the privilege of marrying you?' he asked, his mouth crinkling at the corners as though Amit might share in the joke.
'Yes. Ten thousand pounds.' He shrugged. 'I am a wealthy man, Mr Lorimer. It was a small price to pay for my freedom.
That,' he said solemnly, 'is something on which no man can put a price.'
'And I presume you supported your wife as well?'
Amit nodded, his back stiffening as though he had been offended. 'But of course. Marianne required a place to live and I paid for the rent as well as giving her a modest allowance. It was a satisfactory arrangement.'
Tor her,' Lorimer answered sharply.
'And for me,' Amit replied. 'I had a legal reason to remain here and build a new life for myself.'
'How often did you see her?' Lorimer asked.
'Once a week, perhaps less. We met in the station sometimes for coffee. It was what she liked,' he explained. 'Marianne did not like being seen with me over in the West End where we both lived. Perhaps it was…' he shrugged, glancing across at Fathy, the words unsaid. Perhaps she didn't like to be seen with an Asian.
'Tell me about Billy Brogan,' Lorimer said at last.
Lorimer watched as the man walked away from the building. He had given the Detective Chief Inspector a lot to think about.
Shafiq was a well-educated man, that was clear from his speech and the innate courtesies he had shown during the interview. The story about Lahore was chilling; it was not an unfamiliar scenario by any means, yet coming from this man who was riven with anxiety for his wife, it had made Lorimer flinch inwardly as the story had unfolded. It also explained why Shafiq had not called the authorities when he had found Marianne missing. He would be kept under surveillance from this moment on, hopefully unaware of the undercover officers who would dog his footsteps day and night. Had that been his father's experience? Lorimer wondered.
Had the old man been watched by these faceless people who had waited for him to make one small mistake before they had entered his home and bludgeoned him to death in front of his family?
His tale about Brogan had been nothing short of astonishing.
Just how the drug dealer had become embroiled in the Asian community's affairs was unclear, but undoubtedly he had some influence there. Marianne had offered to marry Shafiq in order to allow him to become a British citizen and stay on legally in Glasgow. What had been her motivation for that? Her brother's influence? Lorimer shook his head, remembering the photograph of the red-haired woman. She was an educated woman and had never been in trouble with the law. Surely she was not the sort to be pushed about by Brogan. So, it all came down to money. And that, as the DCI well knew, was one of the prime motivations behind such a lot of crime.
Ten thousand pounds was a lot of money, but perhaps for Shafiq it was worth it. Besides, hadn't he admitted his own personal wealth? Ten thousand pounds. Lorimer tapped a pencil against his teeth.
Interesting that it should equate to the price of a hit in this gun ridden city.
'Ten thousand pounds,' the hit man told her. 'That's what your brother owes me.'
Marianne sat rigid on the wooden chair, her eyes staring at the man with the gun. The last few minutes had taken on nightmare proportions, more terrifying than the worst excesses of her hateful dreams. Max had made her put on her nightdress, watching her every move, his grey eyes cold with something that she had not seen before in the man. Now, her arms fastened behind her, ankles tied tightly so that the bonds cut into her flesh if she made any movement, she was his prisoner.
At first she had thought it a game, Max working out some sexual fantasy that would end up with her screaming at the height of their passion. And she had laughed uncertainly, moving towards him. But that gun, that gun… Marianne knew without having to ask that it was not only loaded but that she was Max's intended victim. The room was warm, but the sweat trickling down between her shoulder blades felt chilled.
'So, just you tell him from me, babe, that his little sister gets it for free if he doesn't pay up,' the man-who-was-not-Max said, his voice full of a sneering tone that made Marianne shiver.
'I don't know where he is,' she said at last.
'Don't give me that,' the hit man replied, waving the gun closer to her face. 'Brogan wouldn't keep his whereabouts from you of all people.'
Marianne felt her eyes begin to swim with tears. That was exactly what Billy had done. He'd run out on her, left her to face the consequences of his thieving ways. But wasn't that how it had always been? Marianne bit her lip, willing herself not to break down. Even when they'd been little hadn't she been the one to cover up for Billy's misdemeanours? Her loyalty to the wee brother she'd adored had never really been rewarded, even now. Especially now, a little voice insisted. She had thought that all her nightmares would cease once Ken had been blown away. But now the nightmare had come to life, facing her with this gun, its dark eye staring at her.
'Billy ran out on me too,' Marianne whispered. 'Honest. I… I didn't know he was gone till… till I heard the tone on his mobile…' she gulped, unable to continue. And he's blocked the number, so I can't call him.'