‘Detective Superintendent Lorimer,’ Lorimer said, coming forward and putting out his hand.
Colin Young took it and as he gave it a perfunctory shake Lorimer could feel the trembling and sweat on the boy’s palm.
‘This is my flatmate, Colin,’ Kirsty continued, looking up at Lorimer. ‘Colin, he’s my dad’s boss, the one I told you about.’ She turned back to the boy and grasped his shoulders a little more tightly.
‘Oh,’ Colin said, still staring at the tall policeman standing above them. Then he swallowed and Lorimer could see his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. ‘I didn’t know…’
But what it was that Colin Young did not know was never uttered, for at that same moment Betty Wilson swept into the kitchen, arms outstretched.
‘Oh, Kirsty!’ she cried, and in a moment the girl was enveloped into Betty’s embrace, leaving Colin Young looking suddenly bereft.
Lorimer slipped behind the table and sank into the chair beside the boy.
‘Is there anyone you should be calling?’ he asked.
Colin tore his gaze away from the mother and daughter for a moment and looked at Lorimer in a dazed fashion.
‘Do you want us to contact anyone in your family? Arrange for them to take you home for tonight?’
‘Why?’
As Colin shook his head Lorimer could see that he was utterly bewildered, still deeply in shock.
‘There will be scene-of-crime officers all over the flat for hours to come,’ he explained gently. ‘You won’t be allowed to stay here tonight.’
‘What about the others?’
‘Others?’
‘Gary and Rodge. They’re still at the party…’ Colin’s voice quavered and stopped and he looked down at his hands as though to prevent a fresh outburst of weeping.
‘I can have officers here to take all three of you to your family homes later on, if that’s what you’d like,’ Lorimer continued.
‘Gary’s home’s miles away. Down in England,’ Colin gulped.
‘We’ll be taking statements from you all before you are allowed to go,’ Lorimer said. ‘But we’ll want to know where you are. Is there a friend or a relative who could put you all up, perhaps?’
Colin shrugged, clearly overwhelmed.
‘DS MacPherson is the scene-of-crime manager from Stewart Street police station who is in charge of everything right now. He’ll explain what will happen over the next few days.’
Colin Young frowned. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘You can’t stay here, Colin,’ Lorimer said again. ‘You’ll be allowed to take some of your things once the officers in charge have obtained all available evidence but it’ll probably be a few days before you’re allowed back here again.’ He smiled encouragingly. ‘Forensics takes ages, you know? You’ve probably seen it all on CSI, eh?’
‘I can’t believe that she’s dead,’ the boy whispered, looking towards the hall through the glass door. Lorimer followed his gaze to see the Swedish girl’s body being carried out. He saw Kirsty clutch at her mother’s hand as they watched the two undertakers, suited and masked like all the other officers, carry her friend out of 24 Merryfield Avenue for the very last time.
It had been as a friend as well as his senior officer that Lorimer had arrived so quickly on the scene, Alistair Wilson’s plea for help rousing him out of sleep. Whether he could be of any more help remained to be seen but, as Lorimer sat in that kitchen, watching Eva Magnusson being taken away, he vowed to spend some time with Kirsty, if only to soothe her with words of reassurance that the Swedish girl’s killer would surely be caught.
CHAPTER 10
The Sunday papers were full of it, headlines proclaiming about the Swedish millionaire’s daughter who had been found dead in her Glasgow flat. The city had come in for plenty of stick, Lorimer thought grimly, as he read the column inches about knife crime and drunkenness, with statistics to back them all up. With a sigh he pushed the papers from him and looked down at his breakfast, still untouched.
Maggie had already finished her grapefruit and toast and was bending over the dishwasher, stacking plates away. He bit his lip; she made such an effort to make these Sunday mornings a special time for them both.
He began to scoop out the pale pink flesh from his grapefruit, eating and swallowing but tasting little as his eyes fell once more on the page he had been reading.
Eva Magnusson was a student at the University of Strathclyde, studying for a degree in business and economics, Lorimer read. The only child of property tycoon, Henrik Magnusson, Eva had been expected to take an active part in her father’s business.
Well, the poor man would be quite alone in the world now, Lorimer thought, reading the details of the man’s life. Maggie had shaken her head in sympathy when he had read out the bit about the wife having died giving birth to their only daughter. What a tragedy, she’d said sadly, to lose both the people in the world that you love the most. And she’d put a protective hand upon his shoulder for a moment, as if to intimate what she and Lorimer were to one another.
‘That coffee’ll be getting cold,’ Maggie said wryly. ‘Shall I make us another pot?’
Lorimer looked up from the paper, a sheepish smile on his face.
‘Thanks, love. That would be great.’
Yet, even as he nibbled the buttered toast, forgetting for once to spread it liberally with the last of Maggie’s home-made marmalade, Lorimer’s thoughts turned once more to his detective sergeant and the shocking murder that had taken place in Kirsty Wilson’s Anniesland flat. Betty and Alistair had taken the girl home to West Kilbride that night and he had heard nothing from them since. It wasn’t his shout, Lorimer told himself; his current responsibilities didn’t include being SIO in a case like this and he had decided to let DI Jo Grant take this one on. He had to leave his DI space to get on with it. She knew where he was if she needed him and he knew that she would keep him informed at every stage of the investigation: she was a bright cookie and had experienced a variety of roles within the force, including work as an undercover officer.
Still, he couldn’t help but be intrigued by the Swedish girl’s murder. The lad, Colin, had gone with both of the other students from the flat; one a tall, ginger-headed boy, the other a good-looking lad with a Brummy accent. Lorimer had been leaving just as they had arrived, noting the expressions of dismay on both their faces as they had been held back at the cordon. Then uniformed officers had taken them into the van outside to talk to them and what little chance Lorimer had had to see their reaction to the terrible news about Eva Magnusson confirmed that they seemed equally shocked as Colin Young.
So, what on earth had happened? Had the girl brought someone back to her flat as some of the Sunday papers had speculated? Someone who had been aggressive enough to choke the poor lass to death? A moment of fury and a lifetime of regret, was the way Lorimer remembered one judge expressing it as he had handed down a sentence in a previous case.
Rosie would have done the post-mortem by now but Maggie had not brought back any information after babysitting at the pathologist’s home yesterday other than to confirm that the Swedish girl had indeed been strangled. It wasn’t his case, Lorimer told himself again, biting his lip, but still he wanted to know what else Rosie might have found. The Brightmans would be spending today as quietly as baby Abigail allowed them, Rosie’s mobile switched on in case she was called out again. Weekends tended to be fairly busy, given the level of drunkenness and violence that marred the city — the papers weren’t wrong about that, he thought sadly — and there was a real chance that the pathologist would be back at another scene of crime somewhere in Glasgow before long.
So, when the phone rang, Lorimer was a little surprised to hear Rosie’s voice.