privilege to behold.
Had someone else’s mother held her son to her like that, a son who was destined by dint of some abnormality in his genetic make-up to become a cold-blooded killer? Perhaps, Solly told himself sadly. All the joys and tender moments of motherhood would be destroyed watching one’s beloved child grow into some sort of monster. And, if he were to be instrumental in any way in finding this man, then that mother too would become a victim.
Back in his study, the psychologist lifted his desk diary, hearing the creak of the still-new spine as he turned the pages. Blinking owlishly, Solly stopped at a particular date. Scribbled under the seventh of February he had written Lorimer’s party. Keep free. Babysitter? But above the date, floating quietly on a white space were the words: full moon.
The woman who sometimes called herself Diana walked slowly towards the red brick building, her heavy boots slipping in the slushy snow. She paused for a moment to peer in at the entrance, curious to see what she could see, but it looked simply like any other reception area of a big organisation, though the familiar badge of Strathclyde Police dominated the view for any passersby. Detective Superintendent Lorimer worked somewhere up there, she knew. Barbara had been fulsome in her praise of him and something had drawn her here, wondering just what this man was like. Yet caution prevailed over womanly curiosity and she walked on, smiling a little to herself. If only they knew she was here, she thought, walking past their front door like any ordinary citizen!
Up there within the myriad offices of Strathclyde Police headquarters the detective superintendent in charge of the Serious Crimes Unit was indeed in situ, frowning over the email that Solly had sent him. He’d be much happier if he could devote some of his time to Helen James’s cases, he thought, instead of being sent on what he now believed were wild goose chases to Edinburgh. That Catherine Pattison had her own agenda, he was now certain. Her voice had given her away, even though her words had striven to reassure him. James has all of these dreadful guns, she’d told him, faltering slightly as though she was perfectly aware that her accusation against the MSP was ill founded. And yet, and yet … the memory of Raeburn’s words had come back to him time and again. Nothing to hide, the man had told him. And that gun book had been there for all to see. Had it been a deliberate show, perhaps?
Lorimer shook his head wearily. How many man hours had been spent collating the background checks on those three people, officers struggling through these hazardous conditions over in the capital where the snow had become so bad that the army had been called out to clear main roads like Princes Street? Perhaps, he thought, it was time to delve into Mrs Pattison’s own background. Frowning again, Lorimer realised that this was an action that would be delegated to a more junior officer. Being in charge of this department had meant more paperwork and meetings, not the sort of day-to-day work that he really enjoyed. His naturally restless spirit made him want to be out and about, the way he used to be as a detective inspector; tramping the streets, asking questions, meeting up with his own snouts.
He sighed. He was not quite forty and yet had already gained this rank, this prestigious appointment to Serious Crimes, so why was he feeling such a sense of detachment from the cases under investigation? Was it being here at HQ in Pitt Street, away from the cut and thrust of a division? And there were killers out there on these mean streets, he told himself, biting his lower lip; killers that he wanted to catch before any other innocent victims became their prey.
Standing up, he wandered over to his window and looked down on the snowy street below. There were a few people about and he could see their figures walking gingerly on the filthy pavements where ice had formed under layers of compacted snow. Suddenly the room was too warm, too confined and Lorimer felt that old sensation of claustrophobia that had dogged him from childhood. He had to get out, even if it was only to walk around the block for ten minutes. Looking at his watch (a Christmas gift from Maggie) he saw that his next meeting with the press was not