would be finished by then. Glancing at the calendar on her kitchen wall, Maggie realised that Burns Night was drawing closer and after that there would be less than two weeks until her husband’s party and the surprises she had planned.
There were no surprises in Edinburgh by the time Lorimer’s driver drew up outside the massive building at Holyrood. The snow on this side of the country was taking longer to clear and there were still piles of frozen ice caught in the angles between pavements and gutters. Although the paths outside the parliament were well swept they were gritty underfoot as Lorimer strode into the warmth of the building and made for the reception desk to collect his security pass.
‘Back here again, Superintendent?’
Lorimer spun on his heel at the Glasgow accent behind him.
‘Mr Hardy,’ he said, slowing down to let the other man approach. ‘Yes, I have a meeting with Ms Stewart.’
‘Wonder she finds the time, what with her Russian delegation arriving today,’ Hardy muttered sourly. Clearly there was no love lost between the nationalist leader and the socialist MSP.
‘Russians? Any special reason why they’re here?’ Lorimer ventured.
‘Aye, her ladyship’s Burns Supper up at the castle on Wednesday night,’ he said, raising his eyebrows. ‘Even the dear departed aren’t going to stop her holding that particular event,’ he continued as they walked up the staircase, side by side. ‘This lot are from St Petersburg. She went over there last year and is ostensibly returning the compliment. We usually have an event like that here but Felicity’s pulled strings to have it up at the castle instead. Making a big show of it. Fact of the matter is she’s desperately trying to negotiate a trade deal.’ Hardy grinned. ‘Maybe she’ll invite you to attend.’ He dug Lorimer in the ribs then passed him by, whistling a Scottish tune that was vaguely familiar.
It was not until Hardy had disappeared out of sight and Lorimer was standing at the entrance to the first minister’s private lift that he recognised it as Burns’ own ‘Oh whistle and I’ll come tae ye, my lad’. Was the Glasgow MSP insinuating that the detective superintendent was some kind of government lackey? Lorimer bristled at the thought. Yet perhaps that was just what he had become in this case, running back and forth from Glasgow to Edinburgh at the woman’s bidding when, if truth be told, he would have preferred to delve more deeply into the case of the street girls’ murders.
Lorimer’s knuckles were white from gripping the file that lay across his knees as he sat in the back of the police car. To bring him all the way over here simply to enquire about the progress of the case was unforgivable and the detective vowed that he would ignore any further such requests from Ms Stewart. Bloody waste of my time! He’d wanted to shout as he got into the car, but caught sight of his driver. Instead he fumed inwardly and waited for the next vibrant ring on his BlackBerry that would doubtless keep him company all the way back along the M8. He could just imagine the conversation Felicity Stewart might be having any time now with her colleagues or the gentlemen of the press: Oh yes, Lorimer keeps me informed of ever ything. Comes here to brief me on what’s going on. No wonder Hardy had whistled that tune.
Frank Hardy had been right, too, about an invitation to the Burns Supper, for himself and Maggie. His icily polite refusal had included the excuse that his wife already had plans made for her school’s event and he had just stopped himself in time from telling the woman where she could stuff her Burns Supper when he had two separate cases of multiple murder to deal with. What the hell was she playing at? He was a working cop, not a social butterfly. And for the next few evenings he expected to be putting more hours in with his team in Pitt Street while the rest of the country was eating its haggis, neeps and tatties.
As he read his text messages, Lorimer put the wasted morning behind him and tried to concentrate on what his next plan of action should be. His eyebrows rose as he saw that there was a forensic report waiting for him back at headquarters; the results of the extensive examination of Pattison’s Mercedes were now complete and Lorimer was keen to know what had been found. A huge amount