of work had been going on behind the scenes by several experts: the forensic chemist would have been examining the Mercedes for firearms discharge residue, taping surfaces that might hold such traces. Then the firearms officer himself would be the one to examine the vehicle to determine the angle of the shot as well as trying to determine the type of weapon used. Surfaces inside and outside the car had been taped to search for DNA and fingerprints as well as hairs and fibres, especially from places like the seats and headrests.
As the scenery rushed past him Lorimer found his eyes closing on the grey day outside but his thoughts were still very much alive as to what was happening in Glasgow. Every contact leaves a trace, Locard had said, establishing once and for all the principle by which all forensic work was done. Even the tiniest samples of hair, fibres or materials that might have been stuck to the sole of a shoe or boot could be of use in tracing Edward Pattison’s murderer. The initial lots of fingerprints that had been taken from the car had so far been matched against family members and of course Pattison himself. Yet even if the geniuses at Pitt Street could amass a wealth of trace evidence it was only worthwhile when matched against the clothing or hair of a suspect. And so far, as Detective Superintendent Lorimer was woefully aware, he was short of even one person to fit that frame.
And it was not just the press but the first minister of Scotland who kept reminding him of that particular fact.
Suddenly the car stopped, making Lorimer open his eyes. There were flashing lights ahead, signalling some sort of accident on the motorway. His driver glanced just once behind him and Lorimer gave a nod. Before long the big police car had manoeuvred its way onto the hard shoulder and was at the scene of the crash, Lorimer letting down the window.
‘What happened?’ he asked the uniformed officer who had approached his car. He could see a blue Fiat that was on its side, a white van askew across one lane.
‘Probably a poor judgement on overtaking,’ the officer said. ‘Driver must have copped it on impact,’ he added shortly. ‘The other one’s too far gone to tell us anything,’ he added.
Lorimer nodded. There had been several fatal accidents all during this long hard winter but sometimes it was sheer idiocy rather than icy conditions which brought such lasting grief to the victims’ families.
The siren sound of an ambulance from the Edinburgh direction gave Lorimer all the excuse he needed. One more vehicle here was only going to cause more problems.
‘Well, you won’t want us hanging around, officer. We’ll be on our way,’ he said, giving only a cursory glance towards the blue car. A quick nod from the yellow-jacketed policeman soon saw Lorimer’s driver ease his way past the wreckage and head towards Glasgow, no doubt leaving behind a trail of frustrated motorists in their wake.
Sitting back in the car, Lorimer’s mouth was a grim line. The driver of the Fiat was a definite fatality, the passenger unconscious and in pretty poor shape. Why did people take such foolish risks in this weather?
Why take a car at all if you don’t have to? a little voice asked him. Yes, he thought. Why had Edward Pattison driven from Murrayfield to Glasgow in his Mercedes when he was staying overnight in the Central Hotel and could easily have taken the train back to Edinburgh next morning? The service between Glasgow Queen Street and Edinburgh Waverley ran every quarter of an hour and only took fifty minutes, whereas the journey on the M8 was always an hour and usually more, with tailbacks and delays a common occurrence, especially at peak times. Why had Pattison bothered to drive at all? After all, Raeburn had returned to Edinburgh by train, hadn’t he? Ordinarily it didn’t make sense but, if Solomon Brightman was correct, the murdered man had needed his own car to pick up some woman or other after the meeting in the City Chambers. Some woman who couldn’t or daren’t come into Glasgow to meet Pattison? Was the location of Erskine woods closer to the mystery woman’s own home, then? Had Pattison been driving to a romantic rendezvous of some sort? Then who had been with him in that car, gun ready to kill the deputy first minister just as he had killed two other men