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
T he 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
CHAPTER 10
T he 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
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