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.
‘Hi, thought you’d want to know the results so far, in case Jo or Alistair discuss this with you,’ she began.
‘Yes, thanks. I appreciate that,’ Lorimer told her.
‘Well.’ Rosie took a deep breath before continuing. ‘We were right about the manual strangulation. But there are no fingerprints or sweat traces from the neck area so whoever did it wore gloves.’
‘Hm.’ Lorimer nodded, still listening intently. Not a moment of fury, then, but possibly a premeditated killing.
‘In all probability she was attacked from behind with something like a club. We’ve got photographs of the contusions but it’s hard to tell what might have made that mark. We’re working on it, though. And the other main thing to say is that she’d had sex some time in the evening. We’ve got good samples so our friends up at Pitt Street will be rejoicing about that.’
‘Any signs of bruising in that area?’
‘Nope. I’d say it’s been consensual sex. Her knickers were still on, remember, and there was absolutely nothing to suggest that she had been hurt in any way.’
‘Other than being choked to death.’
‘Other than that, yes,’ Rosie agreed drily.
There was a moment’s silence while Lorimer digested the facts. Had it been his case, he would have wanted to know all about the girl’s movements earlier that night but he trusted Jo Grant to have handed out actions that would result in answers to such questions. He would have to be careful not to interfere in another officer’s case, especially at this crucial stage in an investigation.
‘Well, thanks for that,’ he said at last. ‘You will let me know straight away if there are any developments, won’t you?’
‘Of course I will.’
‘What about the girl’s family?’
‘Oh, the father’s coming in to see me tomorrow. Couldn’t get a flight from Stockholm any earlier. Not looking forward to that,’ Rosie sighed.
‘Okay, good luck,’ Lorimer said. ‘Want to speak to Maggie?’
He handed over the telephone to his wife who had been listening to the exchange, her Sunday supplement discarded on the table in front of her.
While the two women chatted, Lorimer sat back and thought about the case, and for a moment he wished for the days when he was a detective inspector, experiencing the familiar adrenalin rush that a new murder case always brought.
CHAPTER 11
J o Grant ran her slim fingers through her dark hair, feeling the short gelled ends and wondering for the hundredth time why she had given that hair stylist such leeway. But it was a damn sight easier to wash and dry every morning and there would be no grubby little ned to grab a handful of her long hair as he was going out of the interview room. She could still remember the drug addict’s breath in her face as he’d lunged at her before being carted back to the cells.
Great job, being a polis
, her pal Heather had said as they’d met for drinks.
Good pay and early retirement
. Aye, right, Jo had been tempted to reply. You don’t know the half of it. And you wouldn’t want to.
It had been one hell of a weekend, from the call-out in the wee small hours of Saturday morning to the post-mortem she’d attended later that same day, and now she was back at Stewart Street at her desk, rummaging to find the
So, when the phone rang, Lorimer was a little surprised to hear Rosie’s voice.
‘Hi, thought you’d want to know the results so far, in case Jo or Alistair discuss this with you,’ she began.
‘Yes, thanks. I appreciate that,’ Lorimer told her.
‘Well.’ Rosie took a deep breath before continuing. ‘We were right about the manual strangulation. But there are no fingerprints or sweat traces from the neck area so whoever did it wore gloves.’
‘Hm.’ Lorimer nodded, still listening intently. Not a moment of fury, then, but possibly a premeditated killing.
‘In all probability she was attacked from behind with something like a club. We’ve got photographs of the contusions but it’s hard to tell what might have made that mark. We’re working on it, though. And the other main thing to say is that she’d had sex some time in the evening. We’ve got good samples so our friends up at Pitt Street will be rejoicing about that.’
‘Any signs of bruising in that area?’
‘Nope. I’d say it’s been consensual sex. Her knickers were still on, remember, and there was absolutely nothing to suggest that she had been hurt in any way.’
‘Other than being choked to death.’
‘Other than that, yes,’ Rosie agreed drily.
There was a moment’s silence while Lorimer digested the facts. Had it been his case, he would have wanted to know all about the girl’s movements earlier that night but he trusted Jo Grant to have handed out actions that would result in answers to such questions. He would have to be careful not to interfere in another officer’s case, especially at this crucial stage in an investigation.
‘Well, thanks for that,’ he said at last. ‘You will let me know straight away if there are any developments, won’t you?’
‘Of course I will.’
‘What about the girl’s family?’
‘Oh, the father’s coming in to see me tomorrow. Couldn’t get a flight from Stockholm any earlier. Not looking forward to that,’ Rosie sighed.
‘Okay, good luck,’ Lorimer said. ‘Want to speak to Maggie?’
He handed over the telephone to his wife who had been listening to the exchange, her Sunday supplement discarded on the table in front of her.
While the two women chatted, Lorimer sat back and thought about the case, and for a moment he wished for the days when he was a detective inspector, experiencing the familiar adrenalin rush that a new murder case always brought.
CHAPTER 11
J o Grant ran her slim fingers through her dark hair, feeling the short gelled ends and wondering for the hundredth time why she had given that hair stylist such leeway. But it was a damn sight easier to wash and dry every morning and there would be no grubby little ned to grab a handful of her long hair as he was going out of the interview room. She could still remember the drug addict’s breath in her face as he’d lunged at her before being carted back to the cells.
Great job, being a polis
, her pal Heather had said as they’d met for drinks.
Good pay and early retirement
. Aye, right, Jo had been tempted to reply. You don’t know the half of it. And you wouldn’t want to.
It had been one hell of a weekend, from the call-out in the wee small hours of Saturday morning to the post-mortem she’d attended later that same day, and now she was back at Stewart Street at her desk, rummaging to find the
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