Never Somewhere Else by Alex Gray Read Free Book Online Page A

I do.’
    Martin’s voice betrayed a certain jealousy.
    Diane laughed and shook her head.
    ‘Oho! Fishing for compliments, are we?’
    Martin gave a lop-sided smile. He’d been short-listed for one award himself and was desperate for the sort of recognition that Davey Baird enjoyed.
    ‘Who’s giving out compliments?’ a voice asked.
    They swung round to see the photographer himself standing behind them.
    ‘We were just saying how you could do this as a full-time job,’ Diane told him.
    Davey ran a hand overhis fine blond hair and gave a hoot of laughter. ‘That’ll be shining bright. This is just a sideline. I still need all the work the
Gazette
can give me.’ He patted Martin’s shoulder adding, ‘Catch up with you later. There’s a guy over there I want to see.’
    They watched him weave his way through the crowd, stopping now and then to shake a hand and exchange a word with someone. Martin gazed after him, imagining how it must feel to be the centre of such attention. A movement by his side made him look down.
    Diane’s wine was finished. She swirled the stem of her glass between her fingers thoughtfully. She’s wondering if I’ll fetch her another, thought Martin, who was only too aware of Diane’s signals. Half of him wanted to capitulate, but his own weariness had been shrugged off by discussing the case and now he wanted to be home, doing some more research, deciding on his next line of enquiry. He had to keep the story hot for the paper, and, as he had told Diane, there was very little new information to be had. He drained his own glass and gave her a grin.
    ‘Right, lass, I’m off!’
    The exaggerated Glasgow accent was designed to make a pretence of being oblivious to Diane’s come-on approach. Martin hoped he’d be allowed to succumb to it another time. As he stood up, he rumpled her dark hair just for luck.
    ‘Oh, you … leave off!’ she laughed, a little ruefully, he thought. Martin bent his hand twice in a mock farewell wave then slouched out of the gallery into the street.
    For weeks the
Gazette
had been following the story of the St Mungo’s Murders with Martin reaping the benefits. His stories had been good: just the right mixture of sensationalism and fact, not too grisly, but enough to hook his readers. These murders could really make his name as a reporter. It had taken an effort to concentrate on the outrage, the victims’ friends and family and, above all, the menace which had to be wiped off the streets, but wasn’t he using the printed word as another weapon in combating this evil hidden somewhere in the city?
    As he drove tohis quiet bachelor flat, Martin turned on the radio for news. There was an item about a politician and his mistress. More kiss-and-tell. It was becoming old hat. The latest royal visit overseas had created a stir. Employment figures were up. Another factory had closed down.
    Martin smiled sardonically. It was the sort of juxtaposition he’d often seen at the hands of the
Gazette
’s sub-editors: the one story seeming to give the lie to the other. Martin listened long enough to hear that a cold front was moving eastwards then switched off. The murderer had dropped out of sight since scaring Alison Girdley.
    Now, Martin thought, let’smake my readership speculate about the mental make-up of this serial killer. He had begun to feel enthusiastic about this angle. Talking to Diane had helped him think through a possible argument. Now there were textbooks to consult and other people’s hypotheses to mull over in the search for a different sort of story.

C HAPTER 8

    M aggie Lorimer watched the windscreenwipers swish back and forth against the pattering raindrops. The car moved slowly through late afternoon traffic, necessitating constant use of brake and clutch. Maggie wasn’t in any hurry, however. There would be the usual emptiness in the house, the unlit hallway, gloomy and unwelcoming. Once home she would turn up the central heating, switch on the