Read Online Lorimer and Brightman - 08 - Sleep Like the Dead. By Alex Gray by Alex Gray - Free Book Online

friend’s voice. Despite his years in Glasgow, Solly’s accent was still one hundred per cent that of a Londoner. A well-educated, Jewish Londoner who had the annoying habit of filling a conversation with lengthy blanks. ‘Okay. Shoot,’ Lorimer told him.
    ‘I have had a letter from the Assistant Chief Constable,’ Solly began. There was another pause and this time Lorimer stopped swinging in his chair and sat up, listening. ‘It seems that there has been a change in policy and that my services may no longer be required by Strathclyde Police,’ Solly said quietly.
    ‘Good Lord! What else did it say? Does she give any reasons for that?’
    ‘Only that there has been a change in policy regarding the use of criminal profiling,’ Solly said. Lorimer could hear the hurt and disappointment in the man’s
    voice. Doctor Solomon Brightman had been instrumental in helping to solve various murder cases in which Lorimer had been the Senior Investigating Officer and the policeman had learned to value his insights.
    ‘Did she hint at budgetary constraints?’ Lorimer asked, wondering if the credit crunch had been to blame.
    ‘No,’ Solly said. There was a silence then the psychologist blurted out, ‘Is it me? Are they not happy with something I’ve done?’ ‘Hey, don’t even consider that for a minute,’ Lorimer told him.
    ‘You’re well thought of around here, surely you know that!’ ‘Then why…?’ Solly left his question unfinished.
    ‘I really don’t know, Solly. But leave it with me and I’ll see what I can find out. Anyway, you’ve got enough to do right now, haven’t you? A book almost ready for publication and a new baby on its way. Got that spare room made into a nursery yet?’
    The psychologist’s voice brightened up as he took Lorimer’s lead and chatted about the changes he had made to the spacious top floor flat that overlooked Kelvingrove Park.
    Lorimer put down the phone and looked at it, thoughtfully. Why had Solly been so summarily dismissed from the police service? Was it money? Or was it something to do with that case south of the border where an eminent criminal profiler had got things spectacularly wrong? Lorimer thought about the case for a few minutes.
    Doctor Richard Thackeray (Doctor Dick, the less salubrious newspapers had taken to calling him) had profiled a young man with some pretty serious mental health issues as being the perpetrator of six prostitute murders. The man had been taken into custody, the southern police force thoroughly relieved to have found their killer. Or so they had thought. After being brutalised by his cellmate, the young man had committed suicide. The press
    had been less than charitable, hinting at justice being snatched out of the hands of the courts.
    Then the whole shebang had collapsed with the killing of a seventh victim and the apprehension of another man, one who appeared to be, ironically, completely sane. The man’s DNA was all over the other victims and so a confession of sorts had been obtained.
    Yet again a furore had broken out, the redtops changing their stance once more, this time baying for the blood of Doctor Richard Thackeray. This had all taken place last year but now the killer was due for sentencing. Alongside the media fuss, the future career of Thackeray was being mooted. Several of the better papers had run features on criminal profiling, not always portraying it in a positive light. Was that it, then? Had police forces around the country decided that profiling had had its day? As a mere DCI, Lorimer was not party to the sort of policing politics that determined things like that.
    Perhaps he might have a word with Her Nibs, as they all called Joyce Rogers, the Assistant Chief Constable. She was a fair minded individual and would at least give Lorimer a chance to put forward Solly’s case.
    Omar was staring at the open door of his locker. Instead of the clean grey metal interior there was a piece of A4 paper fixed with Blu-Tack.