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

the grey man’s direction. Then he gave a low chuckle. Snooty academic! He could blow him away as soon as look at him. He’d had his fill of that type in the forces; the ones who enjoyed tormenting you because they could pull rank. He’d left a couple of them with souvenirs that they’d carry on their bodies for the rest of their lives.
    A quick glance at his wristwatch made him frown. He was late. And he didn’t want to hit the rush hour traffic further down the motorway. Flicking the stub of his cigarette towards the door where the donnish looking man had gone, he took a step forward, wondering if he could stretch his legs. It didn’t do to look conspicuous. And if the tall guy reappeared and asked what he was doing, well, that wouldn’t be good, would it? Maybe he could risk a stroll around that square of grass where he could keep one eye on this place?
    Doctor Solomon Brightman emerged from the door opposite the quad clutching an overflowing briefcase tightly to his side. It was still a while until the new term began but for Solly and his colleagues the work was already well underway. Still, he’d done
    enough for today and now he wanted to drop this lot off before going into town to visit his favourite bookshop. As the psychology lecturer stepped onto the grass he was aware of a figure strolling towards him. A stranger, dressed in casual clothes, a cigarette palmed in his right hand. A tourist, probably, visiting the University of Glasgow on the hop-on, hop-off bus that took visitors around the city. As they passed one another, Solly prepared to smile and nod, a common enough courtesy, but the man turned his head away, almost deliberately, as though avoiding Solly’s glance. It was enough to make the psychologist curious. He was peren
    nially curious about human behaviour, of course, and looking at the departing figure of the man, he couldn’t help but feel that here was a person who wanted to remain anonymous. And he began to wonder why.
    An hour later the gunman realised that nobody was going to arrive. The wind that had threatened rain whipped through the cloisters with a ferocity that made the dried leaves scurry into the shelter of doorways. With one last look at the green square beyond the chilly pillars, he turned his heel, grinding the stub of a cigarette before moving into the warmth of a nearby corridor. It had happened before and might well happen again. Sometimes it just took a little more time and not-so-gentle per statNion to get the money out of whoever had hired him. He
    clenched his teeth as he strode through the building, eyes alert for
    the nearest exit. Soon he was out and heading over the hill
    towards his car. He’d have to make a couple of phone calls then
    key in another address to the sat-nay. He swore as the blast of rain drove into his face. What he wanted was a few hours on the motor way then home, not hanging around this godforsaken city. The
    piece of plastic fluttering madly against the windscreen made him stop and swear again. Bloody parking ticket! With one swipe he tore it free from the wiper blades and stuffed it into his pocket. They could whistle for their fine. It was just one more aggravation added to the inconvenience of having to remain here a while. A grim smile hovered across his mouth. Someone was going to pay dearly for this.

CHAPTER 3
    Once upon a time,’ that was how stories ought to begin, Solly
    mused, walking slowly past the rows of books for the third time. Hadn’t his own childhood reading been like that? Well, perhaps not, he smiled, recognising The House at Pooh Corner and a couple of familiar Roald Dahls. It was an interesting idea, though, that traditional phrases like ‘Once upon a time’ were somehow rooted in one’s own consciousness. Perhaps he could use that in one of his seminar meetings for the second year students next term. The smile above the dark beard continued as Doctor Solomon Brightman, psychologist and expectant father, stopped beside