Glasgow, supposedly over the worst of his depression.
Rowena smiled to herself. The new patient had shaken her hand as if she was a proper grownup, not some silly wee schoolgirl. She recalled his grave eyes and that tired, kindly smile. She’d maybe ask him to come for a wee walk up the road with the dog after dinner, though Dad liked his guests, as he called them, to have complete rest after they arrived. Still, this one was only here for a long weekend.
Funny about the other man, though. They’d waited for him yesterday with a placard that said Failte in bold lettering, but nobody from the Glasgow flight had acknowledged them. Dad had phoned Mrs Baillie who had shrugged it off but there was always a worry that somehow a patient would simply slip past them and roam about the island, unsupervised. it hadn’t happened yet, but there was always a first time, Mum had warned them. Still, they had another new one now.
Rowena settled back to enjoy her thoughts. She’d rehearse what to say before they went out. Then maybe she’d be able to slip in questions about that Dr Brightman. Had they met at the Grange? Was he married? Her fantasy continued down towards the house, the passing landscape a familiar blur of greens and blues.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
‘You want what?’ Superintendent Mitchison’s voice rose in a squeak that might have been funny in other circumstances.
‘Complete freedom to carry out a surveillance operation. I’ve spoken to the patient and she has agreed to my suggestions.’
Mitchison sat silent for a while, his face showing the struggle within. Lorimer could almost hear the cogs turning. Would the cost of the operation, never mind its risks, be outweighed by the capture of the second killer? Mitchison had railed long and hard against Lorimer’s decision not to charge Docherty with all four murders. But the DNA results were pretty conclusive. Whoever had killed Brenda and Kirsty, it was not now likely to be the prisoner currently undergoing psychiatric testing. Which left them with a huge problem. Lorimer had sat down with Solly to confess his innermost fears; someone on the team was involved. Mitchison had been reluctant at first to have them all DNA-tested but it made sense for the purposes of elimination as well as to restore some kind of peace in the ranks. This weekend all his men and women would be in for their tests, whether they liked it or not. Lorimer and Solly would be there too.
Undergoing the test would give the team a sense of solidarity as well as letting him observe their various reactions. Staff and patients at the Grange had already been tested by the police doctor, giving Rosie’s lot plenty to keep them busy.
At last the Superintendent looked up. ‘I don’t like your ways, Lorimer, but that’s neither here nor there. A surveillance operation like the one you are suggesting carries a high risk. Not just for the patient, but a risk of failure. And I don’t need to tell you how much the Chief Constable abhors a waste of time and money.’
‘We really need to try, sir. It’s almost certain that we have another killer on the loose and that he has something to do with the clinic.’ Lorimer paused. Should he reveal his disquiet about the Grange’s financial affairs or would that muddy the waters at this stage? No. He’d beaver away at that problem on his own, for now.
‘Give me a complete breakdown of all the personnel you would need and the timescale, then,’ Mitchison decided. ‘And,’ he paused and drew a hand across his brow, ‘take care of that poor woman, won’t you?’
Lorimer was taken aback. Concern for Phyllis was not what he’d have expected from the Super. Maybe the man had a heart after all.
‘Mind if I come into your room, missus?’ The man in white overalls carrying a cantilevered toolbox stood uncertainly at Phyllis’s door. Phyllis eyed him with curiosity. That new nurse said that someone would be arriving today. To fix the television set. A wave of the old frustration swept over her. She couldn’t explain she didn’t watch the thing. It was pointless to do anything to a set that hadn’t been used in years. Why not dismantle the whole thing and take it away?
As she watched him there were other questions that digested themselves in her brain until Phyllis had produced a satisfactory answer; questions that were explained by the repairman’s unusual activities. She didn’t know the first thing about televisions but she didn’t think the set would function in its normal way with all its innards removed and replaced by what seemed to be a smallish camera.
They were watching her. perhaps she should be relieved that those secret eyes were looking after her but all she could feel was a sense of intrusion into a world that was already far too confined.
Lorimer swung round in his chair to face the window, the solicitor’s words still singing in his brain. There had been a lengthy delay in responding to his query about the woman’s will. He glanced down at the figure on his notepad as if to check that it was correct. Phyllis Logan’s estate was estimated to be in the region of three and a half million pounds. What would his team make of this? One thing was certain, they’d have to be especially careful of the sick woman now.
Lorimer looked back at the solicitor’s report. The main beneficiary of the woman’s estate was the clinic itself, wrapped up in a trust fund. There were several provisions made to help patients who could not otherwise afford the fees, that money coming from interest in share capital. Lorimer frowned. With the collapse of so much on the stock market in recent years, just what were these shares worth? But it was the other beneficiary that caught his attention. To the director of the Grange, Mrs Maureen Baillie, Phyllis Logan had left? 250,000. A sweet quarter of a million!
Recalling the woman’s spartan living quarters and the suspicion that all was not well with the clinic’s finances, Lorimer felt a niggle of worry. People had been murdered before for a lot less than that. But why would Kirsty and Brenda have been killed over a financial scam? it didn’t make sense, unless they knew something that made their continued existence a danger to somebody. You’ve got a dirty mind, Lorimer, he told himself. Still, he’d keep digging this particular seam until he hit gold.
Why would Kirsty have been killed that night? Phyllis had been so vulnerable to the killer’s hands. it would have been so easy just to have dispatched her there and then. If that was the underlying motive. He gnawed his fingernail until he felt it split under his teeth. There was something there, but what?
A bird flying past his window made him glance up and catch sight of the clock on his wall. Time to go. They’d all be waiting for him.
They were all in the muster room. Lorimer walked in to face the semicircle of officers who sat on steel chairs. He noticed that Jo Grant had chosen to perch on the wide windowsill that overlooked the car park.
‘Right. We’ve got the go-ahead. I want to introduce you to two of our undercover officers from D. Division, Patricia Crossan and Marion Warbrick.’ He turned towards two young women who were sitting at the edge of the circle. One, a blonde girl hugging a stone-coloured raincoat around herself, was slouched into her chair. She gave a perfunctory nod. The other girl raked back her seat and stood up. Her black leather jacket and short cropped hair showed drops of water from the recent rain shower.
‘Hi there,’ she smiled at the other officers. ‘I’m Pat and this is Marion.’ There were murmurs of acknowledgement from the rest of the room. As she sat down again, all eyes turned towards Lorimer.
‘Next time you see Pat she’ll be on duty at the Grange. Marion has come in specially to meet you before she hits the sack.’ The blonde girl managed a watery grin as Lorimer continued. ‘Erica, the third of our undercover officers, is keeping an eye on Phyllis Logan right now and Pat will be doing the next shift later on. I don’t need to tell you how important it is that you treat all of these officers as if they were perfect strangers. As far as you are concerned they are agency nurses who are helping out at the clinic, OK? The one thing we don’t want to do is to arouse anyone’s suspicions. And I’m talking about staff, patients, visitors, anybody who comes through their doors on a regular basis.’
Lorimer let his gaze travel over every officer’s face as he went on. ‘If their cover’s blown the whole operation could be scuppered. As far as the people in the clinic are concerned they’re simply three new pairs of hands. Luckily, each of them has bona fide nursing experience. Guess the glamour of police work lured you away from your last jobs, eh, girls?’
There were snorts of derisive laughter from several directions, including, he noticed, Jo Grant tucked into
