her windowsill.
‘There’s been no suspicion at all at the clinic, has there?’ Lorimer addressed Pat.
‘They’ve accepted us without question, sir. Frankly, they’re all relieved to have some agency nurses,’ she replied.
‘Yes. There’s been a bit of an exodus amongst the staff since Kirsty and Brenda’s deaths,’ Lorimer agreed.
‘So, ladies and gentlemen, we now have a round-the-clock presence at the Grange.’ He measured each word carefully as he continued, letting his blue gaze fall on each officer in the room as he spoke. ‘Now, here’s the risky bit. We’ve let it be known to the nursing staff that Phyllis Logan has information about the night of Kirsty’s murder.’ He paused to let his words sink in.
‘We’ve not said in so many words that she actually saw the killer but the implication is there all the same. Pat, Marion and Erica have been asking both staff and patients all about the murders like the rookies they’re supposed to be,’ he told them. ‘One way or another we’ve made sure that word has spread. Not too difficult in a small community like that. The patients will no doubt pass on the gossip to their nearest and dearest. I just hope to God the Press don’t get wind of it.’
He tapped his thigh as if considering what to say. Sometimes stating the obvious helped to concentrate the mind.
‘The murders of those two nurses took place exactly one week apart. OK, the loci were entirely different but each of them took place on a Monday night. Now that may have absolutely no significance but it’s never something that can be ruled out of an equation, as you all well know. So this coming Monday is our choice. We’ve got the weekend to let the rumour factory do its worst, then we move in.’
Lorimer heard their sounds of approval with a sense of satisfaction. There had been some voices of dissent when Solly had dropped his bombshell but now it seemed that they had come round to respect his opinion.
‘We set up surveillance over the weekend and then wait to see if Phyllis Logan has any unexpected visitors.’
‘What if nothing happens, sir?’ Niall Cameron was red in the face but he seemed determined to risk the question nonetheless.
‘I expect Superintendent Mitchison will send us to the salt mines for wasting public money, Cameron,’ Lorimer growled at him.
‘We’ve laid our bait in the trap. With her full cooperation, remember. Now we have to watch and wait. You’re all experienced enough to know that’s the hardest bit in any operation. You’ll be on duty from just after nine o’clock right through till I say when.’
He turned to the board behind him. A large-scale plan of the Grange had been fixed to the board with pieces of masking tape at each corner. Lorimer pointed to each area as he spoke.
‘We’ll have officers in unmarked cars all along the road to the front. There’s waste ground at the rear. Alistair, you and Davie will take up positions between the basement door and the shrubbery. The gardeners have been given a holiday that week,’ he grinned. ‘You’ll cover that exit. The patients will all be receiving visits from Health Board ‘officials’ in the shape of Eddie and Vince,’ he indicated two of his detective constables, ‘since neither of you have been out at the clinic. The story is that you’re there for a routine check. We’ve done the homework on it and it’s a normal procedure. There should be nothing to create suspicion. The camera’s in place and it’ll be monitored from our British Telecom van out in the street. That’s where I’ll be with Dr Brightman and DC Cameron. We’ll be out of sight but in constant contact with all units. Erica and Pat will alert us to anyone coming into or going out of Phyllis’s room. She’s a target but remember she’s also our main witness. Right?’
He turned to the board again and drew aside a fresh sheet of paper. ‘And,’ he added, ‘there’s this.’ Taking a marker pen, Lorimer wrote down the figures he’d obtained from Phyllis Logan’s solicitor and a brief note of her will.
He heard an incredulous whistle as he faced them again. ‘So now we have even more reason to look after our witness. And keep an eye on certain members of staff. OK?’
There were murmurs of assent as the team prepared to leave the muster room. Lorimer found that he was surprisingly calm. Cameron’s question had been quite valid, even if unwelcome. What if nothing did happen? He was gambling with the hope that the killer would take action, believing Phyllis to be a real threat. But what if the information so carefully dropped simply made him take to the hills? Was there any reason to suppose that the killer was still around anyway? Solly firmly believed that he was, and right now that was enough for Lorimer.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Niall Cameron was sweating. Lorimer had chosen to take him personally under his wing. What could that mean? Did the DCI have doubts about his ability? Did he feel that as the relative newcomer to the job he needed to be supervised? Or was there another reason?
As he walked along Bothwell Street, the young man kept looking out for the clocks that signified the Standard Life building. That was where he was to meet the guy. Lorimer had indicated that the Grange’s accountant had been trawling through the clinic’s books with a fine-tooth comb and that he wanted to discuss certain things with Strathclyde Police. Cameron had been dispatched for this particular duty, and right now he was feeling more like an office boy sent on a simple errand than an officer involved in a murder case.
There they were, great gilt clocks high up at either end of the building. Automatically he checked their time against his watch to see if the time was correct. It was. Cameron stepped into a vast lobby flanked by elevators on each side and a list of names indicating the firms that occupied the building. A quick glance told him the third floor was his destination.
Minutes later he was shaking the hand of a man not too much his senior who introduced himself as Tommy Stirling.
‘Fancy a coffee? The drinks machine’s not bad,’ Stirling told him.
Cameron shook his head. ‘No thanks.’ The idea of coffee in a polystyrene cup didn’t appeal. He’d be bound to spill it and make a fool of himself in this plush office with its matching blue carpet and padded chairs.
‘Right, then, the Grange’s account has only recently come into our hands. It’s the sort of bread and butter thing we do all the time, really. There was nothing to show that this was an unusual client until those murders happened.’
‘The clinic’s accounts were all in order, then?’
‘Well, the last audit had been done by our predecessors fairly recently so we weren’t due to check the books as soon as this. But of course you folk made us look a bit closer.’
‘And?’
‘And there are discrepancies in the accounting. It took a while for me to spot them but I can show you,’ Stirling handed over a sheaf of papers folded back at a particular page. A turquoise highlighter pen marked several figures in a column.
‘What do they indicate?’ Cameron wanted to know.
‘Unauthorised withdrawals from the main account.’
Cameron frowned. ‘How could that happen?’
‘Any withdrawals above a certain amount require two signatures. These only show one.’
‘Ah,’ Cameron nodded, understanding what the accountant meant. Against each of the turquoise figures was the name of the person who had taken several large sums of money from the clinic’s account. Cameron flicked over the sheets of paper, seeing the same name again and again. It was Mrs Maureen Baillie.
‘What exactly does this mean, then?’ he asked. ‘Mrs Baillie is the Director of the clinic.’
‘She’s one of the Directors,’ Stirling replied firmly. ‘And unless the other Directors are aware of her taking out these sums of money then there’s only one conclusion we can come to, I’m afraid.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Embezzlement.’
‘How did you find out?’
