bed.’
‘When did you find out about Kirsty MacLeod’s murder?’ Solomon asked.
Sam Fulton turned as if he had forgotten the psychologist’s presence. ‘The next morning. Mrs Baillie telt us on our way to Glasgow Airport.’
‘So you knew nothing about it before then?’
‘Naw.’ Fulton’s chin came up defiantly as he looked Solly in the eye.
‘Where were you on the night of January 12 this year?’ Lorimer asked suddenly.
Fulton frowned. ‘How the hell should ah know that? Ah’ve no been well. Ah cannae remember dates an’ things,’ he added with a hint of a smirk across his face.
‘Is there anybody who could help you remember?’ Lorimer asked. ‘A friend or family member who could verify your whereabouts?’
Fulton licked his lips nervously. ‘Here. Whit is a’ this? You sayin’ ah done something? Is that it?’ he leant forward on the seat once more, his shoulders bunching around his ears.
‘We have to eliminate as many people as possible from our inquiries, Mr Fulton. We are looking into the possibility that Nurse MacLeod was killed by the same person who carried out the murder in Queen Street station in January.’
‘Aw,’ Fulton’s face showed some relief. ‘That one. Aye. Ah read aboot that in the papers. Naw. Ah wis nae there. Ah wis up the hoose maist o’ that time,’ he turned to Solomon. ‘Wi’ my problem,’ he said.
‘According to our notes you became an inpatient at the Grange on January 25,’ Lorimer told him.
‘Aye. Burns night. They had tae haud me doon,’ Fulton smirked again.
‘Mr Fulton, forgive me, but wasn’t it rather an expense for you to enter a private clinic for such a prolonged stay?’
‘Oh, aye. It’s a hell of an expense. But ah’ve goat kinda special terms, see?’
Lorimer nodded. He’d let that one pass. How a former shipyard worker who had been unemployed for as long as Fulton could have obtained private medical insurance, if that’s what he meant by special terms, was something of a mystery, though. There were things about this man that didn’t add up.
‘So could you find anybody who would verify that you were housebound on the night of January 12?’ Lorimer insisted.
‘Aye. Nae bother. I’ll speak tae wan o’ the boys.’
‘Boys?’
‘Aye. Ma lads. Gerry and Stephen. They’ll tell ye ah wis home a’ the time.’
‘Thank you.’
‘When do you expect to return to Glasgow?’ Solomon asked.
Fulton shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Sometime. It’s an open ticket we’ve goat. Maybe in a week or so. How?’
‘We need to know your whereabouts, Mr Fulton. It’s routine, that’s all,’ Lorimer answered for him. ‘Anyway, thank you for your time. If Sister Angelica is ready, we’d like to speak to her now.’
‘That it?’ Fulton asked, rising to his feet. ‘Right. OK, well. I’ll see if she’s there,’ he raised his hand in a short salute of farewell and headed for the door. As he left, he turned and glowered at the two men sitting by the window. Solly, seeing his expression merely smiled and nodded in return.
The woman came into the room immediately. She was, they saw, dressed for the outdoors, her wax coat already buttoned up.
‘Not a day for sitting inside. You can talk to me all you want but don’t expect me to sit in here.’
She paused for a moment, regarding Solomon and Lorimer who had risen to their feet. ‘Got any warm jackets? That’s a north easterly wind, you know.’ Looking them up and down, she went back into the hallway calling, ‘Sula! Here, lass!’ There was the sound of claws scrabbling along the polished wooden floor then a dog whining excitedly. ‘Come on, then,’ Sister Angelica flung over her shoulder, ‘What are you waiting for?’
Lorimer handed over the car keys to Solly. ‘Jackets?’
‘If she says so,’ Solly raised his eyebrows.
The road from the house flowed over a rise and down towards the sea. Sister Angelica strode ahead, the collie barking at her heels. Overhead a gull squawked. Catching her up, Lorimer signalled the woman to slow down. Behind him, Solly walked, just within earshot.
‘Right-oh. What d’you want to ask a mad old nun, then?’ she grinned, turning to meet Lorimer’s eye.
Lorimer smiled back. ‘Not so old and not so mad, I think.’
Sister Angelica flung back her head and gave a hoot of laughter. ‘Well, maybe not so mad any more. Whatever they hoped to achieve seems to have worked. I’ll grant them that. Still, you can’t turn the clock back and I’m not going to see the right side of fifty again. There’s no known cure for the ageing process.’
‘We need to ask you about Kirsty MacLeod.’
The nun slowed her stride but kept on walking. ‘She’s dead. Someone killed her and it happened in the Grange while I was there.’ She looked at Lorimer, a thoughtful expression on her face. ‘That’s all there is to know. She was a thoroughly nice young woman and nobody had any right to take her life away.’
Lorimer nodded. ‘That’s how I feel. That’s why we’re here. To try to find out as much as we can about the people who were there in the Grange that night.’
‘Chief Inspector. I really don’t see how I can help you. Some intruder obviously broke in and killed the girl. The back door of the basement was open, after all.’
‘How do you know that? You left early the next morning.’
‘Mrs Baillie told us. She said someone had broken in and attacked Kirsty. She said we’d be questioned by the police eventually. Sam thought it was a bit daft to go, just like that.’
‘So why did you leave?’
Sister Angelica gazed at the ground as if the wind blown grasses could supply her answer then she looked up at Lorimer.
‘Cowardice, I suppose. We just wanted to be away from the place. Even though I knew it was our duty to talk to the police we let Mrs Baillie persuade us. I’m ashamed to say we didn’t take much persuading.’
‘Can you remember the events of that night?’
‘Oh, yes. I remember them all right. I was sitting up in bed when Mrs Duncan began screaming at the top of her voice. We all began to drift into the corridor to see what had happened.’
‘What did you think had happened?’
‘I thought someone had topped themselves. Peter said there had been an accident and we should all go back to bed but I stayed.’
‘Why?’
The woman shrugged. ‘Force of habit, if you’ll excuse the pun. I’m used to being around crises.’
Lorimer let this go. It was probably true. ‘So, what happened then?’
‘Mrs Baillie tried to calm her down and Peter let me come into the staff room to make some tea. They didn’t seem to mind me being there,’ she added, as if this had only just occurred to her. ‘Mrs Duncan was shaking and sobbing by this time and I heard Mrs Baillie tell Peter she was going to telephone the police. That was when she told me to go back to my room.’
‘And did you?’
‘Yes,’ she hesitated as if there was something more she wanted to say but couldn’t form the words.
‘Did you see anything strange that night, Sister?’ Lorimer looked intently at the nun.
‘Not strange, not really. Just,’ she gave her head a shake as if to clear her brain. ‘Just unusual.’
‘What was that?’
‘When I got back to my room one of the other patients was kneeling by my bed. praying.’
Lorimer stopped and caught her arm. ‘I would say that was very unusual.’
Sister Angelica gave a sigh. ‘More’s the pity, I say. But, you’re wrong as it happens. They all knew I was a nun and some of them would come into my room to talk about spiritual matters. I encouraged them. I even held a time of prayer each week. Well, they needed guidance if they were in a clinic for neural disorders, didn’t they?’ she said briskly.
‘Who was in your room, Sister?’
The woman sighed again, her large white face turned up to Lorimer’s. ‘It was Leigh,’ she said. ‘And he was
