been a background of involvement in grassroots politics, especially in the years he’d spent at university. After graduation he’d been in local government for a few years but had lost that job as a result of his heavy drinking.
That hadn’t been all he’d lost, though, the case notes told Lorimer. Quinn had been married with a baby son. Both wife and child had perished in a house fire. Quinn had escaped, physically unhurt but with unseen scars that refused to heal. The file had recorded how he’d left Dublin to look for work in Glasgow. For six months he’d held down a job as a hotel porter before slipping into spells of depression that led him onto the streets. Rescued by the Simon Community, it had appeared that Quinn had tried to pull himself together but the depression had worsened until he’d been admitted to the Grange.
Lorimer had tried to make enquiries about his admission, but had drawn a blank so far. How could a down- and-out like Quinn afford the private fees demanded by a place like this? He recalled Sam Fulton. Something was going on here that didn’t make any sense. How could men like that pay for such specialist attention?
His thoughts were interrupted by Sister Pearson’s return.
‘I’ve asked him to talk to you in his own room, Chief inspector, if that’s all right?’
‘Fine. Thank you,’ Lorimer replied. The woman turned to lead them back along the corridor but Lorimer stopped her.
‘Nobody on reception today?’ he asked.
‘Oh.’ The woman bit her lip. ‘Actually, our receptionist left us suddenly. We haven’t had time to find a replacement yet.’
‘Did she give a reason for leaving?’ Wilson asked.
Sister Pearson’s shoulders slumped suddenly. ‘You can’t blame her really. Two nurses dead like that. We’ve had other resignations as well.’ She looked up at Lorimer, meeting his gaze defiantly. ‘It’s hard for the patients, too. Until you catch this man they feel they’re under suspicion,’ she said.
‘Well, Sister, that’s just what we’re trying to do,’ Lorimer said quietly.
Ellie dropped her eyes. The man sounded so tired. God knows what sort of job he had to do. Of course the police would be doing their best. She looked up again. ‘Leigh’s in here,’ she motioned towards an open door off the main corridor.
She rapped on the door. ‘Leigh. Visitors for you.’ Ellie pushed open the door and stood back to let Lorimer and Wilson into the room then, catching the Chief Inspector’s eye, she retreated.
Behind her, Lorimer pushed the door shut. The Irishman was sitting by the bay window with his back to them. Instinctively Lorimer looked out at the trees framing the sky. Leigh Quinn’s accommodation certainly didn’t lack for a good view. Again the question of how he came to be there in the first place niggled at the edges of his mind. A quick look around the room showed a bed and a couple of easy chairs clad in matching turquoise fabric. The walls were painted in pale green emulsion broken up by prints of Monet’s garden. A pair of slippers lay neatly by the bed and several books were piled up on the bedside table. Apart from that there were no signs of personal possessions. The man could have been a hotel guest on an overnight stay rather than a long-term patient.
‘Mr Quinn,’ Lorimer said, expecting the man to turn at the sound of his voice but the Irishman stayed motionless as if glued to whatever he was seeing. Lorimer shifted his position so that his reflection was directly in the man’s line of vision, noting a slight movement of the dark head. Even seated, he could see that Quinn was a tall man, though his frame was so gaunt that Lorimer supposed that his depression had affected his appetite.
With a nod, he motioned to Alistair Wilson and his sergeant placed himself on one side of the patient while Lorimer took a chair from the side of the bed and sat down on the other.
‘Mr Quinn,’ he began again. ‘We would like to ask you some questions.’ The man continued to stare out of the window but Lorimer had the distinct impression that he was taking in every word.
‘I went to visit Sister Angelica. She told me you had been very upset on the night Kirsty MacLeod was murdered. Can you confirm that, please?’ Lorimer’s voice was quiet but firm, devoid of any supplication.
Leigh Quinn turned his head and stared at Lorimer. The man was breathing in short spurts as if he’d been running hard. Was he about to suffer a panic attack? He fervently hoped not.
Then a long sigh escaped the Irishman and he shook his head wearily. ‘She should not have been killed,’ he said at last, looking away from Lorimer and gazing into his cupped hands. ‘She was a wee flower.’
Over his head, Lorimer caught Wilson’s eye.
‘You were fond of Kirsty?’
The dark, shaggy head nodded again and Quinn put his hands over his eyes as if to blot out a memory.
‘Sister Angelica told us she found you praying in her room. Is that right?’
The hands were still covering his eyes as the man nodded again.
Outside a blackbird called in liquid notes from the treetops, heightening the silence within the room. Lorimer waited for a moment before speaking.
‘Brenda Duncan has also been killed, Leigh. Did you know that?’ Lorimer’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. He saw the man’s head nod into his hands.
‘Who told you?’
Quinn took his hands away from his eyes, clasping them together on his knees. ‘A nurse.’
‘Have you been out of the clinic in the last two days, Leigh? For a long walk maybe?’ Alistair Wilson asked, diverting the man’s attention from Lorimer.
Quinn’s head turned towards the sergeant, a puzzled frown on his pallid face.
‘Do you know where Brenda lives, maybe?’
Quinn’s face froze in sudden understanding.
‘No. I’ve been for…walks, sure,’ he began slowly, stumbling over his words. ‘Not out of the grounds.’ He shook his head and turned to Lorimer as if this was something he should know.
‘Can anybody confirm this?’ Wilson persisted. Quinn shook his head, his eyes still fixed on Lorimer’s. The man’s gaze was shrewd, Lorimer thought. He knows fine what we’re asking him.
‘Do you remember the night before last, Leigh? It was pouring with rain,’ Lorimer asked.
Leigh Quinn pushed back the chair and stood up, putting his hands out against the glass of the window. Lorimer watched as the man’s breath clouded up in little circles against the cold pane. Wilson started as if he was going to pull him back down but Lorimer raised a hand and shook his head, seeing Quinn push his face right up against the glass.
What was the gesture meant to signify, he wondered, suddenly wishing that he had Solly Brightman there in the room. Was the Irishman trying to escape from them or was he simply trying to make the two policemen disappear?
‘You’re not thinking of leaving the Grange, are you, Leigh?’ Lorimer asked suddenly.
He heard a sniff from the man and a muffled ‘No’ then watched as the man rested his head on his forearms and began to sob.
Lorimer stayed still. Were those tears of remorse? Or was Leigh Quinn still grieving for a young Island girl who’d befriended so many of the patients here? He waited until the sobs quietened. Quinn pulled out a pocket handkerchief and blew his nose then slumped back down on the chair.
‘I didn’t kill anyone,’ he sighed. ‘That’s what you’re thinking, though.’ He looked across at Lorimer, defeat in his eyes.
‘We need to check the whereabouts of everybody who was here two nights ago,’ Lorimer told him. ‘If you can find somebody who would vouch for your presence here from eight-thirty onwards, that would be a help.’
Quinn nodded then stared back into space.
‘Can you?’
There was no reply as the Irishman failed to react. He’d said all he was going to say, for now, Lorimer realised, watching the dark eyes glaze over. Even so, having him talk at all was a major breakthrough. He signalled to Wilson and they got up to leave. Turning before he left the room, Lorimer saw the face of Leigh Quinn reflected in the glass like a faded print, the luminous eyes unblinking.
‘Chief Inspector.’ Lorimer turned to see Ellie Pearson hovering in the corridor.
She beckoned them with a finger as if afraid to disturb the silence in the room. ‘Dr Richards would like a word with you.’ Lorimer and Wilson followed her down the corridor to a room simply marked ‘Staff.’
Sister Pearson knocked and opened the door. ‘Dr Richards. Chief Inspector Lorimer and Sergeant Wilson.’
