tap on the door. PC Annie Irvine stepped into the room, a large square bag slung over her shoulder. The policewoman smiled then gave a nod to the Director. Lorimer stood aside to let her move into a position where Phyllis could see her.
‘You can go now, Mrs Baillie. My officer will let you know if there’s anything we need. Thank you.’ Lorimer held the door open as if to emphasise the point. She wasn’t wanted. Police interviews were conducted in private, no matter what the circumstances.
Mrs Baillie looked as if she might argue the toss but a glance at Lorimer’s face showed she’d decided against it. They heard the sound of her feet quietly padding down the corridor as Lorimer closed the door.
‘Here’s a couple of chairs, sir,’ Annie had spotted the grey stacking chairs and was lifting them over the side of Phyllis’s bed. ‘Is it OK, ma’am?’ she added, looking directly at Phyllis.
The woman in the bed gave a tiny nod and Lorimer saw a faint smile play about her lips. Maybe this wouldn’t be so impossible after all. He positioned his chair close to the bed so that the woman and he were facing one another.
‘Hallo again,’ he began. ‘You do remember me, don’t you?’ His tone was gentle but firm. He didn’t intend to insult her by being condescending. There was nothing worse for disabled folk than being talked down to like children. She gave that slight nod again and her smile deepened.
‘The last time I was here it was to investigate the death of a nurse, Kirsty MacLeod,’ he continued, still gazing at her face, her penetrating eyes.
She closed them and opened them again. Was she trying to blot out the memory of that night? He hoped she wouldn’t, for his sake and for Kirsty’s.
‘May I ask you about that night?’
Phyllis frowned at him as if he’d said something out of place so he added quickly, ‘Look, I know you can’t talk to me, but I’d like to think we can communicate all the same. Give a nod if you mean ‘yes’. Close your eyes if it’s a ‘no’. Can you do that?’
There was a tiny movement of the woman’s head that Lorimer took to be a nod. Lorimer turned to Annie, who was busy unpacking the video camera she’d brought.
‘We’d like to make a recording of this interview. It’s a little unorthodox, perhaps, but then your situation is, let’s say, a bit different.’
The woman had her gaze trained on his, he noticed. She could hear him, no bother, then. But just what was going on behind that steady expression?
‘PC Annie Irvine recording in the Grange clinic for neural disorders. DCI Lorimer interviewing Mrs Phyllis Logan. Date and time preset,’ Annie’s voice broke into his thoughts. OK, this was it.
He took a deep breath before asking, ‘We need to know exactly what took place in the clinic on the night that Kirsty died. And I’d like to know if you heard anything.’
The nod she gave was quite definite now and her eyes were staring at him, huge and fearful. She’d heard something all right. Lorimer edged his chair closer to the bed. He spoke slowly and deliberately, watching Phyllis’s every reaction. Her eyes flickered once in Annie’s direction then passed back to him as if she was indifferent to the presence of the camera.
‘Right, now. Did you hear anything unusual outside your door on the night of…’
Lorimer broke off. The woman in the bed was making high-pitched mewing sounds, as if she was trying to tell him something. Tears threatened to spill over from those huge eyes.
Lorimer leant closer. ‘You heard something?’
Phyllis gave a nod. Her eyes were round and staring.
‘Was it a sound like something being dragged past your door?’
Again that tiny jerk of the head meant yes.
‘Did you hear any noises coming from the far end of the corridor?’ The woman’s brow furrowed for a moment.
‘A noise like something heavy falling down a flight of stairs?’
She gave another frown then shut her eyes quite deliberately before nodding again.
Was she telling him ‘Yes and no’? How the hell could he draw out all the details? For a second Lorimer clenched his teeth in frustration. Then he looked at the woman in bed. Dear Christ! If this was how he felt what on earth must it be like for her? He breathed in and out, deliberately relaxing himself before continuing.
‘Did you hear a door banging shut? A heavy door?’
The nod confirmed her answer this time.
Lorimer paused, still holding her eyes in his, trying to see what she had seen.
‘Phyllis, did you hear footsteps coming back along in this direction?’
Lorimer watched as her mouth worked noiselessly, trying to form words that nobody could hear. A plaintive sound came from within her, repeated over and over again as her head tilted up and down in agitation. Then suddenly her eyes flitted past him and stared wildly at the door, making Lorimer turn to see who had come into the room.
There was no one there. What was she trying to tell him?
He could feel a growing excitement inside as he asked her, ‘Phyllis. I want you to think very carefully before you nod again. Did you see anybody in here just after you’d heard the noise of the door banging?’
Her eyes switched back to his. He could see the sigh unfold in her chest as if she’d been waiting for this question that he’d finally asked. She gave a nod.
‘That’s ‘yes’, Phyllis. You’re telling me that you saw someone in here that night?’
The nod came again but Lorimer could see the strain on her face. The effort of making even these small movements was exhausting the sick woman.
‘Was it anyone you knew?’
Her eyelids fluttered. Was that a ‘no’ or was she simply unable to keep her eyes open?
‘Did Leigh Quinn come into your room that night?’
The movement of the woman’s head was imperceptible. Not a nod at all, more of a gesture of inquiry as if she was puzzled by the question.
‘Phyllis. Did a man come into your room?’
She nodded but the movement was clearly an effort as her head hung forward, its weight drawing Phyllis’s face towards the sheets.
‘Was this man a stranger to you, then?’
Had she nodded? He couldn’t be sure.
Lorimer gazed at her wasted body. Could he really put his faith in this invalid? A niggle of doubt began to bother him. Was she a reliable witness? Should he even be questioning her like this?
Lorimer’s eyes travelled back to her face. The body might be wasted but here was no doubting the intelligence locked inside that impaired nervous system. As Phyllis’s eyes met his, he realised that he had no need to doubt her. That steady expression told him that she was willing him to see whatever she had seen.
‘Did he speak to you?’
Lorimer saw the muscles in her face twitch as a spasm passed through them. Her eyes widened in fear but her head nodded forwards.
‘And threaten you?’
Her eyes bored into his as she gave a nod.
Lorimer glanced up at Annie Irvine. They were on the brink of something momentous.
‘Phyllis. Do you believe that you saw the person who killed Kirsty MacLeod?’
There came a small weeping from the woman in the bed, tiny stifled cries as the tears flowed down into the pillow. Slithers of mucus dropped from her open mouth. For an instant Lorimer stared at her, absorbing her grief. Then he felt in his pocket for a clean handkerchief. Folding it around his index finger, he wiped away the tears. Carefully he gathered up the wet trails hanging from Phyllis’s mouth and dried her chin.
Her breath shuddered suddenly. Lorimer’s simple actions seemed to have calmed the woman. Her head was drooping low and she looked awkward, propped up on a bank of pillows that no longer gave her any support. Lorimer didn’t hesitate. He knew he was probably breaking all sorts of rules, nevertheless he thrust an arm around the exhausted woman’s shoulders then pulled her further down into the sheets until her head was resting against the pillows once more. Well, he’d broken rules before and, hell, all those leading questions might be thrown out in
