A Small Weeping (22 page)

It was already daylight and he’d only slept for about three hours but Lorimer felt wide awake as he lay on his back staring at the bright gap in the curtains. He’d been dreaming about the St Mungo’s case. In his dream he was being chased by a figure in the park that had somehow turned into to Maggie. He’d woken with a start, relieved to see her sleeping soundly by his side. But it had got him thinking.

He remembered the moment in that other case when he’d suddenly realised he’d been looking at things all the wrong way round. Maybe he was doing it again. Lateral thinking, he told himself. Open up your mind.

The image of the rusted railing leading to the basement of the Grange came back to him. If the killer had come in that way then how had he crept up on Kirsty? Lorimer traced the whole route in his mind from the stairs leading into the corridor and through the double doors leading to the main building. No. Wait a minute. There was something missing. The room where Phyllis Logan lay,
her body full of tubes. Lorimer recalled those bright eyes. She couldn’t talk, he’d been told. But nobody had said she couldn’t hear, had they?

For a moment he lay quite still. They’d interviewed the other residents, but not her. Was it worth a try? If the woman had heard something maybe there could be a way of finding out what it was?

Phyllis felt the sun warming her hands. She observed them on the white cuff of the sheet, drained of colour in the brightness, thin membranes stretched over knobs of bone. Her nails grew hard and gnarled, pale ochre, the colour of an animal’s hoof. It was an irony (one of many she’d noted with a bitter smile) that she’d suffered split and brittle nails in her younger days when such small vanities had mattered, and now her fingernails grew strong and hard when nothing like that was of any importance. It was simply a result of the drugs she had to take. That’s what young Kirsty had told her.

Phyllis remembered her lilting voice and the way she’d made conversation as if Phyllis could actually answer her back. She’d felt easy and comfortable with that young girl. She’d longed to be able to talk to her, to share some of her own past, the way Kirsty had shared hers. She knew all about the drowned father, the loss of her mum, the growing up years she’d spent on the croft with her old auntie. They’d been kindred spirits in some ways, though she’d never been able to tell Kirsty that of course. Phyllis, too, had been a solitary child. No brothers or sisters. She wondered what life would have been like having siblings. Would they have cared for her at home? Or would she have ended up staying here, no matter what? The ideas
she pushed around her head were totally objective. Phyllis was long past the stage of self-pity. Yet it was pity she felt for Kirsty. Pity and grief that her young life had been so cruelly cut short.

A spasm passed through her hand, making it flicker with a sudden illusion of life. It was a nervous shudder, no more. The sun must have passed behind a cloud for the warmth had gone out of the room and now her hands were like two dead fish, pale and untwitching.

Phyllis turned her eyes at the noise of swing doors opening and shutting a small distance away. She could hear voices. There were people coming along her corridor, a man and Maureen Baillie. She couldn’t mistake her voice. She was in and out of Phyllis’s room quite often these days, making sure everything was in order.

Mrs Baillie didn’t knock.

She watched the woman stride into the room, hands bunched into fists at her side. There was a determined set to her jaw as she spoke.

‘This is Chief Inspector Lorimer, Phyllis. He’s investigating the events that happened here. He’d like to talk to you. Is that all right?’

Phyllis’s eyes travelled over the man as he came into view. She saw a tall figure whose dark hair straggled over his collar. She focused on the face. There was a certain weariness etched into the lines around his mouth but the eyes that regarded her were a bright, unforgettable blue. It was him. The one who’d come before. That night. So he was a policeman, was he? That pleased her. She liked to know who was on her side.

Lorimer had noticed that the Director had failed to knock but simply swept into the room and now stood
with her back to the window. He looked from her face, which was in shadow, to the immobile figure in the bed. The eyes looked back at him, unflickering. Lorimer saw a keen intelligence there.

Mrs Baillie folded her arms, looking as if she were waiting for Lorimer to begin. Just then there was a light 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 a court of law anyway.

This video could turn out to be a total waste of time. Lorimer sat back looking at the patient. Her body was rigid with pain. It was not only pointless but cruel forcing any more out of her now. Besides, she’d given him plenty to work on already.

‘DCI Lorimer terminating the interview,’ he said. He heard the buzz from the video camera as Annie retracted the zoom and ended the recording. He was pretty sure that there were several leads he could follow from what Phyllis had given him. part of him wanted to be up and off to study the footage they’d just recorded but there was something he had to do first. Right now he had a duty to protect this vulnerable witness.

‘Ask Mrs Baillie to come back in here, would you, Annie?’

As the policewoman left the room there was a low moan from the woman in the bed. Lorimer returned to his place beside her and took her hand. It felt cold and bloodless.

Phyllis turned her head away from him and then moved it back to look into his eyes, making sure he was watching
her. Then she turned once more, staring at the large vase of flowers set on top of her locker.

‘Is it the flowers, Phyllis?’ Lorimer felt the cold hand in his, motionless. She continued to stare at him, then, imperceptibly, she nodded.

Suddenly Lorimer realised what it was she had been trying to tell him. The flowers!

‘Did the man take a carnation from your vase, Phyllis? A red carnation?’

The woman gave Lorimer a long hard stare then, quite deliberately, nodded her head, once, in definite affirmation.

Her shoulders relaxed in the sigh that followed. Now she really had expended all her energy. Her eyes closed and Lorimer heard her breathing steadily until he was sure that she had fallen asleep.