The Danger Within

Eleven

Vogel didn’t move. In fact, he froze. It was obviously not the first time he had been confronted by a hysterical witness or suspect. But he never got any better at dealing with it. He was, of course, not much good at dealing with any overt displays of emotion.

Also, he suspected that on this occasion Gill Quinn’s outburst of hysteria had been at least partially his fault.

Saslow, conversely, had always seemed to be good at that sort of thing. Thank God, thought Vogel.

The DS moved fast, propelling herself up out of her chair and around the table which separated the two officers from their suspect. Then she just wrapped her arms right around Gill, rather startling Vogel. Rightly or wrongly, social distancing rules had ended in the UK, and masks were no longer required by law in England, but the pandemic was far from over worldwide.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘You’re still in shock. You’ll feel better soon. Things will be clearer...’

PC Jack Porter, the uniformed constable on sentry duty at the door, stepped forward, looking as if he was ready to help. Vogel stood up, stepped sideways, and moved slightly closer to the two women. But he had no intention of touching Gill Quinn.

Saslow continued to speak softly. Eventually, and it felt like a very long ‘eventually’ to Vogel, Gill stopped screaming. Then she buried her head in Saslow’s shoulder and began to sob. Her shoulders heaved. She seemed to be gasping for breath.

Vogel turned to PC Porter.

‘We’d better get a doctor in here,’ he said. ‘Soonest.’

The PC turned and headed back to the door. As he opened it, DC Perkins entered, then stopped abruptly, as if mesmerized by the sobbing woman before him.

‘What is it, Perkins?’ Vogel snapped, displaying none of his usual patience.

‘C-could I have a word with you outside, boss?’ the young DC asked, stumbling slightly over his words.

Vogel followed him into the corridor.

‘We’ve made contact with Gregory Quinn, the son, boss, and...’ Perkins began, then he paused, clearly agitated, and also distracted by the sounds of sobbing which could still be heard clearly through the closed door.

‘C’mon, lad, spit it out,’ instructed Vogel.

‘Sorry, boss. Well, when told of his father’s death, he seemed more concerned about his mother apparently. We had to tell him where she was, and he’s on his way here. He’s been informed that we couldn’t even guarantee he could see his mother. But he was quite determined. Apparently he spent the night in Torrington with a mate. They went out drinking and he had a skinful. That’s what he says, anyway. Don’t think he’ll be long. Sorry, boss...’

‘Don’t be sorry, Perkins. He may be just what we need...’

‘Really, boss?’

‘Yes. We can’t keep Gill Quinn here much longer. Not in the state she’s in. She needs medical attention, and in any case she’s not telling us anything. But she can’t go home, that’s for sure. Not to a crime scene. Perhaps young Greg will take his mother home with him. That would probably be the best result.’

‘Will you be wanting to interview him, boss?’

‘At some stage, of course. Partly depends how his mother is by the time he gets here. And if we’ve got that doctor here by then...’

As if on cue PC Porter arrived with a woman Vogel did not recognize and who, rather to Vogel’s surprise, the PC introduced as Dr Louise Lamey. How on earth had they got a doctor here that fast, wondered Vogel.

‘Dr Lamey was already in the station,’ Porter explained, almost as if he had read the DCI’s mind. ‘Custody were anxious about the condition of a drunk driver arrested in the early hours. He kept throwing up apparently, all over the—’

‘Thank you Porter, I can do without the intimate details,’ interrupted Vogel.

He turned to the doctor and told her how glad he was to see her, then escorted her into the interview room.

Gill Quinn had stopped sobbing into Saslow’s shoulder, and the DS had moved back to the safety of her chair on the other side of the table. Somebody had provided Gill with a box of paper hankies and she was blowing her nose loudly. She certainly looked calmer, but Vogel could see that her hands were shaking.

Dr Lamey pulled up a chair next to Gill, introduced herself and asked if it was all right to examine her. Gill made no objections.

Dr Lamey took Gill’s temperature and blood pressure, listened to her heart, looked into her eyes, and asked her some basic questions about how she felt, which, again rather to Vogel’s surprise, Gill Quinn answered, albeit in a monosyllabic fashion.

When the doctor had finished she moved to leave the room, gesturing for Vogel to follow her.

‘Severe shock, as I’m sure you realize,’ she began once the two of them were outside. ‘And before you ask, no reason to doubt that it’s anything but completely genuine. Her heart is racing, her skin is clammy, and her breathing is not quite as it should be. I’m going to prescribe a mild sedative. What she needs now is rest. A good long sleep. Are you keeping her in?’

Vogel shook his head. ‘We don’t intend to, no. We’re nowhere near ready to charge her. We need to question her further, but at the moment we can’t get anywhere with her.’

And I don’t want her passing out on us, or worse, he thought, although he didn’t say it. Vogel had never had a suspect die in custody or while being questioned, but he knew of it happening. It was something he had no wish to experience.

‘Neither are you likely to get anywhere with her for the time being,’ commented the doctor. ‘Not until sleep has hopefully worked its magic. My advice to you is to send her home and give her at least twenty-four hours rest before you approach her again.’

If only, thought Vogel. But all he said was: ‘Thank you, doctor.’

Perkins was not in sight. Vogel called him to check if Gill’s son had arrived.

‘Apparently he’s just walked into the front office,’ said Perkins. ‘I’m on my way there. What do you want me to do with him?’

‘Is there another interview room free?’

‘I think so, yes, boss.’

‘Good. Get it set up. I think I’ll have a chat with young Mr Quinn straight away.’

Vogel delegated PC Porter, an officer approaching retirement who gave the impression that he’d seen it all before and nothing was going to faze him, to look after Gill. The DCI hoped that there would be no further outbursts from her, but reckoned there was probably no one better than Porter to play nanny.

He took Saslow with him to assist in the interview with Gregory, or Greg, Quinn.

Quinn was a handsome young man. Even Vogel noticed that. He was sitting at the table in the middle of the little room, but he stood when the two officers entered. He was exceptionally tall, probably six foot three or four, broad-shouldered, and with the naturally well-muscled look of a man who earned his living primarily by means of manual labour.

He had blonde hair which fell almost to his shoulders, perhaps unfashionably long in the present day and age, and a smattering of designer stubble, which, conversely, was fashionable. Tediously fashionable, Vogel often thought. And not always attractive. In his opinion Greg Quinn would look even more handsome without it.

The young man’s features were even and chiselled. His eyes very blue and bright. They were also full of concern.

‘Thank you for coming—’ Vogel began.

Quinn interrupted him at once. His voice was not entirely level. ‘I want to know what’s going on,’ he said, a sweep of one arm taking in what was clearly a formal interview room furnished with full video equipment.

He was well spoken, a legacy of that public-school education Vogel assumed, but with just a hint of Devon burr.

‘I came here to get my mother,’ Greg Quinn continued. ‘Why’ve I been put in here? Am I a suspect or something, for God’s sake? I just want to see my mother.’

‘And so you shall, very soon,’ said Vogel. ‘But I do need to talk to you, Greg.’

Obliquely Vogel realized he had automatically addressed the young man by his first name without asking permission to do so. He really was youthist, he thought.

‘We would have sought you out sooner or later, if you had not been kind enough to come in, talked to you at your home, first up, more than likely,’ he continued. ‘But as you are here, well I thought we would take the opportunity for an on-the-record chat. Quite a few points we rather hope you might be able to help us clear up. That’s all.’

There was a brief silence before Quinn spoke again.

‘Am I entitled to a solicitor?’ he asked.

Vogel very deliberately raised both eyebrows. ‘If you wish. Yes. Of course you are.’

‘But I’m not a suspect?’

‘You are merely helping us with our enquiries, Greg,’ responded Vogel, deliberately dodging the question. In a murder investigation, everyone with even a tenuous connection with the deceased is a suspect, in the first instance at any rate. And family topped the list.

If Quinn realized that the issue had been avoided, he gave no sign of it.

‘OK then, let’s get on with it, shall we,’ he said, as he lowered himself into his chair again.

‘To begin with, Greg, may I say how sorry I am for your loss, and under such dreadful circumstances,’ said Vogel. ‘I don’t expect this to take long.’

The young man merely nodded in response, but just a little of the tension seemed to leave him.

‘I wondered if I could ask you to begin with, when you last saw your father?’

Greg looked mildly taken back. Almost as if he hadn’t expected that question, even though to Vogel it was an obvious one in the case of a violent death.

‘Uh, I’m not sure,’ Greg Quinn muttered.

Vogel waited.

‘Umm, about a month ago,’ he continued after a short pause. ‘Maybe a bit more.’

‘And where did you see him?’

‘Where? Um. Well, it was outside the yard. Where I work. I was having a smoke. He came by in his car, saw me, and stopped.’

‘Right. So did he park? Get out of his car? Or did you get in?’

‘What? With a fag in my hand? Are you kidding? He’d have gone mad. We just passed the time of day. That was it, really. Anyway the Northam bus came up behind him, and he had to pull away.’

Greg paused.

‘Look. I want to see my mother. I’m worried sick about her. She shouldn’t be here. I mean, you can’t keep her. Unless you’ve arrested her. Have you arrested her?’

‘No, Greg. Your mother has not been arrested. She is helping us with our enquiries voluntarily. But actually, until we succeeded in contacting you, we were not in touch with anyone who might be able to take care of her, and we were unaware of anywhere else she could go. Your family home is a crime scene, as I’m sure you would expect. Also, we could not let her leave here until she had seen a doctor, which she now has.’

‘A doctor? What’s wrong. I-is she all right?’

Greg was a picture of filial concern.

‘Your mother is in a state of extreme shock, Greg. The doctor has prescribed a mild sedative, and says that what she needs is rest—’

‘I’ll make sure she gets it,’ interrupted Greg. ‘She can stay at my place. For as long as she needs to. I’ll sleep on the sofa.’

‘That’s good,’ remarked Vogel. ‘I’d appreciate it though if you would answer just a few more questions before you leave. It might save us bothering you later.’

Greg nodded his agreement.

‘Good,’ said Vogel again. ‘So, could you please tell me when you last saw your mother?’

‘Uh yes. It was a couple of days ago.’

‘And where was that?’

‘I met her after work. There’s a café we go to. It’s not far from her school. We go there quite often.’

‘But you didn’t see your father?’

‘Uh, no.’

‘So, presumably you didn’t go back to the family home with your mother. Is that right?’

‘That’s right. I didn’t go back. I don’t... umm, you see...’

Greg Quinn looked as if he were about to say more. But he didn’t.

He lived just a few miles from his parents’ home. He had spent time with his mother only two days previously, and indicated that he saw her frequently. But not usually at the family home, it seemed. He had not seen his father for a month, and then only fleetingly. Vogel had noticed how even the tone of the young man’s voice changed when he referred to each of his parents.

‘Might I ask what sort of relationship you had with your father, Greg?’ Vogel continued.

Greg Quinn took a moment or two reply. When he did so he shrugged his shoulders and held his hands out palm up.

‘It’s no secret,’ he said. ‘We didn’t get on.’

‘I see. Might I ask why?’

Quinn shrugged again.

‘Oh you know, fathers and sons. To begin with, he couldn’t stand it that I work as a builder, even though he started out on a market stall and doing odd jobs, for God’s sake. He’d become a bit of a snob, I suppose. Thought it was beneath him. Him being this high-flying businessman, and all.’

Vogel thought there was more than a hint of sarcasm in Quinn’s voice when he delivered his final few words. The DCI took note but made no comment.

‘I see,’ he continued. ‘Did you argue about that?’

‘No. Not any more. I moved out when I was seventeen, as soon as I could leave school and get a job. Since then I’ve avoided him. I’ve only ever gone to the house when I’ve known he wasn’t there.’

‘That sounds pretty extreme, Greg.’

‘Not really. He didn’t like me, and I didn’t like him. That’s all.’

‘Perhaps you could tell me what sort of relationship your parents had? How did they get on? Were they happy?’

‘I dunno. I didn’t take much notice. They’d been married nearly twenty-four years. They must have got on OK, I suppose.’

‘Are you absolutely sure you didn’t see either of your parents yesterday?’

‘Yes. Of course I’m sure.’

‘And are you sure that you didn’t go to your family home at any time yesterday, if only to see your mother?’

‘Yes, I’m sure of that too. I didn’t go near the place. Look, what is this? Whatever you say, you’re treating me like a suspect. Do you really think I killed my father?’

‘We just need you to help us with our enquiries, Greg. As I told you. And we are grateful to you for doing so.’

Greg Quinn stood up again, drawing himself up to his full height.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘I presume I’m free to leave then, am I? And can I please take my mother with me.’

Vogel answered both questions in the affirmative.

‘DC Perkins will take you back to the waiting area in the front office,’ he said. ‘And I’ll have your mother brought to you.’

After Quinn had departed, escorted by Perkins, as Vogel had instructed, the DCI turned to Saslow.

‘Well, what do you make of that, Dawn?’ he asked. ‘A father and son who apparently loathed each other.’

‘I suppose it’s another factor,’ responded Dawn Saslow. ‘But motive for murder? Greg moved out years ago. Has his own life presumably. Why would he kill his father now?’

‘I don’t know, Dawn, and I suppose it is unlikely,’ Vogel agreed. ‘But maybe he’s lying, maybe he did go round to St Anne’s Avenue yesterday, found his father at home, and they had some sort of row that got out of hand. Remember the evidence of that neighbour, Mavis something...?’

‘Mavis Tanner,’ Saslow supplied.

‘Yes. She said she heard a row going on at about the time we believe Thomas Quinn was killed. She thought it was a man and a woman, but maybe that’s partly because it’s what she would have expected. Greg has quite a high-pitched voice, certainly for a big man. Perhaps Thomas said something that made him lose control. He picked up the nearest weapon, and years of anger and frustration just boiled over.’

‘Possible, boss. Obviously. But you and I both know that Gill Quinn has to be the most likely suspect. No reason at all so far to believe this is anything other than a marital domestic. She’s the one with maximum opportunity. We don’t know about motive yet. But there’ll be something, I expect. There usually is, within a marriage. Whether or not enough to kill for, well...’

Saslow was interrupted by the somewhat clumsy return of DC Perkins, who tripped over his own feet in his haste to enter the room.

‘There’s been a development, boss,’ he began, his voice and manner both considerably more animated than previously. ‘We’ve had a call from Helen Harris. Said she has important information regarding the Quinn case. Do you know who she is, boss?’

Vogel nodded. ‘Yes, I do.’

He could feel a little shiver of interest running up and down his spine.

‘So what did she have to tell us, Perkins?’ he asked.

‘She wouldn’t say, boss, only that she wanted to speak to someone in authority.’

Vogel grunted. He would have expected little else.

In the short time since he had become permanently stationed in North Devon, Vogel had already had dealings with Helen Harris. She was well known amongst police as well as medical personnel in the area.

She ran the high profile and innovative Helen’s House, a refuge and support centre for abused women — based on Sarah’s House in Arizona, the groundbreaking leader in its field which provides legal advice, medical care, and sheltered accommodation for abused women; all under one roof and largely provided by professionals. Like Sarah’s House, Helen’s House worked closely with the authorities in the region, and even sent representatives to scenes of domestic abuse along with the police and other emergency services.

Vogel’s previous encounter with Helen Harris had not been concerned with a live case, but rather at his first meeting of the regional police liaison committee which met periodically with social services, medical professionals, and others, to discuss what could be done to improve and develop procedure in what remained a vexed area of policing.

Such meetings might not immediately seem to fall within Vogel’s remit, but the chief constable of the Devon and Cornwall force believed in prevention rather than cure, whenever possible. He expected MCT officers, and indeed representatives of almost all areas of policing, to make occasional appearances.

‘He’s got a point, Vogel,’ Nobby Clarke had told him. ‘After all, the vast majority of the major crimes of violence which we are called in to investigate are domestics of some kind.’

Vogel had instinctively taken a liking to Helen Harris, and quickly developed considerable respect for the work she seemed devoted to. She was bang up to date too, and had talked at length at that meeting about the effect of Covid, when couples and families had been forced to isolate and turn in on themselves for long periods of time, resulting in a sharp national increase in incidents of domestic violence.

‘Well then, you’ll have a good idea why she’s called in, boss,’ Perkins continued. ‘It can only mean one thing, surely?’

Vogel was inclined to agree. If Helen Harris was in any way involved in this case, then the implications were pretty obvious. And if she had called in with information, then it would undoubtedly be important. She certainly wasn’t a time waster. She wanted to speak to someone in authority. And Vogel wanted to speak to her.

‘I’ll talk to her myself,’ he told Perkins.

‘Right, boss. Shall I ask her if she can come in?’

Vogel shook his head.

‘No. I’ll go to her. I don’t want to start by ordering her about, and I’ve never been to Helen’s House. If there’s any involvement there, I’d like to check the place out myself.’

He did know vaguely where the House was. In Bideford, in the area known as the top of the town.

‘Tell her I’ll be there within the hour,’ he said. ‘Saslow, with me. Perkins, speak to DI Peters. We should appoint a family liaison officer. Gill’s husband has been murdered, and we do not yet know who the murderer is. We should remember that.’

Perkins looked slightly nonplussed. As well he might. Everything about the case so far, Gill Quinn’s behaviour, the way in which she had reported her husband’s death, and all the circumstantial evidence, indicated that the woman was guilty of his murder. And if Helen’s House was involved in any way that surely added to the probability.

Vogel was not a man who was inclined to count his chickens. Nonetheless he could feel the pieces of the jigsaw beginning to fall into place in his head. And he strongly suspected that his imminent meeting with Helen Harris was going to be vital.

‘OK, Perkins, get on with it,’ he instructed. ‘There’s more than one reason for appointing a FLO, as you know. I’d like someone keeping a very close eye on both mother and son. Don’t forget, Greg Quinn also seems to have a possible motive. Tell DI Peters I want both of them kept on our radar twenty-four-seven.’

‘Got it, boss,’ said Perkins, as he turned rather more smartly on his heels, and made his way out of the room without further incident.