The Danger Within

Nineteen

Vogel’s phone rang just as he and Saslow were leaving the Williams’ home. It was Morag Docherty, the Quinns’ newly appointed FLO, reporting directly to the DCI as instructed.

She was calling from outside Greg Quinn’s flat.

‘They won’t let me in, boss,’ she said. ‘Or rather Greg won’t. He didn’t even come to the door. Just told me on the intercom to go away, that his mother was sleeping and they didn’t need a police nanny.’

Vogel smiled wryly. This was not an unusual response and did not indicate anything in particular.

‘That’s all right, Docherty,’ he responded. ‘You head back to the nick. We can’t force the Quinns to accept a FLO into their home. In any case, Saslow and I are about to pay them a visit.’

He checked his watch as he ended the call and turned to Saslow.

‘So, let’s go straight to Kipling Terrace,’ he instructed. ‘We’d better visit Jason Patel later. It’s almost two thirty already. We’re meeting Dr Lamey at Greg Quinn’s at three, and also we have rather more to put to Mrs Quinn than expected.’

Once in the car he asked Saslow what she had made of Wynne Williams.

‘He’s a bit of a worm, isn’t he, boss?’ the DS responded. ‘But worms are famous for turning.’

Vogel chuckled.

‘They are indeed, Saslow,’ he responded. ‘However, the question is, even if he wanted to, would he ever dare to attack a man so much his superior physically, a man clearly capable of considerable aggression? Does he have it in him?’

‘One thing this job has taught me, boss, is how you never can tell what people might be capable of under the right circumstances, or perhaps I should say, the wrong circumstances,’ Saslow replied. ‘Williams is obviously besotted with Gill Quinn. And we both know how many murders, sometimes brutal murders, are committed in the name of love. We even have a name for them, don’t we? Crimes of passion. Love should play no part in the taking of a life. But it does.’

‘Very philosophical, DS Saslow,’ said Vogel.

Kipling Terrace took the form of a line of conjoined houses, each painted blue and white, and divided into flats, standing proud above the seaside village of Westward Ho!. It was tall, wide, and imposing. Vogel studied the terrace with interest as he and Saslow approached. He had been vaguely aware of it previously, of course, but never been there, not even looked at the terrace properly before. And his first thought was that young Greg had done well for himself. Not being local he was unaware that Kipling Terrace had a chequered past, and that both rentals and purchases there remained something of a bargain.

Vogel and Saslow were a few minutes early for their appointed meeting with Dr Lamey, but so was she. She had already parked in one of the visitors’ spaces when the two officers arrived. She got out of her car to greet them, and they approached the apartment together. They had not notified Greg or his mother of their intended arrival. Vogel was confident of finding them both in. Not only had PC Docherty spoken on the intercom to Gregory Quinn less than half an hour previously, Gill Quinn was unlikely to have fully recovered from the state of extreme shock she had been in earlier. Vogel had seen Greg Quinn with his mother. He didn’t think the young man would leave her alone.

Whether or not Greg would let them in without a tussle was another matter.

Greg answered the intercom quickly. ‘Why don’t you leave us alone?’ he said. ‘You know the state Mum’s in. I thought she was sent home to rest. On doctor’s orders.’

‘That’s correct, Greg,’ said Vogel. ‘However, there’s been a development, and we cannot now wait any longer before seeing your mother again. I have Dr Lamey with me.’

‘I don’t care, you’re not coming in,’ Greg countered. ‘I’ve just sent the other one away.’

Vogel knew the young man must be referring to Morag Docherty.

‘Greg, it is entirely your choice whether or not you welcome a family liaison officer into your home,’ he said. ‘However, I am the senior officer in charge of a murder investigation, and if I wish to see you or your mother you have no choice. If you do not let us in I shall acquire a warrant and, if necessary, force entry.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ muttered Greg Quinn.

Almost immediately there was a buzzing noise, allowing Vogel, Saslow and Dr Lamey to enter the building.

Greg was standing at the open door of his first-floor flat by the time they had climbed the single flight of stairs. As they stepped on to the landing he half closed the door behind him.

‘Mum’s asleep,’ he murmured sotto voce, adding accusatively, ‘you did say you were going to let her rest, Mr Vogel. What is this new development?’

‘I am afraid we have fresh evidence, primarily of a medical nature, which we really need to put to your mother as a matter of urgency,’ he said. ‘And with a doctor in attendance.’

Greg looked as if he might protest, but ultimately he led the way into his white-painted sitting room, simply furnished but high-ceilinged and spacious and, of course, offering spectacular views. He shut the door carefully, then spoke quietly again.

‘I don’t know exactly what you want with my mother now, but I can guess where you’re heading, and I can tell you one thing,’ he said. ‘She didn’t kill my father. There is no way she could do a thing like that. She couldn’t do it, and she didn’t do it.’

In view of the fact that Gill Quinn had just been supplied with what would appear to be an unimpeachable alibi, Vogel considered there was a fair chance the young man might be right. But he didn’t intend to tell him that. Not yet. Meanwhile he wanted to see for himself the level of the abuse Gill had allegedly suffered at her husband’s hands. And he wanted her examined again by a doctor before the signs of that apparently horrific abuse became any less visible.

‘Greg, I really am sorry to intrude again so quickly,’ he said. ‘But I must ask you to rouse your mother and bring her to us. It could be imperative to our investigation, and it could also be very much in her interest.’

‘All right,’ said Greg resignedly. ‘I’ll get her. But I’m not happy. I’m worried about her. It won’t take long, will it?’

Vogel shook his head. ‘I hope not. And don’t forget, Greg, Dr Lamey is here.’

Greg returned in a few minutes with his mother. Gill was wearing a dressing gown, presumably belonging to her son, which was far too big for her. She looked, unsurprisingly, to be still in considerable distress. In addition she had clearly just woken from a deep sleep. Dr Lamey’s medication had obviously done the trick.

Vogel addressed her gently as her son led her to a chair. She seemed a little woozy. Also the effect of the medication, Vogel assumed.

‘I’m sorry to bother you again so soon, Gill,’ he said. ‘But some further information has come our way and I do need to ask you some more questions as a matter of urgency. Firstly, was your husband ever abusive towards you, Gill?’

Gill Quinn’s lower lip began to wobble. Vogel thought she might be about to cry, but she didn’t.

‘He, uh, he liked to be in control,’ she said. ‘That’s all. He liked me do things his way...’

‘He was a bully, a horrible bully,’ interjected Greg, suddenly rising to his feet. ‘He made her life a misery—’

‘Please Greg,’ interrupted Vogel. ‘If you wish to remain whilst we talk to your mother then I must ask you not to interfere. I shall want to talk to you later.’

Greg sat down again without further protest.

‘Gill, was your husband ever physically violent towards you?’

For what seemed to be an inordinately long time Gill did not respond. Vogel began to wonder whether she would reply at all, or whether there would merely be a repeat of the persistent silence she had inflicted on them earlier. Then she spoke. Falteringly, yet devastatingly. She stumbled over her words, but the message was clear enough.

‘H-he didn’t mean to be. He never meant it. I know that. It was nothing. R-really. I’m sure it h-happens in many marriages...’

Gill’s voice drifted off.

‘We’ve been told that he attacked you, on not infrequent occasions, and that he hurt you very badly sometimes. Is that not so?’

‘N-not that badly.’

‘Gill, we have also been told that you spent most of yesterday at Helen’s House, which, of course, is a refuge for victims of domestic violence. Is that where you were yesterday afternoon, Gill?’

Greg looked for a split second as if he might interrupt again, but he didn’t. Vogel noticed, though, that he was staring at his mother with what appeared to be a mixture of horror and amazement.

‘It’s confidential, everything that happens at Helen’s House is confidential,’ said Gill, almost as if she was reciting a mantra. ‘Nobody there ever breaks a confidence. That’s the rule.’

‘We are conducting a murder inquiry, Gill. Your husband is dead, he has been murdered, and you are a person of interest. Helen Harris has informed us that you were at the House all day yesterday, and that could be vital evidence which she was absolutely right to present to us. It could also prove your innocence. If her evidence is correct you could not have killed your husband. I’m going to ask you again, were you at Helen’s House yesterday?’

There was another pause before Gill answered.

‘I, uh, y-yes, yes I was there.’

Gill’s voice was a half whisper.

‘Is it correct that you were there between the hours of approximately eight a.m. and six p.m.?’

‘Y-yes,’ stumbled Gill.

‘Did you leave the House at all during those hours?’

‘No.’

‘Are you quite sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not even for a breath of fresh air?’

‘No.’

‘Gill, you must realize the impact this information has on your situation, and yet you chose not to impart it yourself. It changes everything. You have an alibi. Why did you not tell us that you were at Helen’s House, Gill?’

‘Because it’s private, it’s nobody else’s business.’

‘It’s my business now, I’m afraid, Gill,’ responded Vogel. ‘And I need to ask you this: were you there because your husband had attacked you?’

‘It was b-between us, it was nothing,’ Gill replied almost inaudibly.

‘Well Gill, as you can see I’ve brought Dr Lamey with me. I need her to examine you again.’

‘No, no. I don’t want that. I d-don’t want to be examined. There’s no reason to examine me, and you have no right. N-no right at all.’

‘I think there is reason, Gill. And if you’re not prepared to cooperate, then I shall have to arrange for you to be taken elsewhere. If necessary back to the hospital. And ultimately the station again. For another formal interview.’

Greg spoke again then, but more quietly, and addressing his mother. ‘Mum, you should do as Mr Vogel asks,’ he said. ‘This is important. We don’t want you going back to the police station, do we? And I want to know what’s been going on too. Do it for me. Please Mum.’

Greg’s voice when he was speaking to his mother was entirely different. Gentle. Full of concern and affection.

Gill shrugged. ‘All right, if you must,’ she said.

Dr Lamey took her temperature, checked Gill’s pulse and her blood pressure, just as she had earlier in the day, and looked at her hands and wrists. Then she asked her to stand and pull up her tracksuit top, so that she could examine the fading bruising on her abdomen.

‘I told them in the hospital,’ began Gill. ‘I had to do an emergency stop in the car, and the steering wheel...’

She stopped abruptly, perhaps aware that nobody in the room believed a word she was saying.

‘Would you sit down again, please,’ instructed Dr Lamey.

Gill did so.

‘I would just like to check behind your ears, please,’ said Dr Lamey, stepping forward.

Gill gasped. She held up both hands in front of her face, palms outwards.

‘No. no, no,’ she screamed. ‘Don’t you touch me. Don’t you dare touch me. You have no right to touch me.’

Dr Lamey stepped back, perhaps involuntarily.

Greg ran to his mother’s side, crouched down and put his arms around her, making soothing noises. Very gradually, the woman calmed down.

Vogel watched in silence. He reckoned anything he or Saslow said right then would only make matters worse. This was a moment when a police officer needed to do the most difficult thing of all. Take a watching brief and leave well alone.

‘I want to know what’s going on, Mum,’ said Greg. ‘I want to know what’s been happening to you, why the doctor wants to look behind your ears. I’m going to take a look for myself, is that all right?’

Gill neither replied nor moved.

With great care, Greg brushed his mother’s hair away from one ear and, pushing the upper part of the ear forwards, he leaned in slightly to look behind.

Gill winced.

‘Oh my God,’ cried Gregory. His voice was full of anguish now.

‘Oh no, oh no. Mum, why didn’t you tell me? I knew he was a bully. But this? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘It was too much, just too much,’ whispered Gill.

‘Oh, my God,’ said Greg again.

‘I was ashamed, so ashamed,’ Gill continued. ‘I didn’t want anyone to know. Not even you. Particularly not you, my darling...’

Vogel, Saslow and Dr Lamey were all facing mother and son. They could not see what Gregory was seeing. Dr Lamey was closest. She moved quickly forwards until she was standing behind Gill Quinn. Vogel saw her face change as she saw what Gregory had seen. No doubt the doctor was used to all manner of horrors. And like Vogel, she’d had a fair idea what to expect. None the less she appeared stunned and appalled.

‘You have to see this, chief inspector,’ she said.

Greg gestured to Vogel to come closer. His mother seemed compliant now. As if she had finally given in to the inevitable, Vogel thought.

He and Saslow moved alongside Dr Lamey. They had a clear view behind Gill Quinn’s ear. The soft tissue there was covered with sores and scars, almost certainly burns administered by a lit cigarette, most in varying stages of healing, but one, red-raw and weeping, had obviously been inflicted very recently.

Vogel knew what to expect, of course, having already seen the photographs. But this was in the flesh. In more ways than one. And Vogel was shocked to the core. He had never seen anything quite like it, and he hoped he never would again.

‘Gill, you have suffered quite terrible injuries,’ said Vogel. ‘Is your other ear like this?’

‘Y-yes.’

Again she spoke in little more than a whisper.

‘I’m just going to move your hair so that we can see behind your other ear,’ said Dr Lamey. ‘Is that all right?’

Gill remained sitting still, just nodding very slightly.

‘I won’t hurt you,’ Dr Lamey assured her.

She reached out, and very carefully brushed Gill’s hair away, pushing the upper part of the ear forward, as Greg had done with the first ear.

The flesh thus revealed was also horribly damaged, bearing a number of scars at varying stages and one very recent angry burn, almost certainly inflicted no earlier than the previous day, Vogel thought, the day Thomas Quinn was murdered.

‘Gill, did your husband do that to you?’ the DCI asked softly.

Gill did not respond at first. Again Vogel wondered whether or not she would answer at all.

‘It’s all right, Mum, I’m here,’ said Greg. ‘I’m always here. Beside you.’

Gill smiled weakly and clutched one of her son’s hands in both of hers.

‘Go on, tell Mr Vogel,’ Greg continued. ‘Dad did do it, didn’t he?’

Gill began to weep. Big heaving sobs wracked her body.

‘Yes,’ she said, between her tears. ‘He did it. Again and again and again. He burnt me. He hit me. He hurt me in ways so terrible I have never been able to tell anyone.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me, Mum, why on earth didn’t you tell me?’ asked Greg, distress and bewilderment clear in his voice.’

‘You are my son, I didn’t want you to be hurt, you are the last person in the world I would have told,’ she said, suddenly quite articulate. ‘And you would never have understood. How could you?’