The Danger Within

Twenty-Nine

Helen Harris was in the front garden of Helen’s House when Vogel and Saslow arrived.

She was accompanied by two other women, who were on their knees attempting to weed the unkempt and overgrown flower beds which lined the path leading from the pavement to the house.

Helen was mowing the lawn with a Flymo machine. Or to be more exact, fighting the Flymo, which seemed to have a mind of its own.

None of the three looked happy in their work. Helen perhaps least of all.

She stopped when she caught sight of Vogel, switched off the mower, and approached him and Saslow at once. She stumbled slightly over the edging to the grass and cursed under her breath. Vogel suspected she might welcome the interruption. Almost any interruption.

‘Dratted machine,’ she began, as if reading Vogel’s mind. ‘I fear I’m not cut out to be a gardener. City girl through and though. Have to have a blitz on this every so often, though. We do try to keep the neighbours happy.’

‘Always a good plan,’ said Vogel.

‘Indeed, so what can I do for you today?’ she asked, as she pulled off her heavy-duty gardening gloves.

Vogel noticed her hands then. They were smooth-skinned and long-fingered, and her nails were perfectly manicured. He thought that Helen was undoubtedly telling the truth. She was certainly not cut out to be a gardener. Her hands were trembling slightly too. From the effort, he thought. She did not look like a woman who much enjoyed any sort of exercise or physical work.

‘Which city?’ he asked obliquely.

‘Sorry? Oh. Several over the years. I was brought up in Manchester. Sometimes I’m not sure how I ended up here, but at least Bideford has roads and pavements.’

She shot a look of distinct distaste around her, at the straggly lawn and the flower beds unworthy of the name, then took a step sideways so that she could sit on the low wall which separated Helen’s House from the property next door.

‘I’m quite out of breath,’ she remarked. ‘I suppose a garden is all right if you have either the time and inclination or the money for it, but the countryside generally is not for me.’

Vogel allowed himself a small appreciative smile. He was not a lover of the countryside either. He was content enough being driven across the moors and around the winding lanes of Devon, but he had no wish to tramp through them. He disliked wellington boots and had never quite got around to acquiring the suitable attire to deal with the persistent rain of the south-west peninsular.

‘How did you end up here, anyway?’ he asked.

‘Oh, it’s a long story. But the précised version is very familiar in these parts. I was brought here on holiday when I was a child. I just fell in love with the place. The countryside is one thing, being by the sea is completely another, don’t you agree, Mr Vogel?’

Vogel thought this woman must be quite an astute judge of character. As she probably had to be in her line of work. She certainly seemed to have assessed him fairly quickly. Superficially at any rate.

‘I do agree,’ he affirmed. ‘I had never really spent time by the sea before I first came here on a case a couple of years ago. I found it...’ He paused, searching for the right word. ‘Compelling. I think that’s it.’

‘Yes, it is compelling. And, many years later, when I was looking for a change, for a purpose, fate brought me back here. This house was on the market. I noticed the for sale sign. I could see the house was big enough, and it turned out to be cheap enough, for me to start a venture that had been close to my heart for some time. I’d come into a little money. Unexpectedly. I always think such windfalls should be put to good use, something special that would not have been possible without the unexpected funds. I suspect that might be what you think too, isn’t it, Mr Vogel?’

Vogel was about to answer that he most certainly did think that, when he caught Saslow’s eye. The DS was staring at him in some amazement. It was not like Vogel to be easily diverted when he was on a case. Particularly not when the case was a murder inquiry. He was genuinely fascinated by Helen Harris and her project. It wasn’t just that, though. Sometimes he found it best with certain people who were part of an investigation to create an illusion of friendship. What he really wanted to find out today from Helen Harris was just how far she would go to protect those staying at, or regularly visiting, Helen’s House. He suspected it would be a very long way indeed. Whether or not she would go so far as to provide a false alibi he had yet to discover. And he was about to take a big step towards doing so.

‘I think you have created something very special here, Miss Harris,’ he replied. ‘As I am sure do the many people you have helped through this venture. Which, of course, would include Gill Quinn, would it not?’

Helen Harris shot him what Vogel’s mother would have called an old-fashioned look.

‘I certainly hope we have helped Gill,’ she said. ‘Although she is going to need a great deal more help now, I have no doubt of that.’

Vogel thought that was certainly true, whether or not Gill Quinn had played an active part in her husband’s death.

He reached into his pocket and removed the piece of paper upon which he had scribbled the number of the phone Gill Quinn had used to text her son the previous day.

‘Do you recognize this number, Miss Harris?’ he asked.

‘Helen, please,’ said Helen Harris, as she took the piece of paper from him.

They had sat on a committee together. In some ways they were colleagues. All the same, Vogel did not suggest that she called him David. Apart from anything else he thought that might finish Saslow off.

Helen studied the number thoughtfully for a moment or two, and still looked thoughtful when she spoke again.

‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘Indeed I’m pretty sure I don’t recognize it. But I’m not great with numbers. May I ask why you are asking me about it?’

‘Because this is the number of the mobile which Gill Quinn used to contact her son on Saturday, when she did not have her own phone.’

‘I see,’ said Helen.

‘Could it be the number of your partner’s phone, or another member of staff here?’

‘It’s definitely not Sadie’s phone. And being a Saturday, we didn’t have any other members of staff in. None of our specialist workers, therapists or legal advisors are here over the weekend. Except in an emergency. And, as you may have guessed, finances are very tight at the House. We can’t even afford a professional gardener.’

She waved a hand, taking in with a sweep the two women weeding the flower beds and her incalcitrant lawn mower.

‘My windfall is long gone, and we rely primarily on charitable donations and a small local authority grant. We do everything we can ourselves, including, of course, our own cooking and cleaning. Gill could have borrowed one of the other women’s phone. You’d have to check with them. But can’t you just call the phone?’

‘We’ve done that. It’s a pay-as-you-go, and there’s no response. The phone seems dead.’

‘Ah. Probably run out of juice.’

‘More than likely,’ Vogel agreed. ‘I’d like DS Saslow to check with the other women here straight away. I hope you have no objections to that?’

‘Of course not,’ responded Helen. ‘That’s Mary and Celia over there. You could start with them. We have two other residents at the moment. They’ll be inside somewhere. Feel free to seek them out.’

Vogel watched as Saslow duly approached Mary and Celia. Then he turned back to Helen.

‘You do recognize the significance of this number, don’t you?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Of course I do. Gill must presumably have been with whoever owns the phone with this number. And if it isn’t someone who was here at the House, then that indicates that she was probably somewhere else for at least part of the day. Is that what you are thinking, Mr Vogel?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘And are you therefore suggesting that I may have given Gill a false alibi? Is that why you have come to see me again?’

‘Possibly. Although not necessarily deliberately...’

‘Well, thank you for that, at least,’ responded Helen Harris with a wry smile.

Vogel did not smile back.

‘On the other hand, I am sure you would always do everything you can to protect and assist any victim of domestic violence,’ he said.

‘Yes, I would. Though not to the extent of perverting the course of justice, I can assure you. We encourage our victims to work within the law to escape from the clutches of their abusers. That is what we are for. We do not encourage anyone to take the law into their own hands.’

‘I’m going to be blunt, Helen, if, and I say if, you suspected that Gill Quinn had murdered her viciously abusive husband, wouldn’t you feel that his death was a kind of justice?’

‘I feel all sorts of things, Mr Vogel, that I wouldn’t dream of acting upon. In any case I do not suspect Gill of murdering her husband, if for no other reason than that she had no opportunity to do so. She was here, I assure you, Mr Vogel, all day.’

Vogel was still contemplating where he would like to take this conversation next, when Saslow reappeared. The DCI glanced towards her enquiringly.

‘I’ve drawn a blank, boss,’ she began. ‘That phone doesn’t belong to any of the women here today, or, as Miss Harris told us, to—’

Vogel interrupted, again addressing, not Saslow, but Helen.

‘Curious then, don’t you think, Helen?’ he enquired.

Saslow spoke again before Helen Harris had chance to reply.

‘There was another woman here on Saturday though, according to Sadie, Maggie Challis.’

‘Ah, yes, of course,’ Helen spoke quickly. ‘Maggie. She’s another one like Gill. A regular, if not necessarily frequent visitor. She uses us as somewhere to retreat to when things get bad at home. As a refuge. Which is exactly what we are. Like Gill she comes for as little as an hour or two, and rarely stays overnight. Women like them always say the same thing. He’ll have calmed down by the time they get home. He doesn’t mean it. And so on. Gill has been coming for well over a year now, and Maggie for even longer. I still find it rather extraordinary, but it really isn’t unusual. It is quite likely that they would have met before yesterday, and that Gill might have borrowed her phone.’

Vogel turned to Saslow. ‘Do we know if the phone number is Maggie’s?’ he asked.

‘Sadie checked. It’s not the number listed here for her. That’s for another burner which also isn’t responding right now.’

‘A lot of the women have at least one burner, so that they have a phone their abuser doesn’t know about,’ offered Helen Harris. ‘But that carries its own risks. Sometimes the abuser finds the phone, and sometimes the women just throw it away because they fear they’re in danger of being found out. Then, eventually, they may acquire another one.’

‘Did Sadie say when Maggie was here, and for how long?’ Vogel asked Saslow.

‘She said she came in the afternoon, and stayed about three hours. I’ve got her address, boss. She lives in Torrington.’

‘Good,’ said Vogel. ‘Give DI Peters a call, will you? I want a team sent round.’

Vogel turned back to Helen Harris again. ‘Did you see Maggie Challis, did you speak to her?’ he asked.

‘Uh, no. I didn’t.’

‘And why was that?’

‘I had a pressing amount of paperwork to do. Weekends are often the only time I have for that. I spent quite a lot of the day in my office.’

‘Helen, did you even know Maggie Challis was here?’

Helen Harris hesitated for just a split second. ‘No, I didn’t,’ she said.

Vogel held out his hands in front of him, palms up.

‘So if one woman could be present in this house for three hours on Saturday afternoon without you knowing, why couldn’t another be absent from the house for three hours without you knowing? I am beginning to think, Helen, that the alibi you have given Gill Quinn may be somewhat flawed.’

Helen frowned. When she spoke again her voice was slightly louder and firmer than previously. ‘I did not give Gill Quinn an alibi. Not personally. Not for the entire day. You are quite wrong, Mr Vogel, to suggest that I did. I said that either I, or Sadie, or one of, or indeed perhaps all of, the other women who were here on Saturday, could, between us, vouch for Gill having been present here all day. Without leaving the premises. That is an entirely different premise. We provide a one-hundred-per-cent group alibi. I stand by that absolutely. And I take exception to your insinuation that I might in some way be dissembling.’

Vogel found himself blinking rapidly behind his spectacles. He so wished he did not do that when he felt embarrassed or ill at ease. He turned his head slightly in the hope that Helen Harris wouldn’t notice. But he hoped in vain.

‘Do you have something in your eye?’ she asked casually.

Vogel thought it might be the very first time anyone had actually drawn attention to his mild affliction. Or certainly anyone he was interviewing, albeit informally.

‘I think you know that I do not,’ he replied equally casually. ‘And I am sorry if I offended you,’ he continued. ‘However, you must see that unless we can prove that the phone number belongs to Maggie Challis, or unless you recall another visitor you had overlooked...’

He paused, studying Helen carefully, and was gratified to see that she appeared to have coloured slightly, and might no longer be quite so sure of herself. ‘Unless either of those eventualities are realized,’ he continued, ‘then it would seem Gill must have left these premises in order to borrow a phone from someone and call her son...’

‘Unless the burner belongs to Gill herself,’ suggested Helen, who was clearly not entirely wrong-footed.

Vogel hadn’t actually considered that. In any case he didn’t think it likely. It didn’t fit.

‘Her son claimed he didn’t recognize the number, and I believe he was telling the truth,’ said the DCI. ‘If Gill had a secret phone it would seem unlikely that she would have kept it a secret from Greg. It is also probable that the burner would still have been on her person, or certainly somewhere in her home, when we encountered Gill after her 999 call. We have found no such phone.’

‘Perhaps you should look harder, Mr Vogel. Alternatively, you could ask Gill whose phone she used. Or indeed if it was her own phone. Have you thought of that?’

The same wry little smile flickered around Helen Harris’ lips. Vogel could clearly detect a note of sarcasm in her voice. She was perfectly sure of herself again, and the DCI was no longer entirely sure that he liked the woman as much as he’d thought he did. She was sharp as a needle, a characteristic he always appreciated. And clearly a great friend and ally to those who came to her for help, which was admirable. But perhaps she was a tad too acerbic. Certainly in her dealings with a senior police officer.

He had deliberately not yet sought out Gill Quinn to ask her whose phone she had used to call her son, because, when he asked questions like that he preferred, whenever possible, to already know the answer. Which was classic interviewing technique. However he had no intention of sharing any of that with Helen Harris.

Instead, without responding at all to her final remark, he bid her farewell and took his leave.