He turned to the board again and drew aside a fresh sheet of paper. ‘And,’ he added, ‘there’s this.’ Taking a marker pen, Lorimer wrote down the figures he’d obtained from Phyllis Logan’s solicitor and a brief note of her will.
He heard an incredulous whistle as he faced them again. ‘So now we have even more reason to look after our witness. And keep an eye on certain members of staff. OK?’
There were murmurs of assent as the team prepared to leave the muster room. Lorimer found that he was surprisingly calm. Cameron’s question had been quite valid, even if unwelcome. What if nothing did happen? He was gambling with the hope that the killer would take action, believing Phyllis to be a real threat. But what if the information so carefully dropped simply made him take to the hills? Was there any reason to suppose that the killer was still around anyway? Solly firmly believed that he was, and right now that was enough for Lorimer.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Niall Cameron was sweating. Lorimer had chosen to take him personally under his wing. What could that mean? Did the DCI have doubts about his ability? Did he feel that as the relative newcomer to the job he needed to be supervised? Or was there another reason?
As he walked along Bothwell Street, the young man kept looking out for the clocks that signified the Standard Life building. That was where he was to meet the guy. Lorimer had indicated that the Grange’s accountant had been trawling through the clinic’s books with a fine-tooth comb and that he wanted to discuss certain things with Strathclyde Police. Cameron had been dispatched for this particular duty, and right now he was feeling more like an office boy sent on a simple errand than an officer involved in a murder case.
There they were, great gilt clocks high up at either end of the building. Automatically he checked their time against his watch to see if the time was correct. It was. Cameron stepped into a vast lobby flanked by elevators on each side and a list of names indicating the firms that occupied the building. A quick glance told him the third floor was his destination.
Minutes later he was shaking the hand of a man not too much his senior who introduced himself as Tommy Stirling.
‘Fancy a coffee? The drinks machine’s not bad,’ Stirling told him.
Cameron shook his head. ‘No thanks.’ The idea of coffee in a polystyrene cup didn’t appeal. He’d be bound to spill it and make a fool of himself in this plush office with its matching blue carpet and padded chairs.
‘Right, then, the Grange’s account has only recently come into our hands. It’s the sort of bread and butter thing we do all the time, really. There was nothing to show that this was an unusual client until those murders happened.’
‘The clinic’s accounts were all in order, then?’
‘Well, the last audit had been done by our predecessors fairly recently so we weren’t due to check the books as soon as this. But of course you folk made us look a bit closer.’
‘And?’
‘And there are discrepancies in the accounting. It took a while for me to spot them but I can show you,’ Stirling handed over a sheaf of papers folded back at a particular page. A turquoise highlighter pen marked several figures in a column.
‘What do they indicate?’ Cameron wanted to know.
‘Unauthorised withdrawals from the main account.’
Cameron frowned. ‘How could that happen?’
‘Any withdrawals above a certain amount require two signatures. These only show one.’
‘Ah,’ Cameron nodded, understanding what the accountant meant. Against each of the turquoise figures was the name of the person who had taken several large sums of money from the clinic’s account. Cameron flicked over the sheets of paper, seeing the same name again and again. It was Mrs Maureen Baillie.
‘What exactly does this mean, then?’ he asked. ‘Mrs Baillie is the Director of the clinic.’
‘She’s one of the Directors,’ Stirling replied firmly. ‘And unless the other Directors are aware of her taking out these sums of money then there’s only one conclusion we can come to, I’m afraid.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Embezzlement.’
‘How did you find out?’
‘It showed up in the accounts.’
Mrs Baillie gave a resigned sigh. ‘So you know, then?’
‘We know that you misappropriated funds for your own use, yes. But we don’t exactly know why. Care to enlighten me?’
For the first time since he had met her, Lorimer saw a tremble in the woman’s face as if she might actually begin to cry. He could see her swallowing and heard her breaths coming in short gasps as she tried to regain some control.
‘I needed the money,’ she began. ‘I had debts to repay.’
‘Uhhuh. And just who were your creditors?’
‘Oh,’ the woman’s eyes flew to meet his suddenly. ‘Just one. A man called Joseph Harridan.’ She smiled a bitter little smile. ‘Perhaps you’ve heard of him?’ Lorimer had. Harrigan was a notorious bookmaker in Glasgow who had come to the attention of the fraud squad on more than one occasion.
‘What on earth were you doing mixed up with someone like that?’
Mrs Baillie straightened herself up and looked Lorimer straight in the eye. ‘I gamble,’ she said. Lorimer saw the steady way she regarded him as if waiting for some condemnation. She wouldn’t get any from him. Other people’s weaknesses were not something he despised but pitied.
‘Ironic, isn’t it?’ she continued. ‘I run a clinic for patients who have various disorders and I can’t even help myself.’ Lorimer nodded. Those bare rooms at the Grange made sense now. She’d whittled down her possessions as she’d gambled their worth away.
‘There is the matter of a legacy in Phyllis Logan’s will that I was hoping you would explain to me,’ he told her. Suddenly the woman’s face changed. Her smile was wistful as she shook her head.
‘Ah, yes, poor Phyllis. I did wonder if you would ask me about that.’
And then she told him.
Maureen Baillie looked down at the sheet of paper on her desk. She was surprised that her hand was so still, given the turmoil of emotion within. Her resignation as Director of the clinic would take effect from the end of the month in compliance with her terms of employment.
What would become of her after that? Lorimer had told her that there would be a court case pending. But fraud cases could drag on and on. Perhaps she’d have time to cut her losses and simply disappear. But it was her lack of assets that was holding her back, she thought with some bitterness. The car she drove couldn’t be turned into cash as it was on lease hire, her own house had long since gone, which was her main reason for taking up residence in the Grange. If they ever thought about it, which she doubted, the staff probably believed she was simply being over-conscientious in her duty to the patients.
Harrigan had fleeced her. There was nothing left at all, now that the police had discovered her secret. Her salary would be paid into the bank but that few hundred pounds wasn’t going to take her very far. Besides, where was she to go?
Mrs Baillie sat very still, fingering the pearls at her throat. They were all that she had left of her mother.
Her face twitched in an ironic smile. Sentiment had proved stronger than her compulsion to gamble. She could hear the chatter of two of the women as they passed by her room on their way to the television lounge. Her thoughts turned to Angelica who had been here so recently, providing an oasis for them all.