And, of course, there was Phyllis to consider. She wondered about Phyllis and that new nurse who was so determined to learn what she could about Multiple Sclerosis. Patients like Phyllis were so vulnerable, she thought. Always prey to infection. How long she could survive was anyone’s guess, but she’d seen other cases like hers before and knew that a sudden onset of pneumonia was the thing most likely to dispatch her patient.
Maureen Baillie’s fist clenched the paper into a ball.
No. She wouldn’t leave right away. She had a duty to patients like Phyllis, even if that duty meant a little bit of suffering.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
They were all set.
Mitchison had been surprisingly cooperative all of a sudden. Maybe it was the lack of DNA evidence, though they’d never really suspected anyone from the team. Lorimer had feigned astonishment when he’d been told of Sir Robert Caldwell, the Chief Constable, proclaiming his desire to follow the criminal profiler’s advice. There were wheels within wheels. He knew fine that Solly had mentioned his case to the Professor of Psychology on the very evening when the Prof. was due to have dinner with Strathclyde’s finest. He must have taken the hint and bent the Chief Constable’s ear. It gave Lorimer some satisfaction to know that the Superintendent was not the only one capable of manipulating people. He wondered just what had been said between Sir Robert and the Professor. Still, it was enough that the Superintendent was giving them the authority to mount this operation without any hindrance.
Maggie had packed him a flask and a box of food.
There was enough to feed an army, not just the three men, he’d complained, juggling with plastic carrier bags. But then she’d reminded him that Solly probably wouldn’t even think about meals and he’d given in. It might be a long night.
The driver of the British Telecom van was DC Beattie, a lad who’d come into the force around the same time as Niall Cameron. He was dressed in the regulation navy uniform of British Telecom engineers, a mock-up badge clipped to his woollen jersey.
Lorimer and Cameron sat in the back amongst the paraphernalia of sound engineering and close circuitry, backs against the metal sides of the van with Solomon facing them. Beattie sat up front. Despite the cramped interior of the telecommunications van, Lorimer had a decent view of all the monitors. His eyes wandered over them all but kept returning to those fixed in Phyllis Logan’s room. If she were to have an unwelcome visitor they’d be the first to know.
The van was parked facing the crest of the hill that ran down towards Queen’s Park, only yards away from the entrance to the Grange’s driveway. Lorimer had walked around the area before giving his officers their various positions. There was some advantage in this road being a dead end, he’d realised; whatever vehicle came up this way would have to turn into the driveway or make a slow U-turn behind them before it could accelerate away again.
More than ever Lorimer felt that their killer was somewhere not too far away; perhaps, as Solomon had suggested, he was even inside the clinic already. Beattie was logging every vehicle that came up or turned to leave. So far his list included residents of the surrounding tenement flats as well as known members of staff and previous visitors to the clinic.
Lorimer’s eye was caught by a movement from one of the monitors. Pat Crossan, her slim figure hidden beneath the regulation overall, was bending over Phyllis. From what Lorimer could see, the police woman appeared to be checking the sick woman’s pulse. One of Pat’s credentials for the job had been her years as a Royal Alexandra nurse. She’d even seen action in the Gulf before coming home and joining the police force.
He saw her straighten up then give a small wink at the camera just to let them know she was aware of their presence. Below her, Phyllis lay inert, her eyes shut. it was impossible to know if she was asleep or not.
‘Do you have a list of who’s on duty?’ Solomon asked, suddenly breaking the silence in the back of the van. He nodded, handing him a copy of the paper that had already been circulated amongst his team. They’d tried to cover every member of staff from the director down. The late shift would continue until ten o’ clock, by which time the night staff would have taken over. Before the change of shift the visitors and day case patients would have come and gone. Mrs Baillie was there all day. Not only was she on duty but her off-duty time seemed to be spent more and more in her flat on the top floor of the Grange or wandering in and out of the residents’ rooms, according to the undercover girls.
‘Erica takes over in four hours,’ Solly noted aloud.
‘Right, but Pat will still be in the building. She’s going to be writing up her essay on the clinic’s computer. Or so she’s told Mrs Baillie.’
‘I wonder what she’ll really be typing onto the screen?’
Lorimer shrugged. He trusted Pat Crossan to cover her tracks effectively. She’d think of something plausible.
The next hour passed in a haze of boredom as Lorimer switched his attention from monitor to monitor, only calling up the members of his team to check out their positions.
It was a quiet Monday evening in a peaceful Glasgow suburb when all good residents were out walking their dogs or strolling in the park. There was nothing to suggest that the surroundings contained small pockets of watchful police officers waiting for something sinister to happen. And that was the way it should be, Lorimer thought, looking out from the restricted view they had in the back of the van. He could see the pavement that curved up towards the clinic then turned into its drive. Beyond the dense shrubbery there was nothing else in sight. Above them the sky was full of house martins dipping and diving for insects. Lorimer watched their swooping movements as a relief from studying the monitors. Already it was June. Only a few more weeks remained of the school term, then Maggie would be away on her travels.
Lorimer stretched his long legs out in front of him. Earlier they’d been able to slip out for brief comfort breaks to the pub across the road but now he’d told them to stay put. He was aware of Cameron squirming beside him; cramped muscles no doubt. The monitors flickered as a car passed by, sunlight bouncing off its wing mirrors.
Phyllis had been watching the woman all day with a growing curiosity. Pat had revealed her identity on her first visit to the room. It was their secret. Nobody else knew that the agency nurses were plainclothes policewomen. It gave Phyllis a small feeling of triumph to be part of this clandestine operation when so much of her existence depended on other people. She had under stood the need for the policewoman’s presence. Their witness must be protected, Pat Crossan had stressed, especially now that Phyllis had agreed to this.
The paralysed woman told herself that she ought to feel frightened or even excited; after all, she was the bait being dangled to attract the person she thought was the killer. But today she was too exhausted to summon up such emotional energy.
Instead she had merely observed the policewoman’s movements, watching her intently until sleep had overtaken her.
Since Lorimer’s interview the sick woman had slipped into sleep more and more. Observing her, Pat had wondered at the tenacity of the human thread that held onto life. From time to time she bent over the bed, just to listen to the whisper of her breathing. It could scarcely be heard above the rise and fall of the machinery below the bed that hissed and sighed. She’d been sleeping now for almost an hour. The room was warm although Pat had closed the blinds against the direct sunlight. She wanted Phyllis to have a decent sleep. The poor woman seemed so weary.
A buzzer sounded suddenly so Pat reached up to the red button on the patient’s water line to switch off the noise. But Phyllis did not even blink. Below the sheets she was somewhere else, dreaming and drifting as the shadows shifted around the room, oblivious to the fluids being pumped into her body. The policewoman looked at the watch pinned to her uniform. Two more hours and Erica would be here to relieve her. Quietly she left the room, closing the door behind her. She had other things to check; the whereabouts of other members of staff or visitors. And she needed to go to the loo. She wouldn’t be away all that long.