Meantime the camera fixed inside the television set would watch over Phyllis.
As Pat walked briskly along the corridor a figure emerged from the shadows, looking after her.
Then, as silent as a cat, Leigh Quinn slipped into Phyllis’s room and sat beside the sleeping woman. His hands strayed towards the vase of flowers on her bedside locker, touching their petals, rearranging their stems. Then he drew one of them out of the vase and regarded it for a long moment.
Alistair Wilson circled his head slowly, hearing the crunch of fibres around his cervical vertebrae. At least he was out in the open air. Lorimer and the others would be roasting inside that BT van. So far all was quiet. The only communication they’d had was to check out all the visitors to the Grange. There had been no strangers among them, nobody who was out of place. The detective sergeant was sitting with PC Davie Inglis opposite the back entrance to the Grange, the gardening tools at their feet, screened from view by the thick branches of the rhododendrons.
‘Reminds me of playing hide and seek at my auntie’s garden in Saint Andrews when I was wee,’ Davie had whispered after they’d scrambled out of sight.
The door to the basement had been left locked, as it normally would be. It was vital not to arouse any suspicions on the part of anyone who might have access to the basement area, Lorimer had insisted. Whoever had murdered Kirsty MacLeod had been able to make their escape this way. But had they? Alistair wasn’t so sure about that and he knew Lorimer himself had doubts about the access. Had the door been left open to make it look as if an intruder had broken in? And had the real killer remained in the clinic during the hours that had followed? Whatever theories they might have, there was no way they could fail to keep this exit under close surveillance.
‘I need to stretch my legs,’ Cameron said suddenly.
‘Don’t we all,’ grumbled Lorimer.
‘No, sir. I mean I really need to stretch my legs,’ Cameron told him. Lorimer noted the flush around his collar and sighed.
‘OK. But don’t be long,’ he warned. Trips back and forth to the pub were OK for so long. Someone behind the bar might begin to comment if they weren’t discreet enough. If the lad really needed to go to the toilet, he couldn’t very well stop him, could he?
Perhaps Maggie had been a bit overgenerous with her refreshments after all.
Cameron clambered over their legs and slid open the van door. The sun had made the metal hot and he winced as he touched it. It was a relief to be out in the air again. He bent down slowly, massaging his calves, then stood up to walk carefully around the van.
Inside, Lorimer craned his neck to watch Cameron walking towards the pub but he was either out of sight or had sprinted across, more desperate than he’d admitted. He tried to catch Solly’s eye but the psychologist was engrossed in the papers in front of him. Even in the sweltering heat of the van, the psychologist was trying to keep up with his exam marking.
Sister Angelica was happy. It had been a beautiful day, just like the summers when she was a girl. She’d been telling the other patients in the lounge all about the summer holidays of her youth when the family had spent weeks on the farm in Melrose. She’d walked the Eildon Hills until she’d known every crag of them, she said. Then she’d told them about Lewis and how peaceful it could be in Failte.
The weekly prayer meeting was due to begin soon. There was only one person left to arrive then they could start. She’d lit a fat scented candle and placed it on the table by the window. The breeze stirred its flame beside the muslin curtains, sending the fragrance of sandalwood into the room.
Angelica beamed at them all. It was so heartening to do something for these people who had become her friends. Mondays were quite special for her, now. Her vocation was not over, after all. That was something else she had found out during her stay here.
It happened so suddenly that nobody quite knew how to react. First there was a whooshing sound followed by the table being upset as Angelica lumbered to her feet and one of the girls began to scream. The fire caught hold swiftly, spreading to the wallpaper and sending sparks of tinder onto the soft chairs.
‘Out! Everybody! Get out!’ Angelica ordered, shooing them all like sheep from the room just as the smoke alarm began its insistent beeping.
They were coughing in the corridor and gasping for air by the time the nun joined them. One man had picked up the fire extinguisher and was heading back into the room, followed by Peter, one of the male nurses. The front door gave its alarmed ring as they all spilt out into the fresh air. Angelica did a swift headcount. They were all there, she told herself. Everyone, that is, except the one person they’d been waiting for. Where was Leigh?
‘Something’s up. The fire alarm’s gone off,’ a voice came over the radio as Lorimer and Solly crouched in the back of the van. They exchanged glances but Lorimer shook his head.
‘Not yet. This could be a false alarm.’ He switched his mike to talk. ‘OK. Let us know the details as soon as you can. We won’t make a move unless we have to.’ His gaze returned to the monitor.
The room where Phyllis Logan lay was bathed in a gentle half-light filtering through the blinds. There was no movement at all; the figure beneath the sheets seemed quite peaceful. There was no sign of the Irishman sitting by her bed.
‘D’you think they’ll need to call out the fire service?’ Solly asked anxiously.
‘We’ll know soon enough, I suppose,’ he replied. ‘Maybe you should back the van up a bit, Beattie,’ he told the driver. ‘And what’s keeping Cameron?’
As the van shuddered into life the monitors were shaken into blurred lines of grey and white, making observation impossible. The sound of the smoke alarm could be heard faintly from the building.
Lorimer had to know what was happening inside. He tapped out the numbers on Pat’s mobile. The ringing went on and on until he gave up in disgust. She was supposed to keep in contact. Where the hell was she? He glanced back at the monitor showing Phyllis’s room. Only the patient in her bed could be seen. There was no sign of the undercover officer.
Pat flushed the toilet and unbolted the door. As she turned towards the basins to give her hands a thorough wash with the liquid soap she was aware of another person coming into the ladies’ washroom.
The policewoman only had time to glance at the reflection in the mirror before she felt the sudden pain in her skull then everything went hazy as the sound of a high-pitched bell rang out in her brain. There was nobody to see her limp body being dragged into the cubicle, nobody to witness her nurse’s overall being buttoned over another person’s clothes.
Lorimer breathed a sigh of relief. The fire seemed to be under control by all accounts and he could see Pat’s white-coated figure standing by the window. Any minute now she’d turn towards the camera and give him a reassuring signal.
Only she didn’t. As the figure turned to face the screen, Lorimer found himself confronted by a different person altogether.
For an instant he was speechless then he felt the adrenaline rush as he grabbed the radio control.
‘Alert all units. Find Pat Crossan. There’s a stranger in Phyllis’s room. We’re going in.’
He thrust the doors aside, not waiting for Solly who sat staring at the monitor in a daze of disbelief.