There was a brief silence before Quinn spoke again.
‘Am I entitled to a solicitor?’ he asked.
Vogel very deliberately raised both eyebrows. ‘If you wish. Yes. Of course you are.’
‘But I’m not a suspect?’
‘You are merely helping us with our enquiries, Greg,’ responded Vogel, deliberately dodging the question. In a murder investigation, everyone with even a tenuous connection with the deceased is a suspect, in the first instance at any rate. And family topped the list.
If Quinn realized that the issue had been avoided, he gave no sign of it.
‘OK then, let’s get on with it, shall we,’ he said, as he lowered himself into his chair again.
‘To begin with, Greg, may I say how sorry I am for your loss, and under such dreadful circumstances,’ said Vogel. ‘I don’t expect this to take long.’
The young man merely nodded in response, but just a little of the tension seemed to leave him.
‘I wondered if I could ask you to begin with, when you last saw your father?’
Greg looked mildly taken back. Almost as if he hadn’t expected that question, even though to Vogel it was an obvious one in the case of a violent death.
‘Uh, I’m not sure,’ Greg Quinn muttered.
Vogel waited.
‘Umm, about a month ago,’ he continued after a short pause. ‘Maybe a bit more.’
‘And where did you see him?’
‘Where? Um. Well, it was outside the yard. Where I work. I was having a smoke. He came by in his car, saw me, and stopped.’
‘Right. So did he park? Get out of his car? Or did you get in?’
‘What? With a fag in my hand? Are you kidding? He’d have gone mad. We just passed the time of day. That was it, really. Anyway the Northam bus came up behind him, and he had to pull away.’
Greg paused.
‘Look. I want to see my mother. I’m worried sick about her. She shouldn’t be here. I mean, you can’t keep her. Unless you’ve arrested her. Have you arrested her?’
‘No, Greg. Your mother has not been arrested. She is helping us with our enquiries voluntarily. But actually, until we succeeded in contacting you, we were not in touch with anyone who might be able to take care of her, and we were unaware of anywhere else she could go. Your family home is a crime scene, as I’m sure you would expect. Also, we could not let her leave here until she had seen a doctor, which she now has.’
‘A doctor? What’s wrong. I-is she all right?’
Greg was a picture of filial concern.
‘Your mother is in a state of extreme shock, Greg. The doctor has prescribed a mild sedative, and says that what she needs is rest—’
‘I’ll make sure she gets it,’ interrupted Greg. ‘She can stay at my place. For as long as she needs to. I’ll sleep on the sofa.’
‘That’s good,’ remarked Vogel. ‘I’d appreciate it though if you would answer just a few more questions before you leave. It might save us bothering you later.’
Greg nodded his agreement.
‘Good,’ said Vogel again. ‘So, could you please tell me when you last saw your mother?’
‘Uh yes. It was a couple of days ago.’
‘And where was that?’
‘I met her after work. There’s a café we go to. It’s not far from her school. We go there quite often.’
‘But you didn’t see your father?’
‘Uh, no.’
‘So, presumably you didn’t go back to the family home with your mother. Is that right?’
‘That’s right. I didn’t go back. I don’t... umm, you see...’
Greg Quinn looked as if he were about to say more. But he didn’t.
He lived just a few miles from his parents’ home. He had spent time with his mother only two days previously, and indicated that he saw her frequently. But not usually at the family home, it seemed. He had not seen his father for a month, and then only fleetingly. Vogel had noticed how even the tone of the young man’s voice changed when he referred to each of his parents.
‘Might I ask what sort of relationship you had with your father, Greg?’ Vogel continued.
Greg Quinn took a moment or two reply. When he did so he shrugged his shoulders and held his hands out palm up.
‘It’s no secret,’ he said. ‘We didn’t get on.’
‘I see. Might I ask why?’
Quinn shrugged again.
‘Oh you know, fathers and sons. To begin with, he couldn’t stand it that I work as a builder, even though he started out on a market stall and doing odd jobs, for God’s sake. He’d become a bit of a snob, I suppose. Thought it was beneath him. Him being this high-flying businessman, and all.’
Vogel thought there was more than a hint of sarcasm in Quinn’s voice when he delivered his final few words. The DCI took note but made no comment.
‘I see,’ he continued. ‘Did you argue about that?’
‘No. Not any more. I moved out when I was seventeen, as soon as I could leave school and get a job. Since then I’ve avoided him. I’ve only ever gone to the house when I’ve known he wasn’t there.’
‘That sounds pretty extreme, Greg.’
‘Not really. He didn’t like me, and I didn’t like him. That’s all.’
‘Perhaps you could tell me what sort of relationship your parents had? How did they get on? Were they happy?’
‘I dunno. I didn’t take much notice. They’d been married nearly twenty-four years. They must have got on OK, I suppose.’
‘Are you absolutely sure you didn’t see either of your parents yesterday?’
‘Yes. Of course I’m sure.’
‘And are you sure that you didn’t go to your family home at any time yesterday, if only to see your mother?’
‘Yes, I’m sure of that too. I didn’t go near the place. Look, what is this? Whatever you say, you’re treating me like a suspect. Do you really think I killed my father?’
‘We just need you to help us with our enquiries, Greg. As I told you. And we are grateful to you for doing so.’
Greg Quinn stood up again, drawing himself up to his full height.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘I presume I’m free to leave then, am I? And can I please take my mother with me.’
Vogel answered both questions in the affirmative.
‘DC Perkins will take you back to the waiting area in the front office,’ he said. ‘And I’ll have your mother brought to you.’
After Quinn had departed, escorted by Perkins, as Vogel had instructed, the DCI turned to Saslow.
‘Well, what do you make of that, Dawn?’ he asked. ‘A father and son who apparently loathed each other.’
‘I suppose it’s another factor,’ responded Dawn Saslow. ‘But motive for murder? Greg moved out years ago. Has his own life presumably. Why would he kill his father now?’
‘I don’t know, Dawn, and I suppose it is unlikely,’ Vogel agreed. ‘But maybe he’s lying, maybe he did go round to St Anne’s Avenue yesterday, found his father at home, and they had some sort of row that got out of hand. Remember the evidence of that neighbour, Mavis something...?’
‘Mavis Tanner,’ Saslow supplied.
‘Yes. She said she heard a row going on at about the time we believe Thomas Quinn was killed. She thought it was a man and a woman, but maybe that’s partly because it’s what she would have expected. Greg has quite a high-pitched voice, certainly for a big man. Perhaps Thomas said something that made him lose control. He picked up the nearest weapon, and years of anger and frustration just boiled over.’
‘Possible, boss. Obviously. But you and I both know that Gill Quinn has to be the most likely suspect. No reason at all so far to believe this is anything other than a marital domestic. She’s the one with maximum opportunity. We don’t know about motive yet. But there’ll be something, I expect. There usually is, within a marriage. Whether or not enough to kill for, well...’