‘Right, boss. Should we take a doctor with us when we do go to see Gill, do you think?’
‘Yes, we definitely should. For all sorts of reasons. I want those ears of hers looked at for a start. If the pictures we’ve just seen are genuine, and I have little doubt that they are, we need a proper medical record of what has been done to her. I’d like to get hold of the same doctor who saw her this morning. What was her name again?’
‘Lamey. Dr Louise Lamey.’
‘Do we have a number for her?’
‘I’ll get it, boss.’
She did so using the car’s hands-free, then Vogel called the doctor with his phone on speaker.
He heard Dr Lamey gasp when he described the burns which had been inflicted behind Gill Quinn’s ears.
‘You know, I have heard of this sort of thing,’ said Dr Lamey. ‘The most horrible abuse inflicted in such a way that its effects are not immediately noticeable. But I didn’t think about that this morning. I didn’t examine Mrs Quinn at all really for physical injuries. I do apologize, Mr Vogel...’
‘You’ve no need to, doctor,’ Vogel reassured. ‘We called you in to deal with a woman in shock, and to attempt to calm her down. None of us had any reason to suspect at the time that she had been abused in that way, and she had been physically examined in hospital before being admitted for the night. They missed it there too. But they also were not looking for signs of abuse. Gill Quinn’s only other visible injuries were some old bruises on her ribs which she explained away.’
Vogel asked if the doctor could accompany them to see Gill later that day. They agreed on three p.m.
As soon as the two officers arrived at the incident room at Bideford police station DI Peters hurried towards them.
‘I was just going to call you, boss,’ she began. ‘We’ve had the headmaster of Elm Tree, Gill Quinn’s school, on the phone. Wynne Williams, his name is. He’d just heard about Thomas’ death. We had a team designated to contact him and arrange an interview, but they hadn’t got to it yet. Sorry, boss. Anyway he was totally distraught. Almost hysterical. Kept demanding to know where Gill was, if we were holding her in custody. Even said he wanted to see her. Almost demanded again. It was a bit excessive, boss...’
‘Well, a head and deputy head would work pretty closely together,’ remarked Vogel, who had never been one to jump to conclusions without evidence to support them. ‘And I’m sure everyone at her school, and indeed Thomas Quinn’s place of work, will be pretty upset. Are you saying his reaction was more extreme than you would have expected from someone who was merely a work colleague, or rather her boss, I suppose? Is that it?’
‘Yes. That is exactly it. And Williams’ concern was almost entirely for Gill. Not the dead man. How can I put it, he spoke about her as if she was someone he was very close to. Very close indeed.’
‘I see,’ said Vogel. ‘Well, we’d better check out just how close they are, then. Anything else?’
‘Yes. Lake and Jamieson talked to Thomas Quinn’s business partner late last night. There had already been mentions on local news, but Quinn hadn’t been named. Patel was totally taken aback, apparently. Hadn’t seen any news bulletins. This is their report.’
DI Peters began to read from her phone.
‘“We arrived at Jason Patel’s home at ten forty-four p.m. and informed him of Thomas Quinn’s death. He expressed deep shock. He asked at once if we knew who was responsible for his death. We told him that our enquiries were proceeding and we needed him to tell us about his whereabouts that day. He said it wasn’t his whereabouts we should be worried about. He answered our questions willingly enough, but he was clearly very uneasy. He said that he’d been at home all day yesterday watching cricket on TV. England versus Pakistan apparently. He’s separated from his wife and lives alone, and claimed to have seen and spoken to nobody all day, except the boy who delivered a pizza at around six o’clock”...’
DI Peters paused.
‘There’s more routine stuff, and then this. “As we left Mr Patel asked if he could have police protection given that he was a close colleague of a man who had been violently murdered. We told him this would not be normal procedure at this stage, unless there was a specific reason for it. We asked if there was a specific reason. He muttered something about this not being a normal situation, which neither of us heard properly. When we asked him to repeat it, he said it didn’t matter. He was probably worrying about nothing. We tried to push him without success. But both of us thought his reaction was a little curious, and that he might have information which he hadn’t revealed.”’
‘Right Janet, well that’s two men we need to get back to. Saslow and I have some time to kill before we go to see Gill Quinn again. Unless there’s anything else we should look into here, then I think we’ll take on Messrs Patel and Williams ourselves.’
Vogel paused, thinking.
‘One last thing, have you appointed a FLO to the Quinns yet?’
‘Yes boss, Morag Docherty. She’s recently completed the course, and I thought as she’d already been involved in the case and spent time with Gill that she’d be a good choice.’
‘Excellent. Is she with them yet?’
‘Not quite, boss. I think I woke her up when I called, to tell the truth. But knowing Docherty, she’ll soon be on her way.’
‘Right, tell her to report to me directly,’ Vogel instructed.
He and Saslow decided to visit Wynne Williams first.
The headmaster and his wife lived on the outskirts of the village of Abbotsham in a pretty detached cottage with rural views. There was a parking area set back off the lane outside, and the cottage itself was approached by a winding footpath. As the two officers reached the front door they could hear raised voices from inside, loud and clear enough for them to be able to decipher some of the rhetoric being heatedly exchanged.
They heard a woman’s voice initially. High-pitched. Perhaps slightly hysterical.
‘Why don’t you admit it...?’
‘I keep telling you. There’s nothing to admit. I wish there was to tell the truth...’
‘I’ve no doubt about that, you pathetic—’
‘Look, she’s in trouble,’ the man interrupted, his voice very slightly quieter. ‘I have to find her. I must go to her...’
‘Oh, do what you bloody well like.’
‘I bloody well intend to...’
‘Yes. As bloody usual...’
There was some slamming of doors, and then silence.
Vogel and Saslow glanced at each other without speaking. Vogel rang the doorbell.
There was no response. He rang it again. Long and loud.
Eventually a woman of middle years, average height and weight, answered the door. She was wearing a dressing gown and slippers, and didn’t look as if she had bothered that morning to even put a comb through her unruly brown hair. She also looked harassed, and when she spoke, although her voice was no longer raised, she still sounded irritable.
‘Yes?’ she queried.
‘Mrs Williams?’ enquired Vogel.
‘Yes,’ she said again.
Vogel introduced himself and Saslow.
‘I need to have a word with your husband, Mrs Williams,’ he said.
Mrs Williams sighed. ‘No prizes for guessing what that’s about,’ she muttered.
Vogel thought her voice might be slightly slurred. Had she been drinking? If so, that was not necessarily untoward for lunchtime-ish on a Sunday. But it may have partially explained the level of her angry participation in the exchange he and Saslow had overheard.