‘Very philosophical, DS Saslow,’ said Vogel.
Kipling Terrace took the form of a line of conjoined houses, each painted blue and white, and divided into flats, standing proud above the seaside village of Westward Ho!. It was tall, wide, and imposing. Vogel studied the terrace with interest as he and Saslow approached. He had been vaguely aware of it previously, of course, but never been there, not even looked at the terrace properly before. And his first thought was that young Greg had done well for himself. Not being local he was unaware that Kipling Terrace had a chequered past, and that both rentals and purchases there remained something of a bargain.
Vogel and Saslow were a few minutes early for their appointed meeting with Dr Lamey, but so was she. She had already parked in one of the visitors’ spaces when the two officers arrived. She got out of her car to greet them, and they approached the apartment together. They had not notified Greg or his mother of their intended arrival. Vogel was confident of finding them both in. Not only had PC Docherty spoken on the intercom to Gregory Quinn less than half an hour previously, Gill Quinn was unlikely to have fully recovered from the state of extreme shock she had been in earlier. Vogel had seen Greg Quinn with his mother. He didn’t think the young man would leave her alone.
Whether or not Greg would let them in without a tussle was another matter.
Greg answered the intercom quickly. ‘Why don’t you leave us alone?’ he said. ‘You know the state Mum’s in. I thought she was sent home to rest. On doctor’s orders.’
‘That’s correct, Greg,’ said Vogel. ‘However, there’s been a development, and we cannot now wait any longer before seeing your mother again. I have Dr Lamey with me.’
‘I don’t care, you’re not coming in,’ Greg countered. ‘I’ve just sent the other one away.’
Vogel knew the young man must be referring to Morag Docherty.
‘Greg, it is entirely your choice whether or not you welcome a family liaison officer into your home,’ he said. ‘However, I am the senior officer in charge of a murder investigation, and if I wish to see you or your mother you have no choice. If you do not let us in I shall acquire a warrant and, if necessary, force entry.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ muttered Greg Quinn.
Almost immediately there was a buzzing noise, allowing Vogel, Saslow and Dr Lamey to enter the building.
Greg was standing at the open door of his first-floor flat by the time they had climbed the single flight of stairs. As they stepped on to the landing he half closed the door behind him.
‘Mum’s asleep,’ he murmured sotto voce, adding accusatively, ‘you did say you were going to let her rest, Mr Vogel. What is this new development?’
‘I am afraid we have fresh evidence, primarily of a medical nature, which we really need to put to your mother as a matter of urgency,’ he said. ‘And with a doctor in attendance.’
Greg looked as if he might protest, but ultimately he led the way into his white-painted sitting room, simply furnished but high-ceilinged and spacious and, of course, offering spectacular views. He shut the door carefully, then spoke quietly again.
‘I don’t know exactly what you want with my mother now, but I can guess where you’re heading, and I can tell you one thing,’ he said. ‘She didn’t kill my father. There is no way she could do a thing like that. She couldn’t do it, and she didn’t do it.’
In view of the fact that Gill Quinn had just been supplied with what would appear to be an unimpeachable alibi, Vogel considered there was a fair chance the young man might be right. But he didn’t intend to tell him that. Not yet. Meanwhile he wanted to see for himself the level of the abuse Gill had allegedly suffered at her husband’s hands. And he wanted her examined again by a doctor before the signs of that apparently horrific abuse became any less visible.
‘Greg, I really am sorry to intrude again so quickly,’ he said. ‘But I must ask you to rouse your mother and bring her to us. It could be imperative to our investigation, and it could also be very much in her interest.’
‘All right,’ said Greg resignedly. ‘I’ll get her. But I’m not happy. I’m worried about her. It won’t take long, will it?’
Vogel shook his head. ‘I hope not. And don’t forget, Greg, Dr Lamey is here.’
Greg returned in a few minutes with his mother. Gill was wearing a dressing gown, presumably belonging to her son, which was far too big for her. She looked, unsurprisingly, to be still in considerable distress. In addition she had clearly just woken from a deep sleep. Dr Lamey’s medication had obviously done the trick.
Vogel addressed her gently as her son led her to a chair. She seemed a little woozy. Also the effect of the medication, Vogel assumed.
‘I’m sorry to bother you again so soon, Gill,’ he said. ‘But some further information has come our way and I do need to ask you some more questions as a matter of urgency. Firstly, was your husband ever abusive towards you, Gill?’
Gill Quinn’s lower lip began to wobble. Vogel thought she might be about to cry, but she didn’t.
‘He, uh, he liked to be in control,’ she said. ‘That’s all. He liked me do things his way...’
‘He was a bully, a horrible bully,’ interjected Greg, suddenly rising to his feet. ‘He made her life a misery—’
‘Please Greg,’ interrupted Vogel. ‘If you wish to remain whilst we talk to your mother then I must ask you not to interfere. I shall want to talk to you later.’
Greg sat down again without further protest.
‘Gill, was your husband ever physically violent towards you?’
For what seemed to be an inordinately long time Gill did not respond. Vogel began to wonder whether she would reply at all, or whether there would merely be a repeat of the persistent silence she had inflicted on them earlier. Then she spoke. Falteringly, yet devastatingly. She stumbled over her words, but the message was clear enough.
‘H-he didn’t mean to be. He never meant it. I know that. It was nothing. R-really. I’m sure it h-happens in many marriages...’
Gill’s voice drifted off.
‘We’ve been told that he attacked you, on not infrequent occasions, and that he hurt you very badly sometimes. Is that not so?’
‘N-not that badly.’
‘Gill, we have also been told that you spent most of yesterday at Helen’s House, which, of course, is a refuge for victims of domestic violence. Is that where you were yesterday afternoon, Gill?’
Greg looked for a split second as if he might interrupt again, but he didn’t. Vogel noticed, though, that he was staring at his mother with what appeared to be a mixture of horror and amazement.
‘It’s confidential, everything that happens at Helen’s House is confidential,’ said Gill, almost as if she was reciting a mantra. ‘Nobody there ever breaks a confidence. That’s the rule.’
‘We are conducting a murder inquiry, Gill. Your husband is dead, he has been murdered, and you are a person of interest. Helen Harris has informed us that you were at the House all day yesterday, and that could be vital evidence which she was absolutely right to present to us. It could also prove your innocence. If her evidence is correct you could not have killed your husband. I’m going to ask you again, were you at Helen’s House yesterday?’
There was another pause before Gill answered.
‘I, uh, y-yes, yes I was there.’
Gill’s voice was a half whisper.