As the detectives pulled off the main road, towards Crosshouse Hospital, it became clear that several circuits of the car park would be necessary to find a space. On the way to the entrance the building’s bright lights belied the darkness that had crept in. Valentine checked his watch and tried to guess where his wife and family might be now. Chloe’s play had finished half an hour ago, they’d all be at Vito’s for ice cream, that’s what had been planned. The girls loved the ice cream there, no matter how quickly they were growing up that remained constant. He tried to put the picture out of his mind – it wasn’t helping anyone – as he approached the reception desk and produced his warrant card. ‘DI Valentine and this is my colleague DS McCormack, we’re here to see the old lady you brought from Ayr.’
‘Oh, yes.’
McCormack said, ‘Agnes Gilchrist.’
‘Of course.’ The receptionist picked up a telephone receiver and waited for an answer, her chat was brisk. ‘Doctor’s coming to take you through.’
As they sat down Valentine absorbed the familiar setting. Nurses dashing about, the overpowering scent of industrial disinfectant and the occasional chime of medical equipment combined to remind him why he didn’t like hospitals. There had been long weeks in such a place, stretching into months, after his own knife assault. At first it was like everything was happening to someone else – like he was a spectator to terrible events – and he indulged the fantasy because it was easier to absorb than the reality that he had died.
Twice on the operating table the detective’s heart stopped and he was declared dead. He hadn’t fought back, that would have taken a conscious effort, something he didn’t have. He was cold, numbed by the drugs, but that was all. There was no retreat from a blinding white light either; God hadn’t whispered to him like some Hollywood movie. For a long time afterwards he was too weak, physically and mentally, to do more than ponder what had happened to him. But, later, the questions came.
‘Detective Inspector …’ the man was holding out his hand, ‘I’m Dr Campbell.’
‘Hello, Dr … I’m sorry I was miles away.’
Valentine and McCormack followed the doctor down an over-lit corridor that led to the wards. He was a talkative man, commenting on their shared misfortune to be working so late on a weeknight and the trouble of rising early the next day. When he got to Agnes Gilchrist, however, his tone darkened.
‘She’s not in a good way, she got a bad knock on the head in the fall. She’s an old lady and hasn’t kept good health for some time. On top of that we’ve had to set her wrist, a clean enough break, but she’s had an almighty shock.’
‘If we can just have a couple of minutes with her,’ said Valentine.
‘Well that really will be all, I’m afraid. And can I ask you not to let her get worked up, we need to keep her calm and rested.’
‘Of course.’
The room was small, dominated by a portable hospital bed that was elevated to allow the patient to sit up. There was a sink, a small wooden cabinet with a plastic water jug and one chair, occupied by an old man in a dark brown suit. The detective was first in the room, followed closely by the others. The old man rose as Valentine passed and the pair nodded to each other. When he reached the side of the bed he stared at the patient and she acknowledged him with a flat smile.
‘Hello, Agnes.’
She was nervy, her hands trembling.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Valentine and this is DS McCormack.’ As the doctor appeared on the other side of the bed Valentine noticed the old man had left the room.
‘The police officers would like to ask you a few questions, Mrs Gilchrist.’
Her lips tightened, then parted a little.
‘It’s OK, love.’ Valentine took hold of her hand. ‘I know you’ve been through the mill today, we should be giving you a medal.’
DS McCormack sat on the edge of the bed and asked Agnes if she was comfortable, if they could do anything for her.
‘I’m fine, they’ve been very good to me.’
‘Do you mind if we ask a few questions, Mrs Gilchrist?’
‘You’ve got your job to do, son.’
‘Can you tell us what you saw?’
‘Well, I didn’t think much of it at first, it just sounded like another one of their rows with all the shouting and screaming.’
‘Who was shouting and screaming?’
‘It was herself at first, then her man, I think.’
DS McCormack had been taking notes, she looked up. ‘Do you mean Sandra Millar?’
‘Yes, I’d know her sobbing anywhere, dogs in the street would know her.’
‘You said her man was there too, would that be James Tulloch?’
‘I don’t know his name. Can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure.’
‘But you recognised him?’
Agnes picked at the hem of the cotton bed sheet with shaking fingers. ‘To be honest, I can’t say I did. I heard a man, but I don’t know who it was.’
‘It’s OK, Mrs Gilchrist, you’re doing fine.’
The old woman looked at the doctor. ‘Perhaps that’s enough for now,’ he said. ‘Perhaps after a night’s rest she’ll remember some more.’
‘Just one more question. Did you see, or hear, anyone else?’
‘I … I just can’t be sure. Is that important?’
‘Think hard for a moment, I know you’re tired, but this would be a great help.’ Valentine’s voice trailed into stillness as he tried to comfort the old woman. ‘Was Sandra Millar’s daughter there, or her son? What about somebody else altogether?’
Agnes drew a deep breath and passed her gaze between the detective and the doctor. The task that had been asked of her was too much for her exhausted state.
‘I really think we should leave it there,’ said Dr Campbell.
‘There were two people.’
‘Go on,’ the DI whispered to her.
‘When I called the police someone had staggered out the house but she was already sitting on the front step screaming and crying. I did see two people, a man and a woman, one was definitely bigger.’
‘You saw a man?’
‘Yes, I saw him coming from the house and going down the street. And it couldn’t have been her man because he was …’ Agnes’s eyes were moistening, her voice croaking and cracking, ‘he was in the kitchen.’
The doctor stood up, frowning, and directed an open hand towards the door. Valentine and McCormack followed his lead.
‘Thank you, Agnes. You’ve been a tremendous help to us.’ Valentine was sure the witness had more to reveal about her neighbour’s death but it was impossible to push her further in her current condition. ‘If you remember anything else please pick up the phone. Tomorrow we’ll pay you another little visit when you’ve had some rest.’
In the corridor Valentine tried to make sense of the new information but he knew it only raised more questions. If she had recognised the man, or been able to identify someone, then that would have been helpful. As it was, all the DI now had was another suspect to add to the list.
DS McCormack was putting away her notebook and zipping up her bag as the DI met her at the door. Her expression indicated that she had already moved beyond the significance of the witness statement.
‘Sir, can I ask just one question?’
‘Sure. Fire away.’
‘Who the hell were you nodding to when you went in the room?’
Valentine didn’t reply.
8
On the road back to Ayr Valentine tapped the window sill with his fingertips and waited for DS McCormack to begin her cross-examination. It was something she did well, not in the professional sense, but through her ability to make others reveal secrets they might prefer to keep to themselves. Valentine’s mother had been the same, his father had called her an accomplished ear lender for her skill in making others talk their problems away to her. He envied that of his father – how much easier would his own life be with a wife more like his mother? It was nonsense, of course. He was married to Clare, she had supported him in more ways than he was able to tally, and she had given him the girls – the true wonder of his life.