"God, fifty people?"
"Yeah. Could be more, actually, I'm just guessing."
"Another thing," said Maureen. "The police seem to think that I saw Douglas instead of Angus. Do you know how they could have got that idea?"
"Well, they questioned nearly everyone here. To be honest, everyone was looking at the paper in the staff room and remembering the girl in the picture. One of the nurses said she'd tried to hit her once."
Maureen smiled. "So, basically, God alone knows what they've been told."
"Basically, yes."
"Surely it would say I saw Angus on my file?"
"Well, yes, it would, now you mention it. I don't know how they got that idea."
"And would it say who I was referred to in the file?"
"Yes, it would."
"Cheers, Shirley, you've been a great help."
"Would you go in and see Angus? He's been hit terribly hard by this. He'd be delighted to see you. You could take his coffee in to him."
"He'd be delighted to see me now that I'm involved in a murder investigation?"
"Helen, you left here and never came back or ended up across the road in Levanglen. As far as we're concerned you're a success."
They went back into the waiting room. The combat girl looked up. "Won't be long now," Shirley said to her. "The doctor's just finishing off his lunch." She stirred three sugars and a drop of cream into one of the mugs of coffee and handed it to Maureen. "I take it you can remember where the office is?"
"Sure."
Maureen walked down the corridor, passing Douglas's door and feeling slightly guilty, as if he might step out any minute and give her trouble for coming back here. She knocked on Angus's door and he called for her to come in. "Hello," he said, looking at her. He didn't seem to know her. He stood up and came over to greet her. "I haven't seen you for a while," he said, fishing for clues, "have I?"
Maureen said he hadn't.
The room was dark and comfortable and stank of fags. It should have been bright but was kept in perpetual dawn by the pall of smoke and the half-closed vertical blinds. Against the near wall stood two leather armchairs with high backs, a rickety coffee table between them with an ashtray and a box of tissues on it. Behind the farthest armchair stood a six-foot rubber plant.
Angus was in his midforties. His hair was graying and receding pleasantly, just enough to make him look a little weather-beaten. He dressed like a down-at-heel laird, in worn tweed jackets and balding corduroys. He chain-smoked and his love of tobacco had created an immediate bond between them. During their sessions they'd sat in the armchairs, leaning forward, huddled together, puffing hard as Maureen talked him through the worst of her childhood, giving one another lights and passing the ashtray to and fro.
Angus held his fag between his teeth, pushed his steel-framed glasses back up his nose and smiled a confused, expectant little smile, waiting for her to introduce herself.
Maureen grinned and handed him the mug of coffee. "Shirley asked me to give you this."
He took the mug and put it down on the coffee table, turning back to her and shaking her hand.
The tall rubber plant had been flourishing when she had been here before but its leaves were speckled with ominous crisp brown patches. "Your lovely plant's not well," she said.
"Oh, I know, I can't think what's wrong with it. I've tried pruning it back and everything. I thought it might be the cigarette smoke but I wash it once a month. I suppose they just die sometimes." He stroked one of the healthy leaves with his forefinger and suddenly looked up her. "Helen!" he said.
She laughed. "You couldn't place me there for a minute, could you?"
"No, no, I couldn't, but I remember you now!" He put out his fag in the ashtray and held her hand in both of his, shaking it warmly. "Helen, how are you?"
"Not bad." She smiled.
"You look fantastic. Hey, look, sit down, sit down." He bustled her backward into one of the armchairs. "I'm embarrassed, I wouldn't have forgotten any other time but just now… Did you hear about Mr. Brady from across the hall?"
"He was murdered."
"He was."
She could see baby tears nestling on the rims of his eyes. He sat down and lit another fag, inhaling deeply. "It's been a nightmare," he said softly.
"Were you close?"
He nodded. "We've known each other for years and years. It's unthinkable. Even for his clients… The last thing the long-term patients need is to have to go over their case histories to a locum… We're trying to cover them ourselves but we're not exactly at our operational best… None of us can take it in." He smiled unhappily. "We had to cancel the grief-counseling group Dougie used to take. We didn't want to tell them what had happened but we had to."
He saw that her hands were empty and pushed his packet of cigarettes across the table. She took one out and looked up as she was lighting it. Angus was watching her. "You see," he smiled, "I do remember you."
"Actually, that's why I'm here. Because of Douglas."
He looked at her, not quite understanding.
"My name isn't Helen. That was an assumed name I used for coming here. My real name is Maureen O'Donnell. Does that mean anything to you?"
"God's sakes, I read the papers. But there was a photograph."
"Yeah, it's a girl I work with. They took a picture of the wrong person."
He gave a wry smile. "It's not like the papers to get things wrong, is it?"
"I didn't know they were that incompetent."
"They've been harassing the staff and the clients" he said indignantly. "The bloody clients."
"They're wild, aren't they?"
"So, you're Maureen. I wanted to see you about this affair you were having with Douglas. It was highly unethical of him, it was very wrong. I wanted you to know that."
"Well, it was kind of mutual, really."
"Did you meet here?"
She told him the story about waiting at the bus stop and Douglas picking her up, leaving out the vigorous sex and skewing the story so that Douglas seemed guilt free.
Angus shook his head. "No, you were vulnerable. We had a duty to care for you and Douglas breached that." He squeezed her hand. "It was wrong."
She could smell the smoke on his breath. He let go of her hand and leaned back. "They found him in your house, then?" he said. "How are you coping?"
"I'm invincible since I saw you."
He blushed a little and tapped his fag. "No one's invincible to the shock of something like this," he said sadly. "Are you still seeing Louisa Wishart at the Albert?"
"Yeah."
"She treating you well? Can you talk to her?"
Maureen nodded. "Fine, fine. Listen, Angus, can I ask you something?"
"Fire away."
"The police seem to think that Douglas was my therapist. Do you know why they might think that?"
"Aye," he said. "They asked whether you were my patient but I didn't recognize the picture from the paper so I said you weren't. The files aren't always complete and they're kept on computer now so we can't even go by the handwriting on the notes the way we used to. I hope you told them it was me."
"No, I didn't, but I will."
"Good. That'll make a difference to the way Douglas is remembered."
"Angus, do you have any idea who could have done this?"
"Do you know something," he said, sighing heavily as his eyes brimmed over, "I haven't got the first fucking idea who'd do this." She'd never heard him swear properly before. He looked at her and paused.
"Do you know who did it?" His voice was higher than usuaclass="underline" it sounded like an accusation.
"I've no idea either," she said quietly.
They finished their cigarettes quickly and in silence. Maureen wished she hadn't come here.
"I'll have to get on," said Angus. "I have a patient coming in ten minutes and I haven't been over her notes yet."
He stood up, moved to the door and opened it for her. "Any time you want to come and see us again phone Shirley, okay?"
She wanted to shout at him or cry or something but she couldn't think of anything to say. As she slipped past him into the corridor she muttered to him, "I didn't do it, Angus."