The list Martin had given her was still in the condom pocket of her black jeans. If the patients had been raped the only safe approach was through the female members of staff. Starting with the nurses' list, she picked out the three recognizably female names and got the Glasgow phone directory from the kitchen drawer. The first name was Suzanne Taylor. Fifteen Taylors were listed in the book. Maureen worked out that they were arranged alphabetically by the first name. The last one listed was Spen. Taylor: Suzanne had either married or moved away. The second name, Jill McLaughlin, might well have been hidden among the thirty or so J. McLaughlins.
Sharon Ryan was a godsend. She was one of three if she was there at all. Maureen tried the first one. The number had been disconnected. The second number had never heard of Sharon Ryan; the third hadn't either.
She hung up and tried to narrow the margins on Jill McLaughlin. Jill would be somewhere between Jas. and Joseph; that left eight possibles. She lifted the receiver and tried the first one, then the second, then the third. She was losing hope. Five McLaughlins and still no Jill. On the seventh a tiny voice answered: "Hello."
"Hello, could I speak to Jill McLaughlin, please?"
"Who're ye?" said the tiny voice.
It might have been habit or the child's voice but she didn't lie. "I'm Maureen O'Donnell," she said.
The little voice thought about it for a moment before shouting, "Mummy, Mummy, it's a lady."
She could hear the woman at the other end talking the child gruffly away from the phone. "Yes?" she said.
"Am I talking to Jill McLaughlin?"
"Yes," she said.
"Can I ask you, Ms. McLaughlin, are you a nurse?"
"Not now," she said bluntly.
If Jill McLaughlin had left the caring profession she'd done it a big favor.
"Were you a nurse?" asked Maureen.
"Auxiliary."
"Sorry?"
"I was a care assistant," she said. She broke off to tell the child to stop it. Maureen heard a slap and the child started to cry.
"Look, I'm sorry to bother you, I can hear you've got your hands full there."
"Yes, I have."
"Are you the Nurse McLaughlin who worked in George I ward at the Northern?"
McLaughlin paused. Maureen could hear her sucking on a fag. "Who is this?" she said suspiciously, exhaling noisily into the receiver. "Are you with the papers?"
"No, no," said Maureen. "I'm not."
The child was wailing in the background. "You are so with the papers."
"No, honest, I'm not."
"Who are you, then?"
"I'm Maureen O'Donnell-"
"I've seen you in the paper," growled McLaughlin viciously. "I seen you."
There was a click on the line and Maureen found herself listening to the dial tone.
Siobhain's list of women would be harder to trace because they were Highland clan names, and the listings were long for all of them. Siobhain had written "Bearsden" in brackets next to Yvonne Urquhart. It was the name of an upper-class suburb to the northwest of the city. Maureen looked in the phone book for the Urquharts listed with Bearsden codes. There were only three. When she dialed the second number she got Yvonne Urquhart's sister. She sounded quite old and had an anxious, tremulous voice. "My sister Yvonne has moved to Daniel House, out by Whiteinch," she warbled. "She moved there a wee while ago."
"Oh, I see."
"Are you her friend, perhaps? Would I know you?"
"Well, I knew her at the Northern. I wanted to see her again, see how she was getting on."
"Oh, dear me, I'm afraid you'll find she's terribly changed. She got much worse in the past few years. She isn't well at all now, not well at all, I'm afraid."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Could you give me the number for Daniel House?"
"Certainly, certainly. May you hold?"
Maureen phoned the number and was told she could visit Yvonne until eight o'clock but not after that. It was half-five already. She put on her coat hurriedly, straightened her makeup in the bathroom mirror and made for the door, patting her pockets to check for money and the new keys.
The phone rang out abruptly, startling her so much that she fumbled with the receiver and dropped it. The woman at the other end was giggling and embarrassed. "Um, hello, um, you rang here about half an hour ago? Looking for Sharon Ryan? I rang one four seven one and got your number because I thought you might actually be looking for Shan instead of Sharon."
The name was written down on Martin's list as Shan Ryan. Maureen had assumed it stood for Sharon. "Is Shan a nurse?"
"Yeah, but he isn't in right now."
"Um, did he work at the Northern between 'ninety-one and 'ninety-four?"
"Well, I'm not sure of the dates but I think it's definitely him you want."
"I've got him down as Sharon."
"It's a mistake lots of people make," said the helpful woman, "but he's not in just now."
"Do you know what time he'll be back?"
"No idea, I'm just his flatmate, he doesn't tell me anything. He's probably in the Variety Bar in Sauchiehall Street if you want to go down there."
"Well, it's not that urgent, really."
"Or you could call him at work tomorrow. He's in the dispensary in the Rainbow Clinic on the South Side. If you phone Levanglen they'll put you through."
"Thanks," said Maureen, and put the receiver down as if it had burned her.
She could feel tiny Jim's eyes on her back as she locked the front door behind her. Out in the dark street the policemen in the car nudged one another awake and waited until she was halfway down the hill before starting the engine and turning the lights on.
Maureen tried to come up with a good justification for wasting money on a cab instead of hanging about and waiting for a bus. If she ran out of her own money she could use some of Douglas's, but she didn't want to. It was Sunday and there wouldn't be many buses about. She might have to wait for ages; she might miss the visiting time. She walked down the hill to the main road and hailed a cab, asking the driver to take her to the far end of Whiteinch.
The driver began a monologue about his daughter's wonderful exam results and kept it up all the way down Dumbarton Road. Maureen asked him to stop at a newsagent's and nipped out, blowing more money on an unhappy bouquet of dying flowers and a box of chocolates to take to Yvonne.
Daniel House looked like any of the other detached brownstone houses in the street. Only the economy-model cars in the driveway marked it out: the other houses had Mercedes and BMWs parked outside. A discreet brass sign screwed into the low garden wall identified it as Daniel House Nursing Home. The storm doors were open and folded back against the porch; the doorstep had been replaced with a short ramp. The inside door was enormous and had a four-foot-tall glass panel, etched with an elaborate Grecian vase design.
Maureen pressed the white plastic doorbell and stepped back. A young nurse opened the door. She wore a white pinny over a blue candy-striped uniform. "Hello?" she said.
"I phoned earlier, about Yvonne Urquhart."
"Oh, yes," she said, and opened the door wide, welcoming Maureen in.
Maureen felt the heavy-duty nylon carpet squeak and drag on her rubber-soled boots. The heating in the nursing home was very high and she started sweating as soon as she stepped through the door. Twin oak doorways on either side of the hall led into large communal rooms. Directly opposite the front door a broad oak staircase swept up to the second floor. A stainless-steel rail had been screwed onto the elegant balustrade and a folded lift chair nestled idly at the foot of the stairs. In the shadow of the graceful staircase stood a gray medication trolley with the lid down.
The nurse saw the box of chocolates in Maureen's hand and flinched. "It's a while since you saw Yvonne, isn't it?"
"Yeah," said Maureen.
"I don't think you should give her those," she said, pointing at the box. "She could choke."