She listened but no one spoke. All she could hear was the strange clicking noise on the other end. She was so engrossed she didn't notice the figure coming through the farthest entry door, one hand tucked into a bulky pocket, scratching the receiver on a mobile phone. It slid unnoticed through the lobby, heading straight for the dayroom, where Siobhain was sitting in her chair watching television, alone.
The temp turned the page. The police exhumed the dogs after a disgruntled groundskeeper got the sack and reported them. The dog widow was gutted. She wanted the police to charge the company with fraud. She knew she could never replace Scamper but she was looking at puppies and wanted to tell her story to as many people as possible so that they would be spared -
"What do you want?"
The woman's cardigan was buttoned up wrong and she had disgusting red lipstick all over her old mouth. She smiled and her teeth fell out onto the desk, rolling over the edge and tumbling onto the magazine. They were covered in spit and lippy and bits of chewed digestive biscuit.
"Go away," spat the temp, standing up and grabbing the old lady's arm tightly. She spun her around and pointed her at the dayroom. "Go. Go in there."
The old lady looked back at her, confused. "Shoo," said the temp, waving her hand.
The old lady shuffled away, one arm out in front of her.
The temp picked up the magazine at the edges and dropped the teeth into the bin, ripping out the pages they'd landed on. The spit had seeped through to the next effing pages as well. It better be a good holiday anyway.
He had only taken one step toward her when the toothless old woman walked into the room and said hello. Siobhain turned her head slowly, the bud of a smile flowering softly over her pretty face until her eyes fell on him.
Maureen opened the front door to her flat and stepped in, knocking over a pile of books with the swing of her overcoat. McAskill bent down to pick them up. "It's all right, Hugh," she said. "The place is a mess anyway."
He stacked the books into a tidy pile against the wall.
"Where did you leave the list?" asked McEwan kindly.
"Oh, Joe, it's in the kitchen somewhere," said Maureen, putting her bag down on the floor. "Listen, you go on, I'll just nip to the loo."
"Whereabouts in the kitchen?" asked McEwan.
Maureen gestured to the mess in the hall. "I'm not the sort of woman who has a special place for storing lists." She smiled at him and walked down the hall to the toilet.
She sat on the side of the bath and took the list out of her pocket, folding it carefully between the staff names Martin had given her and the list of Siobhain's ward mates. She put the toilet seat down and leaned the list on it, scratching the fold with her thumbnail until it was crisp. She opened it out and put a hand flat on either side of the fold, pulling it apart from the top down, ripping Siobhain's list off the bottom. She licked her fingertip and ran it along the ripped end of Martin's list, flattening the minute telltale hairs. She flushed the toilet and washed her hands.
Back in the kitchen McEwan was looking through the piles of newspapers on the window ledge and McAskill was sifting a pile of bills Maureen kept in the toast rack. She turned her back to them and opened the plastic-bags drawer, pretending to rummage through it. "Found it," she said, and held out the list to McEwan. He took it off her and held it up to the window. "What ye looking for?" she said innocently.
"Nothing," said McEwan thoughtfully, running the ripped end between his thumb and forefinger. "Was this bit of paper longer? I remember the pad as longer than this. Was a bit ripped off the bottom?"
Maureen shrugged. "Not that I know of."
"It's a bit damp."
"I just washed my hands."
She was seeing them out of the front door when she noticed the answer phone winking at her. McEwan caught her eye as he followed McAskill into the close. "Carol Brady was on TV last night," he said. "I don't know if you saw it?"
"No," said Maureen.
"Well, I think the press'll be hanging around again. Just watch your back, okay?" He smiled at her.
"Thanks, Joe." She patted his arm. "I will." She shut the door and waited until the policemen had walked down a couple of landings before she pressed the Play button on the answer phone. It was Lynn, she was off today, could Maureen call her at home.
A man with a Belfast accent answered and said he'd see if she was in. He put down the receiver, walked away two steps, knocked on a door and shouted something. Maureen could hear the cats meowing intermittently in the background. A door opened, two footsteps, and Lynn lifted the phone. "Hello?"
"Lynn!"
"Mauri! What's the crack? How ye feeling now?"
"Oh, I'm much better now, Lynn. Thanks for the other day."
"Liam said you'd cut your hair and it looked dead nice. I didn't let on I'd seen ye."
"Good woman."
"Look, he told me about Benny going to your house and him having a key and everything."
"God, I told him not to say anything. He's an awful arse."
"Yeah, he's that all right," said Lynn fondly. "Anyway, I might be able to do that wee thing you asked about."
"Which thing?"
"Can't say, really."
There must be someone in the background. "The medical file?" guessed Maureen. "Do you know how I get to see it?"
"I might be able to do more than that. I might be able to get it for you."
"How can you do that?"
"Inverness's files are networked and my cousin works there."
"Can you get the name of the doctor from that?"
"Patient name, address, condition, treatment and doctor's name."
"Oh, Lynn, would you? All I need is the doctor's name."
"If it's there she'll get it. Not one word, Secret Squirrel, not even to Liam. I could get my books over this."
"When could you get it for?"
"Couple of days? Phone me at work on Thursday. If ye phone in the morning I'll definitely be there."
They whispered their cheerios.
She dialed the number of the Dennistoun day center. A man answered. When Maureen asked about Siobhain McCloud the man hummed and hawed in a manner so forcefully nonchalant that Maureen was terrified. "Are you a relation?" he asked.
"I'm her cousin. Tell me what happened."
"Miss McCloud's been… I'm afraid…" His voice trailed off, as if he had turned his head away from the receiver to look at something.
She demanded to speak to the female receptionist. The girl picked up the phone. "Hello?" Maureen was halfway through reminding her she'd been in that morning when she heard a watery, tearful sniff on the other end of the phone. The receptionist had been crying.
Maureen threw down the phone and ran out of the house, hailing a cab to Dennistoun.
She ran through the reception area. Old Gurtie with the falling teeth was crying by the desk, her hand to her face, the red lipstick smudged over her cheek and nose. A woman in a smart navy trouser suit was standing by the door to the dayroom. "You can't go in!" she shouted as Maureen bolted toward the door. Maureen skipped past her. The woman lunged forward and caught the back of Maureen's overcoat, dragging her back into the lobby. Maureen slipped her arms out of the coat and ran into the dayroom.
Siobhain was sitting in the chair, still facing the television. Behind the television the fire exit was lying open, a bitter draft blowing into the room from the back alley. A dark-haired man was sitting on a chair next to Siobhain, holding a paper bag over her face. She was breathing into it. He looked up as Maureen ran over and said something about a bad turn. Maureen crouched down in front of Siobhain. She couldn't speak because of the bag over her face – she was hyperventilating – but she was awake again. Her eyes were wide with terror.
Maureen hunkered down in front of her, stroking her knee and inhaling in time with her. Siobhain's breathing slowly returned to normal and the man took the bag away from her mouth. "I saw him," mouthed Siobhain. "Him."