‘Thought you should know straight away, boss, and you, ma’am, just had a call from Morag Docherty at the hospital, apparently they’re keeping Gill Quinn in overnight. She still hasn’t spoken, or not to Morag, anyway.’
Vogel nodded. That was more or less what he had expected. But he had yet to receive an official report of the examination she would have received upon arrival at the NDDH.
‘Did Docherty know if they’d found any sign of physical injury?’
‘Yes, boss, she said to tell you they discovered signs of old bruising around her rib area, but Gill apparently said she’d hit the steering wheel doing an emergency stop. Nothing else, boss.’
Vogel was mildly surprised that Gill had volunteered any information at all, and hoped it augured well for his own interview at a later stage.
He thanked Perkins, who hurried back into the heart of the incident room.
Vogel turned to his deputy SIO. ‘OK, DI Peters, we need a complete picture of this family as a matter of urgency,’ he began. ‘How are we getting on so far?’
‘I’m not sure how much you know, boss...’
Vogel gave Peters a brief summary of the information Saslow had supplied earlier. Mostly concerning the professional lives of the Quinns.
‘Gill Quinn is deputy headmistress actually, of Elm Tree Primary School, just along the road from here,’ the DI pointed out.
Vogel was a little surprised. When Saslow had told him back at the scene that Gill was a teacher, he hadn’t given it much thought. But now he had learned that she was a deputy head. It was difficult for him to imagine the woman he had earlier encountered holding down a position of any sort of responsibility. He had to remind himself that Gill Quinn, whether or not guilty of murder, had certainly been in a state of extreme shock.
‘Gill and Thomas came to Bideford twenty years or so ago with their young son,’ Peters continued. ‘We’ve done all the usual checks, of course. Neither of them is known to us. Nothing to report beyond a couple of speeding tickets. It seems that Thomas had done pretty well for himself, as you know. They moved to St Anne’s Avenue nine years ago. Posh sort of place, as you’d have seen, boss. One of the best residential roads in the area. There doesn’t seem to be any other family. Well, not local, that is. Not sure at all about Thomas, but it seems Gill has a sister, and her father is still alive. We’re trying to trace them.’
‘What about the son? He’d be in his twenties, wouldn’t he? Didn’t see any sign of him last night. Do we know whether or not he still lives at home?’
‘He’s twenty-three, boss,’ responded DI Peters. ‘Gregory Quinn, known as Greg. Seems he moved out some years ago, but he still lives locally. Educated at West Buckland School, one of the best public schools around here. Might have been expected to go to college or do something professional, I suppose. But he didn’t. He works for Durrants, the builders.’
So in spite of his expensive education the young man hadn’t followed his parents down an academic or professional route, Vogel pondered, wondering whether or not that was significant.
‘Have we managed to get hold of Gregory?’
‘We’re still trying to contact him. We have a number for a mobile, but it seems to be switched off. We also have an address for him. He’s not there, though.’
‘What about Thomas’ work colleagues?’
‘There’s a business partner, Jason Patel. An accountant by trade. Used to have a practice at the top of the High Street until he teamed up with Quinn a couple of years ago. More money, I should think. We’ll be sending a team round to see him, and also the headmaster of Elm Tree, Gill’s school.’
‘And the door-to-door enquiries. Anything from that?’
‘Not really, boss. No suggestion of any other disturbances, nothing about any trouble at home at all. Early days, of course, but the neighbours we’ve talked to so far seem by and large to have a good opinion of both. Expressed surprise that anything like this could happen, and so on. The only one who had anything constructive to say was the woman who lives opposite, Mavis Tanner, who reported some kind of row. But you know about that, don’t you, boss.’
‘Yes. She’s the nearest thing we have to a lead at the moment. I may go round and see her myself tomorrow. What about reports of any comings and goings at the Quinn house yesterday?’
‘Nothing at all, boss. But like most of the properties on that side of St Anne’s Avenue, the Quinn house has a back entrance onto an alleyway which leads to a little park. There’s garages and car parking there too. Seems the residents are inclined much of the time to use that route to access their properties, and it’s all very secluded and private. Not overlooked at all.’
‘Yet they have those impressive driveways and parking areas at the front,’ interjected Saslow. ‘Why don’t they use those?’
‘I think they’re for show, Dawn. The residents of St Anne’s Avenue certainly wouldn’t want vehicles permanently parked outside the front of their houses. Any callers, apart probably from family and perhaps close friends, would more than likely use the front. But we have no reports yet of any callers today.’
‘So, however much Mrs and Mrs Quinn may have been in and out of their house today, it’s quite likely nobody would have seen them?’ continued Saslow.
‘That’s right enough.’
‘And no CCTV at the back, I don’t suppose?’ queried Vogel.
‘None at all, boss. None along the road at the front either. Although a few of the houses have their own systems.’
‘But not number eleven?’ guessed Vogel, primarily because DI Peters had not already mentioned the possibility of any CCTV coverage.
‘Indeed not, boss.’
Vogel was thoughtful. He was still fairly convinced that Gill Quinn, for whatever reasons, had murdered her husband, but he would have liked at least some evidence that wasn’t circumstantial. At the moment their best hope of a quick conclusion seemed to be a confession, and he had no idea whether or not that was likely to be forthcoming.
His pondering was interrupted by the return of Perkins, looking as worried as ever.
‘Excuse me, boss,’ he said. ‘Could I have a word with DI Peters?’
Vogel nodded, still wrapped up in his own thoughts.
‘The extra desks have arrived, ma’am, where do you want us to put them?’
‘I’ll be with you in a minute, Ricky,’ said Peters. ‘Anything else, boss?’
‘No,’ said Vogel. ‘Just keep me informed of all developments. Instruct the team too. Whatever time of the night anything significant comes in, I want to be notified at once.’
‘Of course,’ said DI Peters.
Vogel turned to Saslow.
‘Well, nothing yet to indicate anything other than the obvious. And it doesn’t look like we’re going to get a chance to interview Gill Quinn until tomorrow morning at the earliest. So I suggest we spend an hour or two studying all the info that’s been collated so far, and then pick up a takeaway and head back to our digs.’
Saslow said nothing, but looked distinctly cheered. Vogel knew she found the kind of hours he took for granted pretty hard sometimes. She was a woman who liked her sleep.
As they drove back to Barnstaple, Daisy Dobbs called from the morgue.
‘I’m prepared to give you a tighter estimate of time of death, David,’ she said, having clearly decided they should both be on Christian name terms. ‘We’ve done all the possible tests now, and I reckon Thomas Quinn died between about three and five, probably nearer to three, only that’s a bit of a guess.’
So all they needed to do now, Vogel considered, was to ascertain that Gill Quinn had been at her home within that time span and the case would be more or less completed.