by Wes Markin
The first time the Conduit ‘planted’ the changed narrative, it didn’t take. Bernard emerged from the hypnosis, shrugging off the new memories as a nightmare, and not the real version of events. Three visualisations later, and the Conduit was still stuck at square one. This was one stubborn old fox! But, eventually, like all the Conduit’s previous patients, he started to crumble. On the fourth visualisation, Bernard emerged from the hypnosis in an anxious state. Sweating and trembling. The Conduit asked him to recall the events, and Bernard talked through them as if they were reality.
The fiction had taken root. Bernard Driggs was broken!
And now the Conduit could fix him.
Yorke was shaking his head. ‘Sorry, Emma, rewind. You paid a Private Investigator?’
Gardner took a long, deep breath. Spilling her guts to the person she respected most in the world had left her shaken. She followed the breath with a nod.
It was now Yorke’s turn to take a long, deep breath, because hitting the roof with one of his closest friends was sure to rule him out as her confidante. ‘Okay, okay … from the beginning please.’
‘Well, you know the beginning, Mike. You were part of the investigation to find him.’
Over eighteen months ago, battered and bruised DI Mark Topham had been in the midst of an alcohol-fuelled breakdown as a result of his boyfriend’s murder. While he’d been finding solace in sex workers, Topham had become involved in a violent altercation with a young prostitute called Dan Tillotson, who’d then died.
After Topham fled Salisbury, the investigation had lasted months. Looking back now, it seemed to Yorke that they’d tracked down every person Topham had ever been in contact with. Yorke had seen more of the UK in those months than he’d ever seen before, or ever expected to see again in his lifetime.
Yet, it’d all come to nothing. In fact, it’d been so fruitless, that many at HQ had already written Mark Topham off as dead, and the search had quickly become considered a waste of resources.
‘I wasn’t having it,’ Gardner said. ‘He was my friend. Our friend. We owed him more than that. Knowing that I had a family to support, and that I couldn’t just swan off and look for him myself, I found a PI called Robert Brislane.’
‘How could you afford a bloody PI?’ Yorke said.
‘Barry is quite high up at his pharmaceutical company. He had a significant bonus that year. Also, I had some savings.’
‘Jesus. How did Barry feel about this?’
‘Pissed off. At first. But he knew I didn’t have a choice. He’d almost lost me the previous year to that knife injury, and knew that I’d given up my job to keep myself safe for him and our children. When I told him it was Robert Brislane, or I was going back to the job, he agreed.’
‘But still … have you been paying this Brislane since then? That’s almost eighteen months!’
‘No, I paid him for seven months.’
‘I don’t understand … why did you stop? Did you run out of money?’
‘No. I stopped because he found him.’
Yorke’s eyes widened. ‘Found Mark?’
Gardner nodded.
‘Where?’
Gardner wiped another tear from her eye. ‘That’s just it, Mike. I don’t know. Because the day Robert told me he’d found Mark, he disappeared too.’
Once the real version of events had been rejected, and a new narrative adopted, the Conduit set out to build a whole new event. This was a new challenge for the Conduit. Until this point, he’d only ever adapted and tweaked existing events – he’d never created a completely new one! And certainly nothing as audacious as this ... But, the doctor was confident that, with a generous helping of time and copious amounts of drugs and hypnosis, it was possible.
Right now, on the sofa, the Conduit clapped his hands together. Oh, how right he had been!
In this new event, the Argentinian soldier had not died instantly from the bullet delivered by one of Bernard’s colleagues. From the ground, the Argentinian had threatened to return, in the future, with several of his comrades to finish off Bernard Driggs in a cold and cruel manner. They would wait until his guard was lowered in old age and they would pay him a visit in Rose Hill care home. There they would take on the form of the carers and other residents.
Now, to any rational mind, this was obviously complete nonsense. How on earth did this Argentinian plan to transcend death and return in another form? How could the soldier possibly know where Bernard Driggs would be residing in later life?
But the level of believability was irrelevant because, as the Conduit would be pointing out in his notes for the science journals, “anything can, and will, be believed when the mind is under severe pressure”.
And Bernard’s tweaked narrative, in which he had frozen when he could have saved his comrades’ lives, caused severe pressure.
So, Bernard Driggs bought it, hook, line and sinker. Maybe not back in his waking life – the Conduit never put this to the test – but certainly under hypnosis. And from that point onwards, the plot accelerated at breakneck speed and the Conduit realised that Christmas Day would be an optimum time to test out his treatment.
The Conduit trained Bernard’s mind to respond to certain messages. Upon receiving these messages, he would fall under hypnosis again, and believe, whole-heartedly, in the threat issued to him all those years ago on an Argentinian battlefield. On one of their walks, he presented Bernard with a new phone and a Christmas present. He instructed him not to open the gift until the big day, and not until he received a text message. ‘I want to know, immediately, your response when you see my gifts! So, only open them when I text you, so I’ll be at hand to receive the reply.’ Of course, there would be no text back. There didn’t need to be. The Conduit knew what his response would be already.
The Conduit was very confident that no one would be searching Bernard’s belongings (and the contents of his present) when he returned from his walk. Who would suspect Bernard Driggs of anything? This was a good thing, because within the wrapping slept the lighter fluid and a box of matches, for Bernard to burn Rose Hill down, and a Smith and Wesson Shield EZ.
So, early today, he’d driven himself, and his burner phone, to the other side of Leeds. Here, he’d sent the first text message to activate. Ten minutes later, he’d sent the second to deactivate.
Then, he’d dropped the phone into the River Aire, returned home, and waited for news of his success.
The Conduit took a deep breath.
Emil Kraepelin, Sigmund Freud, Eugen Bleuler, Nathan S. Kline, Aaron Beck …
And now, Dr Louis Mayers.
He would change the face of modern psychiatry and take his place beside his illustrious forefathers.
Gardner gave Yorke a potted history of Robert Brislane’s seven-month hunt for Mark Topham. ‘The last time I heard from him was on that day you came to see me, back in February, during that atrocious ash cloud - not long after that shit show with Borya Turgenev.’
Yorke flinched. The mere mention of his name caused the scar on his cheek to burn.
‘Robert phoned because he’d found Mark in Leeds. Obviously, I had a lot of questions. I was desperate to know exactly where he was, and whether he was safe, but Robert just kept telling me it wasn’t that simple. He said I had to come to Leeds. So, the next day, I phoned in sick, and headed up there to his hotel.’ Gardner ran a hand through her hair.
‘And?’
‘When I got there, he’d gone.’
‘Checked out?’
‘No. They phoned up to his room and he wasn’t there. It was a fairly cheap hotel with low standards. I only had to pretend to be his wife and they let me into the room. I waited for him. Spent the whole night there, and he didn’t return. The next day, I called his wife to see if he’d headed home. No luck. So, I contacted the police … after I’d searched his bags.’
‘What?’ Yorke said. ‘You left DNA over all of his belongings. What if he turns up dead?’
‘I used gloves, Mik
e. Besides, I told the police I spent the night in his room, and they would expect some DNA transfer from that anyway. Look, I was completely open and honest about my contact with Robert.’
‘How did they feel about you two working outside the law to track down a wanted murderer?’
‘How you’d expect. But I just stressed that Robert hadn’t done anything illegal.’
‘You were only aware of what he saw fit to tell you. You know how some of these investigators work.’
‘True, and I was paranoid for a time, but if they ever suspected me, or think I crossed some kind of line, they must have moved on because I haven’t heard from them in a good while. To begin with, it was me pressing them for information on the investigation, rather than the other way around! I didn’t need my experience as a detective to know that they were going nowhere.’ Gardner reached into her inside pocket, and pulled out a large box of tic tacs. ‘There was a time when I considered hiring another investigator to find the missing one, and I even brought it up in conversation with Barry. Yes, ridiculous, I know. I’m already responsible for one person’s disappearance.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Oh, I do.’ Gardner shook a tic tac out. She held the box out to Yorke. He shook his head.
‘Mark may not even have been in Leeds,’ Yorke said. ‘You only have that one brief phone call from Robert. You saw no actual evidence.’
Gardner threw a tic tac into her mouth, leaned over and opened the glove compartment opposite Yorke. ‘The brown envelope.’
‘What is it?’
‘I searched Robert’s belongings, remember?’
‘You didn’t say you found anything.’
Gardner smiled. ‘I didn’t say I hadn’t.’
‘Are you about to show me evidence that should be with the police up in Leeds?’
‘Close the glove compartment then, Mike.’
Yorke narrowed his eyes. ‘I can’t believe this. Are there any jobs going at Marks and Spencer because I might be applying there next month?’
‘Stop exaggerating. No one will ever know you looked in that envelope.’
Yorke sighed, took the envelope and slipped out an A4 photograph. He recognised the person and the location. Both sent his heart racing.
The Parkinson Building. A prominent landmark in Leeds and one of its largest buildings. Yorke recalled being able to see the clock tower at its highest point miles away on the motorway every time he drove towards Leeds to begin a new semester.
This building sat at the entrance to Leeds University; a central part of Yorke’s life for three years back in the early nineties.
Sitting on the third step up to the door into the Parkinson Building was their ex-colleague, and friend, Mark Topham. He had shaved his head, grown stubble, and traded in his tailored designer clothing for shapeless, loose-fitting attire. He was dishevelled, and so unlike the Topham they’d worked closely with.
‘So Robert did find Mark …’ Yorke said.
Gardner nodded. ‘Then lost him again.’
‘And himself in the process. Bloody hell, Emma. This photograph should be with the police. Withholding this has not been your finest decision. You should have at least come to me sooner.’
Gardner snorted. ‘Come to you! You want to lock him up!’
‘Yes … you do remember what he’s done, don’t you, Emma?’
‘Yes, but I don’t believe it’s as it seemed. I want to hear his story before he’s dragged in like some kind of animal.’
Yorke sighed. ‘So, why are you here then if you don’t trust me?’
‘Desperation.’
‘Thanks!’
‘Now that I know Mayers is in Leeds too, I’m worried that he may have both of them. Robert and Mark.’
‘That’s a leap—’
‘Come on, Mike! Why else would Mark be in Leeds unless he’d found Mayers? And if he found Mayers, no one is safe. Robert and Mark are in danger, I know they are.’
‘Or were in danger, Emma. This picture is ten months old.’
‘I’m not giving up.’
‘Okay, say you’re right, what then?’
‘We go up to Leeds. You have a way in with the force up there—’
‘Emma, that’s not happening.’
Gardner stared at him. Her eyes were wide. He was used to seeing her look driven from their time working together, but this wasn’t drive. This was obsession. Bordering on the fanatical.
‘I’ll go on my own then.’
‘That’s not happening, either.’
‘You going to cuff me?’
‘You’re being ridiculous.’
‘I was wrong.’
‘Wrong … about what?’
‘About the fact that you’d do anything for your team.’
‘You’re not making any sense.’
‘Iain is dead, Jake has gone, and Mark needs us. If we’re not going to help him, who is?’
The dig hurt. Yorke broke eye contact with Gardner. ‘But this isn’t the right way. Ditching authority like a couple of rogue agents. Would we even get anywhere anyway?’
‘You will be working with the police up there – hardly rogue.’
‘While dragging a civilian along as part of the investigation?’
‘I’m not a civilian, and you know it. And no one knows Mark like I do. Together, we can find him. And Robert too.’
Yorke rubbed his temples. Then, he picked up the envelope and threw it back into the glove compartment. ‘I’m sorry, Emma.’ He closed it, and then opened the car door.
He looked over at her. Her eyes were still wide. She trembled slightly. He had to force back his own tears. ‘I’m going to go and be with my family. You should do the same.’
He left the car and closed the door behind him.
6
THERE WAS NO point trying to rekindle the Christmas Spirit in the Yorke household. That ship had well and truly sailed.
Ewan and Lexi had disappeared upstairs to celebrate their ridiculous engagement in privacy. Whether they were having sex or not was the least of Yorke’s concerns now that they were preparing to commit their entire lives to each other. Patricia was watching EastEnders, which was always a positivity-sapper.
He watched Beatrice push a doll from the roof of her new doll’s house. ‘Susie’s dead.’ She then prepared another doll for a simulated suicide.
He walked around the side of the sofa, and saw the bundle of black fur. Even Rosie had given up bouncing off the walls and gone to sleep.
He sat down on the sofa and said. ‘Sorry.’
Patricia muted the television. ‘You don’t have to apologise.’
‘Yes, I do. It’s ridiculous, I know.’
‘We knew what we were getting into when we hooked up. This is the way our jobs are. I’ve got the part-time excuse now … you don’t.’
‘But it’s Christmas Day.’
‘And you’ve returned a child to their parents. Could your commitments be any nobler?’
‘Roles reversed, I’d hate it.’
‘Roles reversed, you’d accept it, for what it is. Important.’
‘How long though? How long really before it comes between us. Before it does to us what it did to Jake and Sheila, to countless other people I know? I brought a Russian hitman into our house earlier this year for Christ’s sake!’
She stood up and walked over to him. She smiled. ‘Him? He was no match for the Yorke family.’
Well … technically, it was Jake that helped us out on that one, Yorke thought, feeling a pang of loss.
She sat beside him, and put her hand on his knee. ‘We’re stronger than that. We met in blood remember?’
She was right. She was a forensic pathologist, and they’d met while she was examining a murder victim. ‘I prefer to say we met on the job.’
‘Same same …’
‘… but different?’ Yorke said with a raised eyebrow. ‘I get all that. But, we’ve decided to have a family together. Us. Not just you,
who is happy to suffer because her husband is addicted to his job. Us.’
‘You’re tired. Emotional. You’re thinking too hard. Any problems that exist between us are just in your head, Mike—’
‘No. I can see the discontent even if you won’t acknowledge it. Sometimes I hear it in your tone of voice, sometimes I see it in your eyes. It’s there. We can’t just ignore it.’
She rubbed his knee. ‘Don’t get wound up. Listen, we’ve got two weeks together—’
‘Yes!’ Yorke said, sitting upright. ‘We have now. We almost didn’t. They were at me again, trying to pull me away from my family for the umpteenth time. Don’t worry, I—’
‘Slow down. Who was at you?’
Inside, Yorke cursed his foolishness for mentioning it. Even bringing it up brought gloom into their lives. Why couldn’t he keep his big mouth shut?
‘Who?’ Patricia asked again.
So, Yorke told her about the phone call from Madden telling him that Mayers was back. Before he’d even finished the story, Patricia’s hand was over her mouth and she was deathly pale.
See, there it is, more angst sweeping through the Yorke household like a bloody tsunami.
She took her hand away. ‘Jesus, I’m sorry, Mike. I really am.’
Yorke creased his brow. ‘What’re you sorry about?’
Patricia looked confused. ‘That man … that monster … what he did to your friend.’
Yorke gulped. He recalled standing in an interviewing room with his hands on Topham’s shoulders, desperate to achieve the impossible and hold him together. He’d watched his friend’s world break in two.
‘Madden wants you to help, doesn’t she?’ Patricia said.
He nodded. ‘So, I obviously told her what she could do with the request.’
‘What? I don’t understand?’
‘I told her I was spending the two weeks with my family.’
‘And she let that one lie … Madden?’
‘No … not exactly, but I’m unshakeable on this one.’
