The Listeners

by Anthony J. Quinn

  This is loneliness that I am feeling, she thought. She told herself she had a family and a good job, and that these were bulwarks against solitude, but why did she feel so isolated at home, and so lost in her role as a police detective? The mysterious depth of her feeling gave her a sense of determination to explore it further, and she pushed on.

  The wind picked up and the entire forest seemed to tip in one direction, leaning towards her like a slow-moving giant, all those thousands of branches and millions of pine needles turning in obedience to the invisible force of moving air, pausing now, seething together, waiting for the command. She stood very still, in a posture of intense concentration. I’m at my best when the forest turns its silence towards me. Pochard’s words ran through her mind and suddenly made sense. Everything became fathomable and still. The rain stopped, and the path opened into the clearing. The cairn of stones and the writhing tree roots looked sharp and clear in the aftermath of the downpour. She could see the waterfall spilling down the hillside. Again, that sense that McCrea and Chisholm were not murderers, but witnesses, forced to endure a long and terrible look at their darkest fantasies.

  Her colleagues were searching for the wrong man in Llewyn, she was certain of that. But who had murdered Pochard and Dunnock, and possibly Cavanagh? Who could be capable of such brutality and cleverness? What was the combination of memories and words that were welling up inside her, and who were they pointing towards?

  If only she could spell out her thoughts to Morton right now when they were fresh in her mind. She needed his shrewdness. No one in her working life as a police officer had been kinder to her, she realised, than this middle-aged detective who never smiled in her company, but whose presence was like a guiding hand, a churlish big brother, a defender who seemed to understand the professional pressures she laboured under as an inexperienced female detective. She knew that if she relayed her ideas to him they would become clear-cut and comprehensible.

  She took out her phone and rang his number, but he did not answer. She tried again. The rain picked up, and standing there, listening to the waterfall, she thought of the disturbed fantasies of the patients on Ward G and the professional dreams of therapists like Sinden and Llewyn inextricably entwined and writhing together like the gnarled tree roots at the foot of the waterfall. She closed her eyes and allowed all her doubts to flow away from her, willing the crime scene to open up, if only for a moment or two.

  Slowly, it dawned upon her. It did not feel like an overwhelming moment of clarity. More a train of thought hinting at a deeper insight. Something Sinden had said about his reputation at Deepwell, the way he had looked past her, as though he were complaining to an invisible audience, and the fact that Pochard never saw patients after six p.m. She had imagined that the moment of breakthrough would be a climactic moment, a dam bursting, but it was not like that at all. It was smaller and shallower. It reminded her of when her waters broke before the birth of Alice, when there was so little water she was not entirely sure the important moment had arrived. However, when they had stopped, she knew something crucial had changed, and that deep within her body, her sweet baby was beginning to pulsate with a new force.

  All she had to do was make a few checks and find some firm footholds for her suspicions. She rang Dr Barker and asked him two questions. The first was about the plastic trays Reichmann had mentioned in his letter to Dr Pochard. The second was about the members of the holistic foundation. Barker’s tone on the phone was acid-like. He protested and seemed on the verge of swearing, but then his voice grew aggrieved and defensive. After she had secured the information she was looking for, she thanked him and he replied she was welcome. This time he did swear.

  She made her way back down the track. The trees had returned to stillness, hushed against the sky, but an undercurrent of shadows flowed along the path. She hurried to her car, feeling the darkness travelling alongside. She had to bide her time, she told herself. She tried to control the flush of excitement and wondered if she would be able to sit through the investigation meeting that Bates had urgently called. She was about to climb into her car when her phone rang. It was Morton, and his voice sounded agitated. She told him about Derek Cavanagh’s death and what she had found out from Barker, and then Morton reiterated his warning that she was in great danger. He spoke at length. She asked a few brief questions when he had finished. He gave her the location of where he was hiding and warned her not to ring him or try to make contact in any way until the appointed time. He seemed to be under considerable pressure and she wondered if he was in danger of having a breakdown.

  38

  The case meeting had already started when Herron slipped in at the back. Next to a projector screen showing photographs of Llewyn and Reichmann sat the chief inspector, looking sharp and alert, and extremely sure of himself. He kept glancing around the room to make sure he had everyone’s attention. Herron felt a wave of irritation at the way he had taken over an investigation that he had interfered with and almost derailed. Bates was a great improviser, and with Morton gone, he had no one to challenge his place on stage.

  ‘There are still several question marks hanging over the case and I have a press conference first thing in the morning,’ he said. ‘The reporters will be baying for answers, so I’d like to serve up the solution on a plate, with Llewyn caught and in custody. Case done and dusted. I’ve issued warrants for Llewyn and Reichmann’s arrests and given their details to the press. Every police officer in the Borders is on the alert, and we have several squads following up every lead.’

  Herron reported that neither Morton nor she could recall anything about the person who had knocked them out. She mentioned her suspicions about the death of Derek Cavanagh, her fear that he had been murdered to prevent him from revealing the identity of the murderer or an associate.

  ‘Everything points to the fact that Llewyn must have had assistance from someone else associated with the foundation,’ she said, ‘and the most likely suspect at this stage of the investigation is Professor Reichmann.’

  She had worked out one piece of the puzzle though. The mysterious trays that Reichmann had asked Pochard to keep secret were related to the way in which medication had been dispensed on Ward G. She had confirmed with Dr Barker that the trays contained blister packs of daily doses, which would clearly reveal the unsafe levels of tranquillisers and antipsychotics dispensed to the patients in conjunction with Llewyn and Sinden’s memory therapies. However, they had been removed from the ward along with the written medication records while Barker was on leave and Llewyn was covering for him, and could not be located. Barker had described the levels of medication as mind-bending, and said they would have induced severe hallucinations in the patients.

  Bates rose to his feet, and congratulated Herron on her detective work. ‘Llewyn and Reichmann will be tricky to capture,’ he warned. ‘They aren’t mentally damaged like Chisholm, though clearly it would be difficult for a rational person to understand the murderous lengths they have taken to save their reputations. Their self-images are of intellectually gifted men forging new understandings of the criminal mind. They aren’t mad. They are simply arrogant fanatics prepared to experiment on vulnerable men and lock them away from the world because of confused memories that probably never occurred.’ He propped his hands on the table and leaned forward, staring at each of the officers in the room. ‘They have been ready to sacrifice the freedom of their patients to prove their theories. They have sought justification for their behaviour from a small, cult-like group of psychoanalysts. They have been prepared to bully and harm the career of anyone who disagreed with them. When pushed into a corner, they have become desperate. Faced with the ruin of their reputations, they have hatched a clever plan to use Chisholm as a cover to get rid of their enemies.’

  There was nothing more to say at this point, said Bates. Police with the help of the media would be scouring the Borders for Llewyn and Reichmann, who could no longer rely on the support of their fellow therapists a
nd the corridors of Deepwell as a safe refuge from judgement.

  Before the meeting closed, Bates asked if anyone had heard from Morton.

  ‘Not a thing,’ said Shaw. ‘He didn’t look great when I saw him last in the hospital.’

  ‘What the hell is he up to?’ said Bates. ‘It’s not like him to do a runner at a crucial stage in the investigation.’

  Herron pondered for a moment, and then made up her mind to speak. ‘He rang me earlier this morning,’ she said. ‘He sounded confused and paranoid.’ It was the unvarnished truth, nothing more. She wanted to show her discretion and professional approach. It was her duty in the circumstances. With as little fuss as possible, she relayed her suspicions that Morton might be with Llewyn, and may even have helped him evade arrest.

  ‘Good God,’ said Bates. ‘I knew he was a contrary bastard but this is a step too far.’

  ‘What should we do now?’ asked Rodgers. ‘Issue a wanted notice for Morton as well?’

  Bates shook his head. ‘Morton is a seasoned detective. We can’t risk ruining his reputation and that of the police force by letting the media get wind of this. Besides, if he sees his wanted picture online he’s likely to become completely unhinged.’ He turned to Herron. ‘Have you been in touch with him since?’

  She explained that she had kept trying to ring him all afternoon. He had eventually replied with a brief call in which he had revealed the location where he was hiding. However, he had asked her not to reveal it to anyone.

  ‘If you don’t have anything more sensible to do,’ said Bates. ‘I suggest you bring us there right now.’

  ‘It might be best if I approach him alone,’ she said. ‘If he’s confused, the sight of a squad of officers might unsettle him further. What do you think?’

  ‘Let’s do that, then. I’ll send Rodgers and Shaw as backup. They’ll keep a safe distance behind you, but close enough to help you in an emergency.’ A worried look fell across Bates’s face. ‘If he does have Llewyn, you have to convince him to give the doctor up.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve never known Morton to behave like this before. Never ever. He mustn’t be in his right mind at all.’

  39

  The darkness of the valley threatened to swallow up the road. Herron drove cautiously, leaning over the steering wheel, checking her mobile phone to ensure she still had a signal and could be contacted if anything were to go disastrously wrong.

  After several miles, she turned off the road and onto a lane. She slowed down until she saw that Rodgers and Shaw had followed her, and then she drove on. The branches of the fir trees leaned out of the night, sweeping over the track, raining down pine needles onto the bonnet of the car, as it rocked over potholes.

  The shell of an abandoned-looking cottage swung out of the shadows. Her headlights flashed across the building and then she brought the car to a halt. She killed her lights and waited a while. The cottage seemed sunken in silence, and there was no sign of her backup.

  She hoped she had understood Morton’s intentions and projected them correctly onto what she knew of the murder plot. Their foe was extremely ruthless and powerful, and he could easily vanish into the protective shadows of his profession, no matter how strong her suspicions were of his guilt.

  She slipped out of the car and peered through the cottage windows, but they were sheets of blackness. It was a well-chosen hideaway. A fugitive could have stayed hidden here for months.

  She pushed the front door and it gave way. She eased herself inside, half expecting a rough hand to grab her from the darkness. She stopped in the cramped hallway, trying to discern what might be human amid the moaning sounds of the wind and the creaking of the house. She fervently hoped there were no fatal loose ends she had overlooked. Then she heard the sound of a foot slowly pressing onto a creaking floorboard. A light blazed on, revealing dank walls and a flurry of shadows, and a German-accented voice floated through the cottage interior. ‘Watch your step, Sergeant Herron. This place is a mess.’

  Reichmann appeared with a gun in his hand and directed her into one of the back rooms, where she found Morton sitting hunched over a seat, his arms tied behind his back, his mouth gagged. He lifted his gaze to her and she noticed that his eyes were red-rimmed from exhaustion, but his look was as piercing and direct as ever. In the opposite corner sat Llewyn. He was staring at his feet and seemed reluctant to meet anyone’s gaze, a lonely old man who had believed in an unreliable psychological theory and created an unreal world around it.

  Oddly, Reichmann showed no signs of being perturbed by her arrival. There was almost a trace of sympathy on his lined face as he pointed the gun at her and directed her to an empty seat. ‘Welcome to my little therapy session,’ he said. ‘I believe we have some more guests still to arrive.’

  Beneath the professor’s calm smile, she could see the tension that pulled at his facial muscles, the practised gaze of his eyes and the intensification of his pupils, which suggested he was using every ounce of his professional charm and skill to pit against the darkness of the task ahead.

  She followed the direction of his gun and sat down on the seat. Reichmann looked at his watch, and kept his gun trained on Herron.

  ‘Did anyone follow you?’ he asked.

  ‘Two officers are in a backup car further down the lane.’

  ‘Normally we psychoanalysts don’t like to accept late arrivals, but in this case we’ll have to make an exception.’

  Herron’s phone began to ring, but Reichmann warned her not to answer it. It rang a second time, and then it went quiet.

  Reichmann stood in the middle of the room and began speaking as if reciting a rehearsed speech. ‘Unfortunately, Sergeant Herron, you’ve followed the examples of Jane Pochard and Laura Dunnock in signing your own death warrant. You and Morton know things you should not.’ He paused and his voice rose with a note of hysteria. ‘We are living in a time of great change to the world of psychiatry. When the values of psychoanalysis are being undermined by new approaches. To the great detriment of humanity, I must say.’ He looked at Herron intently. ‘Do you understand the predicament that I am in?’

  She was unsure what she was meant to say or do at this point. She glanced at Morton. Something about his gaze told her that she was understood and valued, and was here to play an indispensable role in the final unravelling of the mystery. She had to hold on to the belief that she had done the right thing in coming here, but where were Shaw and Rodgers, and why hadn’t they radioed in reinforcements?

  Reichmann sighed. ‘Sadly, all this is due to my failure to keep an eye on what has been going on for years at Deepwell. The patients who were doped with medication to levels beyond intoxication and encouraged to confess to crimes they most likely never committed, and then were kept locked away on Ward G. Exploited because their worst fear was they would be taken off their tablets and dumped back on the streets.’ Reichmann raised his gun and pointed it at Herron. ‘Unfortunately, sacrifices have had to be made to preserve the good reputation of the hospital and the foundation. I regret I will have to add to those sacrifices, tonight.’

  There was an unreal quality to Reichmann’s voice and the concentration of his gaze. Herron closed her eyes and waited for him to fire the weapon, but nothing happened. Instead, the tread of a footstep in the hallway interrupted Reichmann. A figure stepped carefully into the room.

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Bates,’ said Reichmann, lowering his gun. ‘Where have you come from? Sergeant Herron said that two officers followed her here.’

  ‘I decided to tail her instead,’ said Bates, scanning the room, taking in the figures seated against the wall. He appeared slow to respond to the fact he was facing a gunman and three hostages. ‘I’ve been listening in to your little session, Eric. Don’t worry, I haven’t called in the reinforcements.’

  Reichmann looked surprised at the DCI’s appearance, but the two men clearly knew each other and had some sort of understanding.

  ‘I hope it’s not a bad time to visit?�
� said Bates with a smile.

  ‘Not at all, Simon,’ said Reichmann. ‘It’s always good to receive another trusted member of the holistic foundation. Even if the circumstances are a little unusual.’

  The DCI’s first name, thought Herron. The puzzle of the letter ‘S’ in Pochard’s appointment diary had been solved. Bates had been a member of the foundation all along, and known to Pochard, as well as Reichmann.

  ‘Until this moment, professor,’ said Bates, ‘I had no idea of the extraordinary lengths you would take to protect the reputation of the society. I have to commend you for your loyalty and thoroughness.’

  Reichmann nodded. ‘I’ve decided to put an end to the scandal threatening our society. Once and for all.’ He raised the gun towards Herron and paused. The silence in the room grew so dense that Herron’s ears began to ring. She hunkered in her seat. The professor turned and smiled at Bates. ‘I hope you don’t mind me finishing off your handiwork, Simon.’

  ‘Be my guest, and if my own efforts have inadvertently inconvenienced you, then I apologise.’

  ‘What do you mean, your own efforts?’ asked Reichmann.

  ‘It’s a pity I didn’t think to include you from the start, Eric. I would have preferred to have you with your ruthless streak as an accomplice, rather than pathetic old Llewyn and that poor bastard, Chisholm, but then you were in Switzerland, and I had to act quickly.’

  Reichmann appeared to be buying himself and his hostages more time. He lowered his gun a little. ‘You’ve kept your role in this cover-up a secret, and I commend you on that. You have gone above and beyond your duty to the foundation in trying to erase all traces of the scandal on Ward G. But why did you risk everything? After all, it wasn’t your career or reputation that was on the line.’

  ‘That’s not exactly true. You see, Dr Llewyn and I have been working together secretly for years. In an unofficial capacity, of course.’