Recompense

by Caroline Goldsworthy

  Carlson looked around the room. ‘Any thoughts or questions to go back to Dr Kilburn?’ he said, but everyone in the room shook their head.

  Kirsty Russell gave her report and a promise to ensure that all the vomit at the scene belonged to the victim.

  ‘It’s too much to hope for that it would belong to the killer,’ said Carlson. ‘Not after what we’ve seen him do so far.’

  Ben Poole followed up with a breakdown of tasks completed and what still needed to be done.

  ‘So,’ said Carlson. ‘Thoughts? What is going on here? Do `we have one killer or three?’

  ‘Even, if there were three killers,’ said DC Jane Lacey, ‘the ricin connects them doesn’t it? It would be statistically impossible for three killers to use the same drug to kill three people in such a short timeframe. No?’ she looked around at her colleagues for views and challenges. There were none.

  ‘I agree,’ said Poole. ‘The likelihood of three separate killers using ricin is very low, but the disparity in the methods is really odd.’

  ‘Unless it’s a message,’ said Lacey.

  ‘Yes,’ said Poole. ‘Unless it is a message. But if that’s the case what are they trying to tell us? What is the message?’

  ‘Well that’s something we can all ponder on whilst we get on with what we do know. Tim, I’d like you to come with me to search the flat. Mika Kowalski is coming with us. Ben, you and Jane take the employers again. You three,’ Carlson said to the uniformed officers, ‘house-to-house in the area around the night club, did anyone hear anything, see anything? Check for cameras and take any CCTV footage from that night up until the body was taken away from the scene. You never know he might have come back for a little peek at the mess he caused. Right, everyone know what you’re doing? Good. Let’s get on with it.’

  Chapter Twenty

  21st January 2016

  Abbey Hospital, Bristol, Somerset

  After Torrie left, I went back to my room to lie on my bed and sleep. I closed my eyes and continued with the breathing exercises. I could feel myself on the borderline between sleep and just dozing, that moment as the body begins to melt into the mattress, when there was a tap on the door. Instantly I was alert. Heart pounding, blood racing through my ears. I tried to slow everything down as Torrie had taught me, and eventually brought everything under control.

  ‘Are you awake?’ It was Jenni, peeping around the door. Seeing me turn over to look at her, she pushed the door open and came in, plonking herself on the foot of the bed. ‘I saw you in the garden. I wanted to know how you’d got on.’

  ‘It was okay, actually,’ I replied, surprised at how quickly I had regained mastery of my fear. ‘I was terrified at first, but my therapist gave me some breathing exercises and that made it a lot easier. I was just practising them again when you knocked on the door. I let her think I’d been out there a lot more than I have. I don’t know why I did that.’

  ‘I do the same thing,’ said Jenni. She was wistful, tracing patterns on the bed covers, patterns only she could see. ‘They try so hard to make us better, I feel guilty if I’m not improving.’

  I yawned. ‘Yes, I think that was it. I didn’t want to let her down.’

  ‘You’re tired. Do you want me to go? I can if you want. I just wanted you to know that tea was ready,’ Jenni said, the words tumbling over each other. ‘I can make sure they save you a sandwich if you’d like.’

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ I said. ‘I just need to rest. I’m always very tired after I’ve spoken to my therapist. It just takes so much out of me.’

  ‘I hear you,’ said Jenni with feeling. ‘I’m the same but I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. I’ll let you rest now. I’ll come back later.’

  I waited for her to leave the room but I could hear the soft patter of her footsteps as she moved my things around. I rolled over. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘You’ve still got some Christmas presents here. Aren’t you going to open them? She held out one of the boxes to me.

  I sighed, sat up and she laid the box on my lap. I knew what it was simply from the weight. I did not want to open it. Shifting my position to sit more comfortably, the box slid away and I grasped the carton, my hands either side of it. Jenni leapt forward and ripped the bright patterned paper away. As the wrapping fell to the floor, my assumptions were confirmed.

  ‘Oh, a camera. That looks like a really posh one. Are you going to take it out?’ Her questions hit me like a torrent of hailstones – sharp and unforgiving – when all I wanted was the tranquillity of silence.

  Mum had done well – the latest model in the range of Canons I favoured. I knew I should be pleased; anyone would be, but I wanted to vomit. My nostrils were filled with the scents from that room, that night. I closed my eyes but only saw their faces. I curled myself into a ball, knocking the camera to one side.

  ‘Shit,’ exclaimed Jenni. ‘S’okay, I caught it.’

  I stared at her and she began to back away. ‘I’m sorry,’ I tried to mutter but the words stayed in my head.

  ‘I’ll just leave it here,’ she said, and placed the Canon on the side table next to the water jug. ‘I’ll let you rest now and I’ll come back later.’ She scrabbled for the door and was through it before I could repeat my apology. I shook as tears rolled down my face. Leaning back against the pillows I slid down the bed and rolled over onto my side.

  I lay there thinking about the camera and my previous life. I kept telling myself that it was a kind thought. A generous gesture, but the more I thought about it the more other thoughts intruded and I clenched my jaw until it ached. How dare she? How could she? She must have known that seeing the Canon would upset me. Did she do it on purpose to traumatise me? Of course, she had. She’d never wanted me to go travelling in the first place.

  Angry thoughts danced around in my head whilst my logical brain tried to overcome the mania. More tears fell and I sobbed at the unfairness of it all. I cried until I fell into an uneasy sleep.

  My rest was not to last. I felt rather than heard the click as the door opened. Was it Jenni returning? I was unsure. Keeping my breathing steady, my body still, I was alert for danger. I sensed someone was watching me but tried to dismiss it as paranoia. Torrie had told me that worrying about being watched was a perfectly normal part of my recovery. I lay there pretending to sleep, but I was sure there was another presence in the room. I held my breath, but I could still hear breathing. Wanting to cry out and yet afraid to, I craved air. Unable to hold my breath any longer I gasped and sat bolt upright in bed. I was right. I was not alone.

  It was the person from room three. The person from group therapy who’d sat staring at me. Fight, flight or freeze. Those were my choices – flashing through my mind faster than an express train through a station. I snatched the bedclothes closer, clutching them tight around my neck for protection. My legs were gelatinous with no strength to hold me up for either of the first two options. Scrunched up on the bed in a T-shirt and a bed sheet, I froze. I tried to open my mouth to call for help, but it was as if I had lockjaw.

  ‘Shush,’ said the person – a deep voice. A man’s voice. ‘I’m not here to hurt you. I just came to make sure you were okay. I thought perhaps you could use a friend.’

  ‘Who are you? What do you want with me?’ I looked at the door behind him. It was firmly shut and in any case he was blocking my escape.

  ‘My name is Malcolm. My friends call me Mal. I think you and I have a lot in common.’ He slid the hoodie off his head and sat down in the armchair leaning back and placing his right foot on his left knee. He did not bring the chair any closer to the bed but stayed at a distance from me.

  Even though my heart was still racing and, despite everything else I was feeling, I was grateful for the small consideration and tried to relax my breathing as Torrie had taught me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the orange cord of the NurseCall alarm and wondered if I could reach it before he attacked me. He saw the movement and smiled gently at me.


  ‘It’s okay,’ he murmured. ‘You don’t need that. I’m not going to harm you.’

  I don’t know if it was the soft voice or the smile, but I did feel myself become a little calmer. Or perhaps I was simply the mouse mesmerised by the swaying cobra. Mal’s appearance was nonthreatening, however. He was slender, bordering on skinny, with light brown, scruffy hair and an even scruffier attempt at a beard. He stayed in the armchair occasionally looking at me in between nibbles on his nails. I noticed that they were bitten to the quick.

  ‘What do you think we have in common?’ I whispered, curious in spite of my fear.

  ‘Trauma?’ he said. ‘PTSD? Low self-esteem? I’m sure there are other diagnoses.’

  I felt myself nodding in agreement but even so I pulled my knees up to my chest and clasped my arms around my shins, ignoring the stinging pain from my most recent cutting. ‘I see,’ I said, trying to remain polite. He did seem familiar, as if I had met him before, but I could not quite remember where. That was when I realised how much I was shaking. ‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’m not very good with new people at the moment. Men even less so. I’d really like you to go.’

  ‘Of course, not a problem. I can come back another time,’ said Mal, and he unfolded himself from the chair, replaced the hood over his head and slipped quietly out of the door.

  That was when I braced myself and screamed as loudly as I could.

  Jenni and a nurse burst into the room.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Jenni said. ‘I thought you were going to get some sleep?’

  ‘I was, but there was a man in my room. I think the person from room three.’ I was still shaking and the nurse wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, perhaps thinking I was cold. It did not occur to me that she would see my state as one of shock.

  ‘Did he hurt you?’ the nurse asked. She placed cool fingertips on my wrist, and regarded her watch for a few moments.

  ‘No. He just scared me. I’m fine now.’ She finished with my heart rate and I squeezed her hand. I was grateful for how quickly she had appeared.

  ‘Okay, but I’m going to report it, in any case. The guy from room three, you said?’ The shadow of a frown flickered across her face as she asked the question.

  I nodded and Jenni hopped onto the side of the bed. ‘I’ll stay with her,’ she said.

  The nurse closed the door behind her as she left. Suddenly cold, I sneezed and Jenni passed me the tissues.

  ‘How are you feeling now?’ she said.

  ‘Better, thanks,’ I replied. ‘As I said he frightened me but he didn’t hurt me and he left when I asked him to, it’s just that after what happened, I can’t cope with being alone with a man, especially one I don’t know.’

  ‘Sounds reasonable,’ Jenni replied. ‘You don’t talk about what happened to you, do you? Don’t you think it would help? I’m always talking about how great not eating makes me feel.’

  ‘How’s that helping you with your recovery?’ I asked her.

  ‘It’s not really,’ Jenni shrugged. ‘I just like talking about it.’

  That made me laugh out loud. ‘That doesn’t make you a good advocate for talking therapy,’ I told her.

  ‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,’ said Jenni with a grin. ‘Now how about you get some rest. I’ll sit in the chair and makes sure no one else comes in.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. I was convinced that I would be unable to sleep now, even though I was exhausted. Slipping further down the bed, I pulled the covers up around my shoulders, the pillow close in around my neck. I felt protected even with my back to Jenni and the rest of the room. With the bed covers warming me in my cocoon, I shut my eyes and, thoroughly exhausted, within a few moments, I drifted off.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  18th June 2018

  95 Symington Road. Gippingford

  Mika Kowalski eased one of the Chubb keys from the set found on Nick Jones’ body into the lock at his home. She turned it but the key resisted. Sighing she tried the second key. Same issue. Finally the third key did fit and she pushed the front door open. She stepped into coverall booties and hopped over the door sill. A few letters were scattered on the mat. She picked them up and handed them to Carlson. He nodded his head at DC Jessop who put gloves on and took the envelopes.

  Carlson sighed, thinking that Jessop should have been prepared. He had put his own gloves on when the door was opened. He followed Mika down the short hallway and into the kitchen. All the drawers and cupboard doors were already open and Mika grinned at him. ‘I think you’ll like this,’ she said, pulling out a can of spaghetti. She turned it upside down and took off the base, then reached inside and removed a small bag of resin.

  ‘What made you pick that one?’ Carlson said.

  ‘No best before date,’ she replied. ‘And experience, of course. See how scuffed the label is?’ She bagged everything up and noted it on her log.

  From the kitchen, Mika made her way into the sitting room and again opened all the doors looking for anything out of the ordinary. She turned to Carlson and shrugged. ‘I would have expected a laptop,’ she explained. ‘Perhaps upstairs?’

  She stepped past Carlson into the hallway and strode up the stairs. In the bathroom she searched the cabinet but found nothing of note. She passed the rear bedroom, putting her head around the door, but it was empty apart from a pair of suitcases and a pile of clothes. There were marks of Blu-tack and a few corners of the posters which had been ripped from the walls.

  ‘I think this was the flatmate, the one who’s moved out. I’ll come back to this one,’ she said. ‘I think his bedroom will be more interesting for you to find out about him.’

  She pushed the door ajar and Carlson stood in the doorway as she walked around, opening doors and looking under the bed. She grunted as she pulled an old suitcase out and lifted it to place it on the bed. When she tried to open it, it was locked but it didn’t resist one of the small keys in the set she had with her. She flipped the lid back and whistled. ‘Well, I think this tells us a little about him,’ she said beckoning Carlson into the room.

  He crossed the threshold and was by her side in two strides. ‘You’re not wrong,’ he said. He moved the contents around with the tip of his gloved finger and uncovered a roll of twenty pound notes. He nodded to the photographer and stepped back to allow the woman space to do her work.

  Mika picked up one of the magazines and flipped through it.

  Carlson turned his head away. ‘Where do they get this filth?’ he muttered, although he knew and had known almost from the instant he became a police officer. An infringement of top shelf magazine distribution had been his first collar. ‘Bag it up, thanks. Still no laptop, I take it?’

  Mika turned from the suitcase and opened the beside cabinet. An iPad was wedged into the bottom and she pulled it out.

  ‘Thanks,’ Carlson said. ‘Get that to the techies to look at and let me know what’s on it. Mark that one urgent.’ As he turned to leave and let the PolSA carry on searching, he caught sight of something red in the wardrobe. He pulled at it and it came off its hanger.

  Holding up the long, red, tasselled scarf, he said, ‘Do I even want to know what he did with this?’

  ‘I’ll bag that too,’ said Mika. ‘Wearer’s DNA maybe?’

  Carlson shuddered. ‘Maybe,’ he said.

  30th June 2018

  Carlson’s Home, Gippingford

  ‘Welcome home, love.’ Carlson raised his wine glass and clinked it with his daughter’s and wife’s in turn. ‘It’s good to have you back.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad, Mum,’ Aspen replied. ‘It’s good to be home. What are you working on at the moment, Dad? More horrors?’

  ‘Aspen, please, not at the dinner table,’ her mother begged. Marguerite looked pleadingly at her husband. ‘Ronnie, no.’

  ‘Your mother’s right,’ said Carlson taking a gulp of the Merlot. ‘It’s not an appropriate topic for dinner. Anyway, there are things I can’t share with you and you woul
dn’t want me to.’

  ‘I’ve been following it in the papers,’ said Aspen. ‘Quite horrific from what I’ve seen.’

  ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ said Carlson. Catching a glare from his wife he changed the subject. ‘How were your exams? When do you get the results?’

  ‘That’s something I wanted to talk to you both about,’ said Aspen. ‘I’m not sure if sociology is the right course for me anymore. I took a law module this year and really enjoyed it.’

  ‘You’re saying you want to change courses?’ Marguerite asked. ‘After two years?’

  ‘Let her finish, Mags,’ said Carlson. ‘Talk us through what it would mean. How much longer is the course?’

  ‘But two years, Ronnie,’ Marguerite flung her napkin onto her plate. ‘She’s been there two years and now she wants to change.’

  ‘It’s hardly been two years, Mum,’ Aspen whispered, hanging her head. ‘I didn’t do a full first year if you remember. I dropped out so that I could come home and be with you both.’

  ‘I know, darling, and don’t think we’re not grateful, but do you really want to start at the bottom again? What’s it going to cost us?’ moaned her mother.

  ‘Mags, let’s hear her out and discuss it. It’s not as if…’ he stopped, unwilling to finish the sentence.