17th August 2018
Bristol
I was nervous entering the consulting rooms again. The last time I was here I was still drunk from the night before. My stay in the Abbey Hospital since then was a change in direction and I was determined to make a success of therapy this time around. No one would be a better patient than me.
Torrie looked a little wary when she welcomed me. I don’t blame her, but I am less of a wreck since I saw her last. She was surprised when I said that Mal had disappeared. I’d not seen him for weeks and I felt better for it. Did she believe me? I didn’t think so, but to be honest I wasn’t sure that I cared if she did or not.
Once more I asked about hypnosis and once again Torrie refused. It’s very frustrating, I told her, that she is so reluctant to help me get better. I reminded her that I’d not had a drink in four weeks, that I was settled on my medication again and I only had this last hurdle of overcoming my memory loss and recovering from what those bastards had done to me.
She frowned at my turn of phrase. I wasn’t sure when she became so prudish and I pointed this out to her. There was a brief flash of anger in her eyes, which she snuffed out as soon as it appeared. I think she was under the impression that she’d managed to hide it from me. She was wrong. I saw everything now. Freed from the stupefaction which accompanied every hangover my mind was as sharp as a butcher’s cleaver.
She changed the subject to revenge and reminded me of our last conversation. Did I still want to wreak revenge on the men who had taken so much of me away? I told her no. I would not, I could not, forgive them but I no longer wanted to destroy them as I once had. That was Mal’s influence I said, and since he had disappeared from my life… well I was free from his malignant power over me.
I saw she wanted to ask more about him but she must have decided not to pursue it because we discussed my triggers instead and how I could learn to cope with each and every one.
Chapter Forty-Three
30th August 2018
Gippingford
Carlson watched the recovery of the two bodies from the slow-flowing river wondering if this was the end. Certainly it was the end for this particular gang but he had no idea if the killer would target other rapists. He was confident now that this was the reason for the six deaths he had on his books, confident too that there was only one perpetrator. Despite intensive searches by his team, Mal or Malcolm Clarke was nowhere to be found. The entire team were convinced the name was a fake. No one at the Abbey Hospital had even heard of him.
They were hunting a ghost, but at least there was one person who could give them a description of Clarke. Carlson shuffled towards the outer cordon and removed his blue gloves and the upper section of his Tyvek suit, letting it hang down behind him. Taking his mobile from his breast pocket he dialled his opposite number in Avon and Somerset Police.
‘Hi, Dave, it’s Ronnie. Can you do me a favour and send someone round to Melissa Warren and get a description of this Malcolm Clarke character? If you can send a techie to create a composite that would be even better.’
Carlson listened to the reply from his colleague. ‘Cheeky sod,’ he said. ‘We got a brief description at the time we saw her. It was obvious she knew more than she was saying, but she believed he was who he said he was. I’m sure she wasn’t lying about that part.’
He listened again, said his thanks and ended the call. On the riverbank he saw Kirsty Russell watched by Jervis Kilburn as she prepared the two bodies to be taken to the morgue. Hands and heads were covered in plastic bags, before they were folded into plastic and laid on body bags. Carlson rubbed his hand over his face and hair. Body dumps in water were the toughest for forensics and he desperately hoped that the laboratory would still find some useful information from the bodies of Aaron Hammond and Joe Davis. There was a reasonable chance as the bodies could not have been in the water long or they would have been found sooner. Formal identification was needed of course, but he had seen enough of the two men recently to recognise their battered faces.
As the bodies were pulled up the slimy, mud-covered concrete slope to the footpath and carried to the waiting private ambulances, Poole and Lacey made their way up the slope towards him, followed by Tim Jessop. The dejection he was experiencing was mirrored in their expressions.
All four removed their white coveralls and trudged back to the cars. Not a word was spoken. There was nothing useful to say.
1st September 2018
Readying himself for his second autopsy in as many days, Carlson stomped slowly down the stairs and greeted Marguerite in the kitchen.
‘Tea?’ she said.
He grunted a reply and she slid a mug across the kitchen table at him. He knew his morose mood was unfair on her but he was unable to stop himself. He was a failure and he knew it. Halfway down the mug he’d reached a decision.
‘I’ll have to retire,’ he said.
The laugh surprised him. ‘Oh, Ronnie,’ she smiled. ‘I think we both know they’ll be dragging you out of the station in a pine box.’
‘Pine?’ he said ruefully.
‘Well you wouldn’t want me to waste money on anything expensive, would you?’ She reached across, lay her hand on his, and squeezed it tightly. ‘Don’t be such a grump. You’ll catch him. You always do.’
‘Not this time,’ he replied. Pushing himself up from the table, he kissed his wife goodbye, patted his pocket to make sure his Vicks was to hand, and set off for the morgue.
The phone call from Poole came as he was stuck waiting for the lights to turn green. So far, he surmised, he had encountered every single red light between his home and his destination and was glad that he was not the sort of man to believe in bad omens.
‘I’m stuck in traffic,’ he said as soon as the call connected. ‘Start without me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘That’s why I’m calling, guv. We waited for a while and then Kilburn needed to crack on. There’s some good news, sir. Kilburn unwrapped the bags from Aaron Hammond’s body and he found some hairs wrapped around the victim’s fingers. Like he grabbed some hair or something.’
‘And they didn’t get washed away by the river?’ Carlson was stunned. Evidence hardly ever survived the ingress of water.
‘Well that’s the odd thing, sir. The hair was practically tied around his fingers. Looks like he was determined that it shouldn’t get away. Then more was found in his pocket when forensics checked the clothing.’
Carlson pursed his lips. The killer had been careful so far and this seemed like a rookie mistake. ‘Can we get DNA from the samples?’ he asked, holding his breath.
‘The doc says yes,’ replied Poole.
Carlson sighed with relief. ‘Good,’ he said, and the call ended. As he continued to meet red traffic lights on his way to the morgue he hoped that the hairs weren’t a plant.
Bristol
Police Constable Jeremy Wade plodded down the stairs and back to his car, in time to see a Mini Cooper swooping into the driveway. Hooking his thumbs into his stab vest he waited whilst the driver got her handbag and stepped out of the car.
‘Melissa Warren?’ he asked.
‘No, Jennifer Frobisher,’ came the reply. ‘Lissa lives in the flat behind you.’
‘Yes, I’ve been knocking on the door but there’s no reply,’ he said. The young woman frowned and pushed past him to run up the stairs.
‘Lissa hardly ever goes out,’ she called down to him. She banged on the door. ‘Lissa, Lissa, it’s me Jenni. Open the door, sweetie.’ She twisted around and shrugged at the police officer, before rummaging in her bag. Triumphantly she held up a set of keys and unlocked the door.
Wade took the stairs two at a time and was on her heels as she stepped over the threshold into the flat. He sniffed the air and was met with the stench of stale takeaway and mouldy food, but to his relief not the sickly-sweet odour of decomposing flesh.
‘When did you last see her?’ he asked.
‘I’ve been away with fr
iends,’ Jenni said. ‘Look, I’m telling you she hardly ever goes out. Only to her therapist or to her parents. I’ll call them now and see if she’s there.’
‘No don’t do that. Just give me the address and I’ll drive over there.’ PC Wade pulled out a notebook and pencil, poised to take down the details. ‘Does she have a car? I noticed dips in the gravel where a car has been parked.’
‘She does but she never uses it. I don’t know why she has it here, to be honest, but her friend Mal uses it sometimes.’
‘Is that Malcolm Clarke?’ asked Wade. ‘Can you give me a description of him?’
A look of surprise flashed across her face. ‘No I can’t. I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ve actually met him,’ she said. ‘What is this all about?’
PC Wade gave her a business card. ‘If she returns, please call this number and let us know. Thanks for your time.’ He sprinted back to his squad car calling in his update, before pulling off the driveway and heading to Nunney.
Chapter Forty-Four
21st August 2018
Bristol
Lissa held the magnifying mirror over her head trying to part her hair with the other hand, and reflect the image into the washbasin mirror. Her scalp was very sore but she could not see the damage herself. Frustrated she plonked everything back on the shelf and called Jenni.
‘I just woke up like it. Feels really sore. You will? Brill. I’ll leave the door open.’ Lissa strolled to the kitchen area, filled the kettle and placed two mugs next to it.
Jenni tapped gently on the open door before wandering into the open-plan space. ‘What have you done?’ she said. ‘Cartwheels in the dark? Come on let’s have a look.’ She beckoned Lissa to a hard-backed chair and sat her down. Slowly she parted the hair on Lissa’s scalp.
‘Jeez,’ she said. ‘What have you been doing? There’s a patch where there’s hardly any hair at all. It looks like it’s been ripped out. What do you remember, Liss?’
‘Nothing. I just work up like it,’ Lissa said. ‘I woke and just lay there for a while as I felt really groggy, like I had a hangover or something, and then I felt it. I’ve tried to clean it up, as there was blood on the pillowcase.’
‘Yeah, I can see it’s been bleeding,’ said Jenni, poking at the wound again. ‘You got some stuff and I’ll clean it up for you? I take it you won’t want a plaster on it? Though, at least you haven’t got the long hair you used to have.’
‘If you can just put some antiseptic on it, that’ll be fine, thanks, Jen. I just don’t understand how I did it.’
‘Do you sleepwalk?’ called Jenni from the bathroom. ‘Maybe that’s it.’ She walked back in carrying cotton wool and antiseptic and collected a bowl with warm water from the kitchen.
‘I don’t know,’ said Lissa. ‘Perhaps I should ask my parents.’
‘Well at least you’d know. I see your car is back,’ said Jenni as she mopped the rest of the blood away. ‘Now be brave, this is going to sting.’
Lissa tensed as the antiseptic hit her wound. ‘Ouch, you weren’t kidding.’ She reached for her head.
‘No, you don’t,’ said Jenni. ‘Not without this.’ She passed Lissa a wad of cotton wool laced with fresh antiseptic.
Lissa took it and gingerly placed it on her scalp. She sipped the coffee which Jenni had made and wondered about what had happened. No hair was in the flat as far as she could see and certainly none around the bed.
The two women sat and chatted for a while until Lissa said, ‘I suppose I should call my parents.’
‘Let me know,’ said Jenni. ‘Catch you later.’
Lissa waited until she saw Jenni flitting across the grass, to the main house. Then she picked up her mobile again and dialled.
‘I need to see you urgently,’ she said to the person on the other end of the call.
‘I’m sure he’s trying to set me up,’ Lissa began. ‘I keep waking up and I feel like I’ve been drugged. I sleep half the morning away. It’s always when Mal has been at my flat and wants to use the car.’
‘How feasible is that, Lissa? I don’t want to challenge you but is it likely that he would drug you? Does he have any reason to?’ asked Torrie. ‘I am very concerned that things between you have become violent. You don’t remember an argument at all?’
‘No, I told you. I woke up like this. He’s drugged me, pulled my hair out. He’s trying to frame me,’ Lissa sobbed.
‘Frame you? Frame you for what, Lissa?’ Torrie pushed the box of tissues closer to her client.
‘The police came to see me last week. My car had been caught on a camera, that number plate thing, and they came to question me about it.’
‘And why did they want to talk to you about the car?’
Lissa took a tissue and blew her nose. ‘They’re investigating some murders and my car was spotted near two of them.’
‘Two what? Two murders? Oh, good grief, Lissa! Your car? And they’re sure it was your car?’
‘Yes, they got the number plate on camera and a CCTV camera caught a still of the bumper. There’s a dent. I didn’t know about it, but I’ve checked since and my car has been hit or has hit something. I’ve tried to call Mal but he’s not answering my calls. Then I woke up this morning with half my hair missing and the car is back. He put the keys on the sideboard, but didn’t wake me. Probably because he knew I wouldn’t wake. He’s setting me up.’
‘What would make him do that, Lissa?’
Lissa twisted the sodden tissue in her hand, pulling at it until it was in shreds. ‘The policeman had photos of the dead men. He wanted to know if I knew them.’
‘And did you?
It was a long time before Melissa answered. She took another tissue from the box and shredded that one too. Holding herself in a foetal position in the chair she finally said, ‘Yes, I knew them.’
‘What did the police say to that?’
‘I didn’t tell them,’ she replied.
‘Let me get this straight. You recognised the men but you didn’t tell the police. Why was that, Lissa? Where did you know the men from?’
‘You know where.’ Lissa curled into a ball and sobbed.
Torrie sat back in her chair, dazed by the revelation, hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, Lissa, I am so sorry. When did you start getting the memories back?’
‘A few months ago. Remember I told you I got Mal to look at the card for me. You know, the one that I found after the attack. I brought it back with me, but I’d lost it until the move to the flat. Even then I couldn’t look at it but the memories were more, well more insistent. You’d told me to take back control and Mal said the same. But he looked at the contents of the card without me. I couldn’t bear to. Then he asked me to look at one face and I recognised it. Mal said to leave it with him.’
‘What do you think he meant by that?’ Torrie asked.
‘I don’t know. I just knew I didn’t have to think about it anymore and then the police told me that four of them are dead. Now I’ve woken up and my hair’s been ripped out.’
‘Do you think you are in danger from Mal?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t hide from him. Wherever I go he finds me.’ Lissa wiped her nose again and sat pulling at her right ear.
‘What about staying with your parents for a few days? Or perhaps going back to the Abbey?’ suggested Torrie. She was becoming increasingly concerned about the wreck of a woman in front of her and could only think that getting psychiatric help of some sort would be beneficial.
‘Jenni suggested that I go back to the Abbey for a while,’ said Lissa. ‘She mentioned it the other day when we argued about Mal.’
‘Then perhaps it’s not such a bad idea,’ said Torrie soothingly. ‘Why don’t you stay here for a moment and I’ll make some phone calls. Would you like some tea or some more water?’
Lissa shook her head and remained in a ball in the chair.
‘Okay,’ said Torrie. ‘I won’t be long.’
She slipped into her office and lifted the hand
set, sighing deeply before she made the first call. ‘Graeme?’ she said, when the call was answered ‘That worst case scenario we talked about? It’s happened.’
‘Mal, there you are. Why haven’t you been picking up? Have you been filtering my calls?’ Lissa yelled at her visitor.
‘I’m here now. What’s the panic?’ he replied, pushing past her to get a beer from the fridge. ‘God, have you made a start on these too? These are mine.’ He slammed the fridge door and removed the cap, drinking straight from the bottle.
‘My hair. What have you done to my hair?’ Lissa parted her hair and showed him the damage left by the ripped tresses.
‘That’s nothing to do with me,’ he said, backing away. ‘You’re becoming unhinged. You know that, don’t you? Perhaps you need to go back inside the loony bin for a little rest.’
‘How dare you call it that?’ she said. ‘You were in there too.’
‘Was I?’ he said, looking at her with a callous sneer. ‘Are you sure about that?’
‘What are you saying? What do you mean?’ Lissa opened the freezer and took out the vodka.
‘Yeah, that’s right. Have another swig of vodka. That’ll make everything right. You don’t want to go facing up to your problems, do you? Far easier to just drown them in vodka. You leave me to do all the hard work!’
‘Mal, what do you mean? What hard work? What have you been doing?’ Lissa rubbed her eyes. ‘Was it you who pulled my hair out?’
He laughed. ‘You’ve no idea have you, posh girl? No idea at all?’
Lissa slumped into an armchair. ‘The police were here,’ she said. ‘Asking about some men who’d been killed. They showed me photos of them. I recognised them. Mal, have you killed them? Is that what you’ve been doing all this time?’
Recompense Page 24
