Recompense

by Caroline Goldsworthy

  She took a swig of the liquid from the misting glass. ‘You killed them. And now you’ve pulled my hair out.’

  Lissa gasped, her eyes widening in horror. ‘You’re trying to frame me for the murders. Why? I never asked you to do them. You made that decision all on your own. It wasn’t my idea.’

  ‘Wasn’t it? ‘he said. ‘Isn’t that why you showed me the photos in the first place. I didn’t know anything about reverse image lookups. That was all your idea. Or don’t you remember? Were you too drunk to remember?’

  ‘You bastard,’ she said quietly. ‘You absolute bastard.’ She gulped down the last of the vodka and reached for more.

  Mal moved the bottle away from her. She lunged for it and caught her hand on the wet worktop. She slipped and fell to the floor. When she righted herself, Mal had left.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  5th September 2018

  Gippingford Police HQ

  Carlson stared at the laboratory results email for a few seconds before he opened it. Clicking on it he released the breath he’d scarcely been aware he was holding and swore softly as he read the results. No match on the system and worse still the DNA was unmistakably female. Not the outcome he’d been expecting.

  He reached for the phone and called DCI Dave Barton at Avon and Somerset.

  ‘Dave, Ronnie. Any joy finding Melissa Warren yet?’ He listened to the answer gripping the handset tightly. ‘I’ve authorised her as being wanted missing on the PNC, Dave. Suspicion of murder. Six counts. Yes, you heard me. Six. I’m just reading DNA results of hair found on the most recent victim. It’s female so I’ve got no choice but to bring her in. Yep, yep. Thanks.’

  He stretched out his aching hand after replacing the handset. He hadn’t realised he’d been gripping the phone so tight. Pushing his chair away from his desk he made his way to the squad room.

  ‘Okay, listen up,’ he called out. ‘DNA has just come back and it belongs to a woman. I want Melissa Warren found immediately.’

  ‘What about the landlady?’ asked Poole. ‘Don’t we want to eliminate her from the enquiries?’

  ‘Avon and Somerset are on it already,’ replied Carlson. ‘I’ve just spoken with DCI Barton and he’s handling that at his end.’

  ‘And Malcolm Clarke or whatever his name is?’ asked Jane. ‘What are we going to do about him?’

  ‘I’m no longer sure he’s a priority, Jane,’ replied Carlson. ‘He’s certainly someone I shall want to discuss with Miss Warren when we find her, but for now put him on the back burner.’

  ‘Okay, guv,’ she said.

  Lissa sniffed the air, scenting the unmistakable hospital smell. She curled into a ball and hid her head under the covers. Was she back in the nightmare? Would the doctor speak Spanish? Did she really have to go over it all again? Hearing footsteps clicking on the hard lino floor she tried to make herself as small as she could. Perhaps no one would see her here. But it was not to be.

  ‘Come on, I can see you’re awake. Sit up, please.’

  English! The voice was speaking English. Lissa pushed the covers back and sat up. The nurse looked at her sternly and held her wrist in a firm grip. Lissa winced.

  ‘Can you tell me who you are?’

  ‘Pardon,’ said Lissa. ‘Where is this place?’

  ‘The West Cornwall Hospital. Now what about a name?’ The nurse had moved to the end of the bed and was writing on the chart attached to the clipboard which hung there.

  ‘Melissa Warren. Sorry did you say West Cornwall? How did I get here?’

  ‘You were found drunk in the street in Penzance last night. You had no ID on you, no money, so the police brought you here. You were lucky they didn’t put you in a cell but they were full up apparently and they were scared you might choke on your vomit so they brought you to us. Something we always appreciate.’

  ‘Where are my clothes?’

  ‘There,’ the nurse pointed. ‘On the chair in front of you.’

  ‘Those aren’t my clothes,’ said Lissa, although she did recognise them. They were Mal’s. Was this another one of his games. But how did she get to Cornwall? Had he drugged her? The clothes would have to do, although she drew the line at putting his underpants on. She slid her feet to the floor. ‘Am I free to go,’ she asked.

  ‘The police want to talk to you,’ was the reply. ‘Someone is on their way to see you. It should just be a formality. As far as I know you didn’t commit any crime, just drunk, you weren’t even disorderly. I expect they just want to warn you about the perils of getting into such a state and see if you want to report anything stolen.’

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ said Lissa. She waited until the nurse had walked away before picking up the clothes to smell them. At the stench of stale alcohol, Lissa began to shake. Her knees gave way and she clung to the bed for support. The images played in her head once more, like a series of GIFs, over and over again. Heart racing and throat constricted, she held back the threatening sobs and the tears she knew would follow. Breathe, damn you, she muttered to herself. Just breathe. Timing her breaths brought the panic attack under control and she sat on the edge of the bed, feeling nauseous as the adrenaline subsided. She would kill that bloody Mal when she got hold of him. Only he would have got her this drunk and then abandoned her. Patting the pockets of his clothes she discovered that her phone was missing. Angry that she had no means of calling him to come and collect her, she reluctantly dressed herself in his polo shirt and chinos and holding an edge of the boxer shorts in finger and thumb, she dropped them in the bin next to her bed.

  When Lissa pulled back the curtains surrounding her bed, she saw a pair of police officers striding down the centre aisle of the ward. Their faces were impassive but grew even more stern than the nurse’s had been when they saw her standing by the bed.

  ‘You are Melissa Warren?’ the female officer said.

  ‘Yes, I am. I’m sorry for any upset I may have caused. I think my friend was playing a prank on me—’

  ‘Melissa Warren I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later may rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand your rights as I have explained them to you?’

  Lissa nodded, open mouthed. ‘You’re making a mistake,’ she said. ‘A huge mistake.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  7th November 2018

  Gippingford County Court

  I was guided up the steps into the court room, sat down and the handcuffs were released from my wrists. I nodded my thanks to the security guard, even though he had been rougher with me than the nurses at the ward were.

  In front of me were panels of glass each around twenty-five centimetres wide with a small gap between them. They were quite thick, and I wondered how dangerous the criminals tried in this court usually were. I knew I wasn’t dangerous, that this was all a mistake and that I’d be going home soon. Mummy and Daddy came and peeked around the corner from the public seats to wave at me. I was pleased they were here, although Daddy was beginning to look a little frail. We exchanged smiles and then they sat down as the policeman came in. He didn’t smile at me. Just sat with his A3-sized folder in front of him. I had seen some of what was in there. Photographs of my car; maps of where my phone had been at certain times. None of it was true.

  Neither Mal nor Jenni were in the court room – I was watching for them when the jury came in and sat down. The jury didn’t look at me, but my barrister Mr Shaw said that I was not to worry about this at all. He turned around in his seat to smile at me and then jumped to his feet as the court was told to rise.

  Once Judge Mayhew had taken her seat, we all resumed ours. She glanced at me briefly before looking through her papers. Far above her head in a corner of the room there was a spider’s web. It was dusty. A stark comparison to the rest of the court which was clean and very modern with pale beech-coloured tables and uniform chairs with metal
legs and pale blue cushions. They were not at all comfortable. I wondered how long this farce would carry on and I would need to stay seated in mine.

  The judge looked over her glasses at the prosecution barrister and asked him to begin, but Mr Shaw rose instead.

  ‘This is most unusual, Mr Shaw,’ she said frowning. ‘Do you wish to address the court?’

  ‘I do indeed, your honour,’ replied Mr Shaw, grasping the lapels of his gown between thumb and forefingers.

  She nodded wearily, but I was excited at how he was now going to tell everyone about the terrible miscarriage of justice that was about to be perpetrated.

  ‘If you would permit, your honour, I would like to demonstrate to the court why my client is unfit to plead guilty or not guilty. To this end I would like to call Dr Anders Last.’

  The usher walked to a side room I’d not noticed and called for Dr Last. I tried to stand to protest but the guard pulled me back down into my seat.

  Dr Last came to the witness box, sipped some water the usher poured for him and waved the bible away. He affirmed which puzzled me as I knew he had a beautiful print of the Madonna and child in his office. Was he now going to lie? Was that why he refused the bible? Blood pounded in my ears as my heart hammered in my chest. I missed the first questions, but they were just about his professional qualifications and how he met me.

  ‘Dr Last, how would you describe Miss Warren’s mental health?’ Mr Shaw asked. Sideways to me I saw his features forming something that he must have thought looked like sympathy.

  ‘Miss Warren is not in the best of mental health, your honour. She has an alcohol dependency and she is suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder after the rape three years ago.’ Dr Last would not look at me. I knew he could not whilst he lied.

  ‘I also understand that there is a diagnosis of agoraphobia?’

  Dr Last nodded.

  ‘How badly is my client impacted by this fear of the outside?’ Mr Shaw looked unbearably smug and he moved papers around as he waited for the answer.

  ‘Miss Warren is more afraid of people being in close proximity to her rather than being outside. She lives in fear of another attack,’ Dr Last watched the judge scratching notes with her fountain pen.

  ‘Has my client made any friends since her attack? Say in the Abbey Hospital perhaps?’ Hands back on the gown Mr Shaw moved from side to side as if he were dancing.

  ‘Yes, you could say that,’ Dr Last hesitated. He sounded unsure of himself.

  ‘Could you elaborate, doctor?’

  The doctor opened his mouth, but no words were uttered. He took a deep breath and appeared to reach a conclusion. ‘Yes, Miss Warren made some friends. Jennifer Frobisher and someone called Malcolm Clarke.’

  ‘Someone called Malcolm Clarke,’ Mr Shaw repeated carefully. ‘What can you tell me about Mr Clarke, Dr Last?’

  ‘Very little, I am afraid. I never met him, but I was very concerned about his malign influence on Melissa. She was very much in his thrall.’

  I tried to stand and protest. Mal wasn’t a bad person; he took care of me. Again, the guard pushed me back down into the chair. ‘Keep doing that and I’ll handcuff you to the chair,’ he hissed.

  ‘That said, Dr Last, could my client have committed the crimes that she is accused of?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ replied the witness. ‘She will do anything that Malcom Clarke asks of her.’

  I opened my mouth to protest but heeded the warning from the guard.

  Mr Shaw looked surprised by the answer, but he carried on his line of questioning. ‘My client is that controlled by Mr Clarke?’

  ‘Yes, she is.’

  ‘She has no free will under his influence?’

  ‘She does not.’

  ‘Is she a danger to society?’

  ‘She could be.’

  ‘Is she a danger to herself?’

  ‘Under his influence? Yes, most definitely.’

  I could stand it no longer. I sprang to my feet and screamed at Anders Last to stop telling lies. I wanted to know why he’d not sworn on the bible. That was how I knew he was lying, I yelled.

  The guards were trying to tackle me to the floor. The judge’s gavel was crashing into the wooden sound block. I still screamed that I was innocent. I had done nothing. I was innocent. Mal had set me up. He’d not made me do anything – because he’d done it all himself.

  The handcuffs were squeezed onto my wrists and I squealed in agony. My parents rose to see me in the dock. Mummy was sobbing. Daddy was trying to comfort her. I’d never seen Mummy cry before. I tried to reach them both, but the guards pull me away. Just before I was thrust down the steps and back to the cells, I saw the policeman’s face. His eyes were sad, but his lips were snapped shut into a thin line.

  ‘You have to find Mal,’ I cried at him.

  He shook his head at me, and I knew that I was lost. Mal was going to get away with the murders and I was going to prison in his place.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  11th December 2018

  Stanmoor Hospital, London

  Sandra Warren jumped as the large steel door clanged shut behind her. She held her husband’s hand and followed the other visitors to the meeting area.

  Lissa stood up as she saw them enter the room and Sandra ran to hug her, but was stopped by one of the staff. She had no idea if the gigantic man was a guard or a nurse, but she decided he was not someone to argue with.

  Tony took her elbow and guided her to sit the opposite side of the plastic table from Lissa. Sandra looked with disgust at the orange plastic, removed a handkerchief from her bag, and covered the chair before she sat.

  ‘You’re looking well,’ she lied to Lissa. ‘Granny sends her love.’

  Lissa nibbled on her fingernails and said nothing, but she nodded as if she had heard and understood.

  ‘We’ve left some things for you with the guards,’ said Tony. ‘They need to be inspected before they’re given to you, just in case we baked a file into the cake.’

  Lissa looked up at him with a puzzled expression as if she didn’t understand the joke. Sandra nudged her husband and frowned at him. He shrugged and spread his hands in a defeated gesture.

  ‘How long do I have to be here?’ Lissa whispered so quietly that both her parents leaned across the table to hear her.

  ‘We’re trying hard to get you out, darling,’ Sandra said. ‘But obviously we weren’t able to use a self-defence claim and trying to convince a judge that you’re not a danger to society is proving quite tricky.’

  ‘Can’t you tell them that I’m innocent? It wasn’t me. It was Mal. It was all Mal.’ Lissa looked from one face to the other, tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘I’m innocent. I know that I am innocent.’

  ‘Mal is proving to be quite hard to find, darling,’ said Sandra, ignoring the nudge of her husband’s foot under the table. Anxious to change the subject, she asked. ‘How are you getting on with the psychiatrist?’

  ‘He doesn’t understand me like Torrie did. He won’t let me talk about Mal. He says that I have to try to manage without him, but I miss him so much. Can’t you get him to visit me?’ Lissa implored.

  ‘I’ll do what I can, darling. We both will, won’t we, Daddy? We’ll do our best to find him,’ Sandra assured her. Grasping her daughter’s hand she squeezed it tightly, hoping that her own tears would not fall.

  Beside her she heard Tony sigh and reflected on the change in roles. Once it would have been Tony promising their child everything that money could buy. And now it was her giving hope, where there was none to be had.

  All too soon visiting time was over and they were ushered out of the bleak room leaving their daughter helpless behind them.

  Tony was silent on the walk back to the car. For once he did not open the passenger door for her and left her to fend for herself. Huffily she clambered into the Range Rover and sat waiting for him to start the car.

  He sat silent looking into the distance. ‘You shouldn’t have
done that,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t have promised her we’d try and find Mal. She needs to move past it. You’re not helping her.’

  Sandra sat sullen and silent.

  ‘You know he’s never going to be found. Why do you give her the hope that he will be? It’s not going to ease her life at all. It’s cruel giving her false hope.’

  ‘I know. I just can’t bear to see her like that.’ Sandra opened her handbag and began shuffling through the contents.

  Tony put the car into reverse and headed out of the car park.

  Finally, Sandra allowed the tears that she had been holding back to fall freely.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Lissa ambled down the corridor back to her room, scratching at the clothes she was now made to wear. The label in the T-shirt rubbed against the back of her neck. Why were labels always made of nylon which cut your skin, she wondered. Then she smiled to herself thinking of all the times she had purposely cut herself. This would be just another one of those marks to show her journey.

  The door to her room was opened and she took in the single bed with a blanket and a pillow. Mummy and Daddy had sent things to make it more homely, they said, but she wasn’t staying long. When she was found to be innocent, they’d let her go.

  A washbasin and a toilet lurked at the end of the narrow room, and Lissa shuddered thinking of the lovely bathroom at her parents’ home. At least it flushes and it has a lid, she thought. She lingered so long at the threshold that she was edged over it into the room. Some might call it a push. The metal door shut behind her and she heard the rattle of keys as they turned in the lock. The grid was lowered for a moment and she felt the eyes behind, staring at her. Then that too clanged shut.

  Lissa sat on the edge of the bed, then flopped her body down, pulling the pillow into her neck and beginning to sob, her body wracked with grief and self-pity.