Struggles of Psycho

by Rhyam O'Bryam

  ‘“Why are you so thin, sir?”

  ‘“Oh, that’s nothing to worry about. You see, we’ve been playing a sex game. I’ve been her prisoner. But that’s over now and I’ll be putting on weight from now on.”

  ‘The first ambulance driver, who was older and clean shaven, shook his head and, to my delight, the second – a young man who couldn’t have been much out of training, though he had grown a goatee beard to make himself look older – well, he was grinning.

  ‘“You can damage your heart.” The older one was packing up his gear.

  ‘“Wait,” said Ivy, who was as quick at reading people as me. “You’re not going to leave him here, are you?”

  ‘“I’m sorry. It’s not an emergency.” The ambulance man looked back at Mike. “Unless you’d like to come back with us. A couple of days in Wexford Hospital just to be on the safe side.”

  ‘“No, thank you. I’m happy here. Very happy. My mistress keeps me that way.”

  ‘It was remarks like that which really annoyed me about Mike. Unlike Ivy, who was smart, Mike never could read a room. Everything had been going smoothly. Now, however, they looked coldly at him.

  The older man paused, case still open. ‘“I thought you said the game was over?”

  ‘“Oh, I’ll always be his mistress. That’s what he means. We’re not doing the dungeon thing any more.”

  ‘“Maybe you should come with us.” The younger one had more spirit than the older.

  ‘“You can’t make me.” Again, Mike said the wrong thing. This was turning sour.

  The second ambulance man walked over to Mike and crouched down, so they were eye to eye. “Sir, your judgment is impaired by your condition. You do not have the right to refuse treatment.”

  ‘“Don’t be silly. His judgment is very good. Test him,” I intervened.

  ‘“What do you mean?” The crouching ambulance man looked over at me.

  ‘“Well, if you are asserting that his judgment is impaired you must have grounds for doing so. Some kind of test. Some evidence?”

  ‘“What’s your name?” The young one had taken over, it seemed.

  ‘“That’s easy,” Mike chuckled. “Michael Patterson.”

  ‘“Well, Mike, answer this. If your mistress tells you to get in a dungeon or not to eat, will you obey her?”

  ‘And this was the crucial moment. It all came down to how Mike answered this question. I have to admit that I thought Mike stupid enough to say “yes”. It would certainly be like him to put on that kind of display of loyalty to me, even though it wouldn’t mean anything.

  ‘Looking back…’ and Amy Philips did look contemplative as she spoke, ‘I think there was about a fifty-fifty chance he’d say the wrong thing. That is, wrong from my point of view. From his, well, he wouldn’t be dead now, at least, not by my act of self-defence, if he’d said “yes”. But he looked that ambulance driver in the eye and said “no”.

  ‘“That’s it, then,” The older driver closed his bag and stood up. “We’ll leave you to it.”

  ‘“Are you sure you won’t have tea first?” I offered.

  ‘“Quite sure.” His voice was hostile now, but I didn’t care. The flush of victory was upon me.

  ‘“No! Take him with you! You must take him with you. Can’t you see how sick he is?” Ivy went so far as to grab the ambulance man’s arm.

  ‘He shrugged her off. “I’m sorry, miss. He’s an adult and he’s not under the influence of drugs. There’s nothing I can do. If he wants to stay here, he can stay here.”

  ‘“Mike, please!” Ivy was nearly sobbing. “Tell them. Tell them you want to go.”

  ‘“Oh, Ivy,” Mike crossed his legs. “Stop being so melodramatic. You shouldn’t have gone and wasted the time of these good men. If anyone needs the hospital it’s you. You’re soaked.”

  ‘That was true and I was a little anxious for her. It would quite spoil my success if Ivy got the flu or worse.

  ‘“Ivy, dear. I suggest you change out of your wet things and have a nice, hot bath. Gentlemen.” I went to the door and held it open. “Goodbye. Sorry you’ve been brought out here unnecessarily.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘After the ambulance crew had left, I switched on the immersion for Ivy’s bath and then went to the kitchen area and put the kettle on for a well-earned cup of tea. As you will have seen, it’s all one big room with just a breakfast bar to separate the kitchen from a lounge area, where the TV and old couch were. So I could hear everything that was taking place between Ivy and Mike. They could both see me, taking down the mugs and preparing a tray, but that didn’t hold Ivy back.

  ‘“Mike, why didn’t you leave?”

  ‘“Calm down, Ivy, seriously.

  ‘“You don’t understand. You’ve destroyed me.”

  ‘“What do you mean?”

  ‘“I can’t leave until you are safe. Don’t you see the danger you are in here? If I go, she’ll use your health to bring me back.”

  ‘“And?”

  ‘“And if I stay, she’ll make me play your stupid games. You need to get your strength up and then come back with me.”

  ‘“Here we are.” I came over with a pot of tea, three cups and saucers and a plate of custard creams. “Have a biscuit, Mike.”

  ‘“Don’t mind if I do.” He ate two, then put three more into his pocket.

  ‘“Ivy, have a warm drop inside you. You’ve had a long, hard day and I’m sure you’ll come down with something.”

  ‘The look she gave me was extraordinary, I mean, if an actor could emulate it, she’d win an Oscar. It expressed hostility, of course, but also cynicism and a shared understanding. She knew that I was being polite because I had won the battle. She also knew that there was a war ahead. And my being solicitous of Ivy’s health had more to do with my own needs than hers. All this was conveyed in less than a heartbeat.

  ‘Still, she picked up the tea and sat down in a single seat. I was sat beside Mike on the couch. “Now, isn’t this lovely?”

  ‘“It’s awful. I can’t believe I’m here with you, Amy. I thought after school, I’d never see you again, ever.”

  ‘“I know, but it’s not that bad, really. Think of it as a holiday. We’ve a lovely part of the country here, a little off the beaten tourist trail and all the better for that. I’ll show you some of the finest beaches in Europe and you like reading, don’t you, Ivy? There’s the sweetest little bookshop-cum-coffee-shop in Gorey.”

  ‘“Oh, shut up, Amy.” Ivy stood up. Then sat down again. Then started crying. I looked across at Mike, who shrugged. He was happy, of course, the idiot. He couldn’t see that this was the end for him.”

  ‘The end?’ asked McCarthy, suspiciously.

  ‘I mean, the end of our mistress-slave relationship. It really held no interest to me. Whereas Ivy, well, not only was she pretty, she was also much more appealing as a person. There was a strength in her character that Mike lacked. To win her would be a huge achievement and enormously fulfilling.’

  Amy Philips looked away with an expression that was almost dreamy. For a moment, the wary calculation that I had become used to was gone.

  ‘You couldn’t win her real affection though, could you?’ I said. ‘So you had to bully her in some way.’

  Immediately, our suspect’s face fell. ‘You’ve forgotten, Superintendent, that “real affection”, as you put it, was denied me all my life. No child should watch their mother die. And her message to me, not to trust anyone, while intended to protect me – probably from her brother – put up a barrier between me and the rest of the world. No. If I was to have Ivy, it could not be as a result of real affection.’

  ‘What did you do?’ asked McCarthy.

  ‘The first step was getting her to share my bed. While Ivy was having a bath, I stripped the spare beds. Oliver’s old bedroom, I turned back into a studio: a lot of Ruben’s paints were still there. And Lucy’s old bedroom I simply locked. When Ivy came out, wrapped in a thick v
iolet towel, wet hair loose and raven black, I guided her to the master bedroom.

  ‘“This is your room?”

  ‘“Yes. Mike has the guest room.”

  ‘“But where do I sleep?”

  ‘I gestured to the bed.

  ‘“Oh no. Even if I was a lesbian, which I’m not, I wouldn’t share a bed with you, Amy. Don’t you understand? I hate you. I see you for what you are, a really dangerous, soulless monster.”

  ‘Interestingly, I could tell at once that she knew this was a battle she’d lose. There was a hint of tiredness and resignation in her voice.

  ‘“Stand still,” I replied and I switched on the hairdryer. It was a real pleasure to play the hot air across her head and blow the strands of her hair in all directions.

  ‘She raised her voice over the roar of the hairdryer. “It’s OK, Amy. I can do this myself. And I need to curl the ends.”

  ‘I handed her a round brush and for a while she just held it, presumably hoping I’d hand her the hairdryer too. But I was enjoying myself too much. The play of her beautiful hair across her pale cheeks and neck was poetry, as were Ivy’s bare shoulders above the line of the towel. Yet the delicate beauty of her throat and collar bone suddenly annoyed me and I had to fight back the urge to push the hairdryer hard against her neck and hold it there until she was branded for life.’

  McCarthy looked at me and I knew what she was thinking. That would be a good line for the jury to listen to. For once, Amy Philips seemed oblivious, too caught up in her own memories.

  ‘Then, when her hair was dry I unpacked her nightdress from her suitcase and handed it to her. To put it on, she had to drop the towel and raise her arms. As she did so, I almost gasped aloud. She really had become a beautiful young woman. Her breasts were small by today’s standards, but her curves were pure music.

  ‘Not many women shaved their pubic hair then and Ivy was no exception. This made for a hugely erotic image that has never left me. The dark, solid V against her white skin was like an arrow pointing to her sex.

  ‘She climbed into bed and I switched off the lights and closed the curtains. It was still light and pale blue colour filled the room, as though we were under water.

  ‘I undressed and climbed into bed. Ivy was turned away from me, shuddering and crying into her pillow.

  ‘“There, there. It’s not so bad,” I whispered. Then I began to stroke her. I took my time. After all, this was my dream being realised. I traced her shoulder blades, each bone of her spine, the line from her flanks, across her hips to her thighs.

  ‘Eventually, when we were both warm, I pressed myself entirely to her: my breasts on her back, my stomach to her arse and I reached around to fondle her breasts and squeeze her small, hard nipples firmly between my fingers.

  ‘She resisted, but not violently and I overcame her easily enough. And when I forced a hand between her legs, so as to be able to place an index finger on her sex, I found that it was hot, throbbing. I chuckled into her ear. With some effort, bearing down on her with the weight of my body and wrapping her top leg between mine, I was able to part the lips of her sex and dip the tip of my finger into her. She was wet.

  ‘I brought that finger to her nose and smeared her own juices on her upper lip. “Well, Ivy, perhaps you protest too much.”

  ‘“It’s not me,” she muttered. “It’s just automatic.”

  ‘In actual fact, there was probably some truth to this. Earlier – and I hated the thought – it had seemed to me that Ivy had grown in maturity and that she perhaps had a boyfriend. But now, I realised she was still a virgin (if you didn’t count my efforts with the courgette). That she was still desperate to enter the world of sexually active adults, but that she hadn’t yet done so.

  ‘I don’t know if you remember your teenage years, Superintendent, but if you do, you’ll recall that they were full of thoughts about sex. Probably every night, Ivy had tried to imagine what it would be like to have sex. Maybe she masturbated regularly; maybe she hadn’t even discovered that.

  ‘The reaction my fingers were getting, the squirming, the wetness, told me that the only sexual experience she’d had was with me. So there was a twist, a blockage, a channelling of the river of desire. Instead of flowing naturally, I had brought it my way, if you understand. I believed Ivy when she said she wasn’t a lesbian and hated me. But that was her mind. Her body and her unconscious burned for sex and they betrayed her. They wanted my fingers and they wanted an orgasm. Poor girl.

  ‘Just at this moment, perhaps the most delicious moment of my whole life, Mike barged in. I never forgave him for this.

  ‘“What’s going on?” he said. “It’s early. We haven’t eaten.”

  ‘Ivy leapt out of bed with a swerve, like a gazelle, startled after a lion has just failed to land its claws on her flanks. “What do you think is going on, Mike?” she shouted at him. “What did you think would happen when you refused to leave? You know what she’s like. You’ve seen those pictures.” Mike just stood there, gaping like a goldfish.

  ‘This was a difficult situation for me. For one thing, I was still somewhat giddy with the intensity of those moments in bed with Ivy. My fingers could almost feel her throbbing sex. I knew that I wanted to fight back against Mike, to dominate him, but I was naked and this would put me at a great disadvantage should I escalate matters.

  ‘So, I simply spoke quietly. “Mike, you know better than to enter a room without knocking. You’re right about dinner. There’s pasta in the press beside the sink, why don’t you start that and we’ll be down to you shortly?”

  ‘“I…” he looked at his sister, shivering in her dark blue nightdress. “All right.”

  ‘After he had left, I got out of bed and began to dress. Ivy was in a hurry to do the same, but when she went to her clothes on the radiator, they were still damp. “In the cupboard there,” I nodded towards it. “Take a cardigan and the dressing gown.”

  ‘The look she gave me was strange. Obviously, she felt a fierce antipathy towards me, but equally, she was a polite, middle-class English girl and had the manners to want to thank me for my clothes. After she had covered herself, she said, “I want to sleep on the couch.”

  ‘“Ivy. Understand this. Really, clearly. You’ll do as I say or Mike will die and your pictures will be published in a men’s magazine. Do you understand?”

  ‘She held my gaze for a moment, her jaw visibly clenched. Then she looked away. It seemed like she might speak but a moment later she lurched out of the door and clattered downstairs. Unhurriedly, I finished dressing and went down after her. Of course she would share my bed.’

  As a result of the look that McCarthy gave her, Amy Philips paused in her narrative. ‘Yes, Detective Sergeant?’

  ‘You’ve just admitted to blackmail and quite possibly a sexual offence.’

  ‘Indeed. But they are not indictable offences and the Statute of Limitations applies. And in any case, what matters is that I establish that I had reasonable grounds for believing my life to be in danger from Mike that night he attacked me. And I’m doing a good job, don’t you think? The mixture of sex, family and domination is very potent.’

  Every time Philips spoke like this I felt a twinge in my stomach. Her confidence was alarming. I really did not like the idea that I was always just behind her, always being led somewhere and never steering her. Most of the time, with murder, the suspect was evasive and it was me who was pushing, pushing, until the real story came out.

  Here, we were experiencing the very opposite. It was hard to get her to stop talking. We’d end up with hours and hours of recordings. My main hope was that in telling her story, from time to time Amy Philips did seem to lose control. Perhaps there were already important clues to what really happened between her and Mike in what she had said this far. Not that my notepad had too many bullet points.

  I looked again at the list I had made. It was the one about Ivy Patterson’s passport that stood out.

  ‘Let’s take a break.’ I
got up.

  ‘If you like, Superintendent, although I don’t need one.’

  ‘Thirty minutes.’

  Once out of the room, with McCarthy close behind, I found I could breathe more easily. It was strange, the physical effect of Amy Phillip’s presence and manner. Like my body wanted to shy away from her. I kept going, out onto the street for some fresh air, glad that McCarthy came with me.

  ‘Well?’ I asked her. ‘Where are we going with this?’

  ‘We need Ivy Patterson,’ said McCarthy firmly.

  ‘Yeah.’ I noticed the sun was already coming down behind the spire of St Kevin’s Church. Had we been at this all morning? Evidently so. ‘At the very least, we should pick up that passport and whatever else is in her little hiding hole.’

  ‘I’ll arrange the paperwork for tomorrow morning. Will you come?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Then I’ll pick you up at eight, spare you the trip into town.’

  ‘Thanks. Tell Philips we are done for the day, will you? She can spend the afternoon with her lawyer.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Castle Sinet rose out of the farmyard, grim and aggressive. You could imagine the generations of farmers and peasants before them, working the land and paying their lords. McCarthy could feel it too, because when we parked the car and she got out, she spat on the ground. ‘They should have burned this place down in the Tan War.’

  ‘Ah, no. They are as much a part of Ireland as anyone else. There’s history here. Our history.’ I gestured towards the grey, thick stones of the tower.

  ‘That’s a speech, Doyle. Now, what do you really think?’

  I chuckled, despite my sense of unease. ‘Come on.’

  Once more we entered the house, stepping through the crime scene tape. Before going up to the master bedroom, we both walked around the lounge again. I had the report from the state pathologist in my hand. It confirmed my previous thought, that stopping a heart with a knitting needle would not lead to significant blood loss. The stain on the carpet – now dried and quite faded – on the carpet was consistent with Philips’s story.