by Ben Oakley
Still, there was one place I needed to go first.
I jumped in a taxi as I didn't have the energy or time to walk for well over an hour to Little Venice. As I walked into Rembrandt Gardens I breathed out a sigh of relief as I saw Miss Jameson sitting on the same bench, wearing the same clothes and probably reading the same book.
“So you come back after lunch to sit on the same bench?” I said
“Oh Mr. Lake, good to see you again so soon.”
“I'm sorry if I've interrupted your reading, Miss Jameson, I'm just following up on a few things and I'm glad you're here.” I winked at her, “right where I left you!”
She slid along the bench and moved her bag to one side, “sit, my dear.”
“Did you enjoy your lunch?” I asked.
“Every day. My husband and I would come here on the weekends and sit on this exact bench, holding each other close. We would dream of a better world beyond the waters, a world of wonder at the end of the canal. We would dream of the great beasts and angels who held sway at the end of the streams. And when the night set in, we would look to the stars and imagine life beyond our skies.”
I sat back and smiled at the thought. It was a welcome interruption to a busy day and I was so glad she was still here.
“Honestly that sounds so wonderful, I fail to see how it could be part of my world. Am I to understand your husband has passed over?”
“Oh no, the fucker cheated on me and left me eight years ago. I only come here now to wind him up as he lives opposite.”
I couldn't help myself and burst into laughter as Miss Jameson tried to hold hers in.
“Tell me it's not true?” I pleaded.
“I'm only jesting, I use that one two or three times a day. He's gone now, above the skies. He lives in another world, in another time up there, looking back at me right now as I look up at him.”
I nodded and sniffed but she jumped in before I could speak. “You're not here for idle chit-chat are you?”
“I kinda wish I was,” I really did, “but we have an urgent situation and I wondered if you could help me?”
“My dear, it would be my absolute pleasure.”
“You remember the lady I was with earlier? The brunette?”
“Detective Paine, I remember. Something's happened to her hasn't it?”
My head told me to not give out too many details, it was the opposite of what Paine would have done. But I had been unleashed and time was ticking away. So I went with my heart and my gut.
“Yes. She was abducted a couple of hours ago by someone we think might be the Blood Streams Killer. I only tell you this because I think you might be able to help.” I nodded at her book, “it seems you like mysteries more than the average person?”
She smiled, “oh you are on the ball. What do you need?”
“When we left you earlier, Paine and myself went into Maida Hill tunnel on some kayaks.”
“I saw you, trying to con that man into loaning his boats.”
“See, you're helping already, you know what goes on around here. We were on the water just ten minutes after we left you. Did you see anything suspicious around her? On the canal or on the towpaths?”
She reached into her bag and took out a piece of fruit, “would you like an apple?”
“So much,” I took a great big bite straight away. Never had an apple tasted so good, “thank you.”
Then she took out a notepad and a pen, “I don't just read here, sometimes I take notes. Like the man in the cap.”
“I'm starting to think we should bring you on board,” I joked.
“So just after you left I saw a great many number of things.” She consulted her notes.
“Was anyone following us?”
“Yes, I believe they were.”
“Who?”
“The man in the cap.”
“You're kidding me?” Damn, I had used Paine's catchphrase.
“Look right here,” she used the pen to point at her ineligible writing. “Just after you got into the kayaks, I noted a man in a cap on the opposite side of the canal staring towards the tunnel.”
“Where did he come from?”
“I'm not sure because I look back and forth between paragraphs,” she tapped her forehead, “keeps me clear between the ears.”
“Was it the same man in the cap that you had seen on the canal boat?”
“I can tell you it was the same cap. All black with white text on the top front that read Pink Panthers.”
“Pink Panthers? You sure about that?”
She beckoned to her bag and I peered over to see a small pair of opera binoculars in there. I smirked, why would I have expected anything less?
“So he stands there for about three minutes, just looking across towards the tunnel. He doesn't even try to hide it, in fact he was rather crass about it.”
“Anything else you picked up? Height, age, build?”
“He's white, average height; say just less than six feet. Couldn't work out his age, it was tricky, must have been the light. Sometimes I thought he was thirty-ish and others maybe a lot older. If he walked right by me here I could have given you a better description.”
“You've done fantastically, thank you Miss Jameson.”
I breathed in again and sat back on the bench. The apple was top notch and thoroughly needed.
“Go on,” she said.
“With what?”
“You want to ask me a few more questions before you move on.”
There was no denying it. I smiled again, “do you think he lives in Little Venice?”
“No, and I'm sure about that. I've lived here long enough and been nosey enough to know pretty much everyone that lives here by face and not by name. I don't go spying but I like to know who's around me.”
I hesitated to ask the next question as I rarely used it. “Miss Jameson?”
“Go on,” she chuckled.
“What does your gut tell you?”
Sometimes when investigating, if I was talking to someone casually, I tended to get more information out of them than if I was pushing for it. And I kind of thought Miss Jameson was waiting for me.
“The amount of books I've read you'd think I would have solved it already but I haven't. Still, I have made some efforts to solve it on paper. The guy you're looking for knows his victims, this isn't random, he's chosen them for a specific reason.”
“Yeah I thought that to,” I said, trying to block Jess from my mind for just a little while longer.
“He knows this canal like the back of his hand, he also knows where the black spots are; the places without CCTV coverage. I bet if you looked at the victim's locations they were discovered in those blackout areas. This guy knows what he is doing and I don't think he can stop.”
“Why do you say that?”
“This isn't a hit and run, Mr. Lake. Your guy is targeting victims and those who specifically target victims are already looking for the next one. Look to the canal for answers, he lives near to or has easy access to the waterways and connecting systems. If it was me and I had the access you did, I'd start with properties near Maida Hill tunnel and Islington tunnel. He's been thinking about this for a while.”
I raised my eyebrows in complete satisfaction and was somewhat humbled to be sat next to her. Some of them had crossed my mind but Miss Jameson had some solid areas for me to look at. I wanted to nip by the hospital first to see about Ana Fernandez but I had certainly been helped.
“Thank you so much for your time,” I said.
“You know where I am when you need me again, I'm not going anywhere. Say, would you like another apple?”
How could I refuse? I took it with thanks. “You're too good,” I said.
“Mr. Lake, before you go. I do hope you find your partner.” I wasn't going to dispute it. “You seem like a nice chap so do please be careful. The guy you're hunting doesn't worry about hurting others and he won't think twice about hurting you. I'm saying this out of selfishness
because I want you to come back for some idle chit-chat every now and again.”
“I look forward to it,” I said, before walking off.
She called after me; “look to the canals, Mr. Lake, that's where you'll find your answers.”
Twenty Seven
I almost walked to the University College Hospital but decided against it at the last minute. Time was of the essence and it was running away from me. So I got another taxi instead, cursing the day I decided to never drive myself. I kinda missed Paine's Volvo.
The taxi stopped near the wrong entrance of the hospital, he'd dropped me at the outpatient wards and not the Accident and Emergency. But I guess I didn't fully explain where I needed to go.
I trotted around to the A&E entrance and walked right up to the reception. At first I was dumbstruck, I didn't quite know what to say so I just went with what came out first.
“Detective Lake to see Doctor Foster, regarding one of his patients.”
I didn't know if Ana Fernandez was one of his patients but her identification wristband was from the UCH, and he was only the contact I had.
“One moment please,” the receptionist said. Then she picked up the phone, “I've got a Detective Lake here to see Doctor Foster.”
I glanced around the emergency waiting room, I figured maybe the other entrance would have been better but I had decided against it.
“Okay,” she said, and pointed along the corridor, “through the emergency wards and turn right, Doctor Foster's office is on the far left. He's only been in an hour so he's probably rushed off his feet.”
“Thank you.”
As I walked through the double doors and through the ward, I remembered the security footage of Stansey King seeming as though she was talking to someone. For some reason I couldn't get it out of my head.
When she was in my cellar, she was scared, but she was coherent. She even suspected I had a multiple personality disorder in order to trick me and escape, and that's not an easy assumption to make. Something was concerning me about the footage but I couldn't put a finger on it.
I found Doctor Foster's office with ease, he was the head psychiatric on the ward. The need for mental health workers had increased dramatically over the years so there were a lot more psychiatrists around nowadays. From what I read about him, he was also one of the main links between the Linden Psychiatric Hospital and the University College Hospital.
Although not entirely responsible for admissions, he had a large say in what happened to patients who appeared to have mental health concerns. I was aware that the transition from the emergency ward to a psychiatric unit wasn't taking lightly and there were many parties involved in the decision. But someone had to outrank the others, as it were.
His door was open and I stuck my head in to see if he was there. I saw him at his desk, looking up at me.
“Mr. Lake, good sir, do come in!” he said, with aplomb.
The office was larger than I expected and extremely well organised, if a little full. There was another working desk to my left stacked with folders.
“Did I come at a bad time?” I asked.
Foster looked at the other desk and realised what I had insinuated. “You wouldn't believe the rise in psychiatric cases this hospital has seen in the past five years. In fact, across the entire country.”
“Maybe because we're allowed to talk about mental illnesses now and we weren't a few years back. Awareness has increased and we can be open with each other.”
“A knowledgeable man,” he grinned, “I like that. Please, sit.”
He beckoned at me to take the seat to the side of his desk. I pulled it up and sat directly opposite him.
“Thank you for seeing me at such short notice,” I said, “I appreciate you must be very busy here.”
“Anything for a detective. I did hear that right didn't I?”
I chuckled, “temporarily.”
He sat back and shifted some folders across so he could lean his elbows on the table, “did you find the girl? Miss King?”
Again I was hesitant to give out information but without sharing there was nothing coming my way so I thought it best to spread the knowledge. I'd read somewhere that if you share what you have then life becomes happier for all involved.
“Yes and no, it's complicated. We thought we found her but she disappeared again.”
Do I tell him about Paine? Or just drop that in when it seemed right? I decided against it as she wasn't the reason I'd come here.
“Sorry to hear that, she is of a fragile mind at the moment.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “What can I do for you, Mr. Lake?”
“Actually I'm here about another patient who came through this ward not too long ago. Ana Fernandez?”
He blew his breath out through pursed lips. “Mr. Lake, you'll have to excuse me but we have literally thousands of cases come through this ward. Friday is commonly the busiest day for admissions.”
“Oh really?”
“You'd think it would be the student nights but the street teams have become better. That or the price increase on alcohol might have started to finally take effect.”
“You'll have to excuse me, doctor, I'm in a bit of a rush myself.”
“Yes of course,” he said, scratching his head. “I don't recall an Ana Fernandez, do you have any more information on her?”
“I was just hoping you remembered her, that's all. She was Brazilian, there can't have been that many Brazilians come this way.”
“There's a community of every nation on Earth in London. This week I've been treating a Madagascan cyclist and a Portuguese window cleaner.”
“So you remember them but you don't remember Miss Fernandez?”
He cocked his head slightly and looked at me slightly perturbed. He leaned forward again and shook his head at me.
“I would suggest witnessing this emergency ward on any given night and see for yourself how busy this place can become. I don't deal with all patients, Mr. Lake. Psychiatry is not needed for everyone, not yet anyway.”
“I understand but I had spoken with you previously and thought because of the connection to Stansey King that we could work together on this.”
He sighed gently and sat back again, his constant moving back and forward was unnerving me, but then he didn't really take to me last time I had seen him.
“What was her name again?” he asked.
I took the wristband out of my pocket and placed it on the table in front of him, “Ana Fernandez.”
I watched his reaction carefully, I wanted to see if it fired in his mind or if he was hiding something. I couldn't put anything past anyone at the moment. There was no untoward reaction, just a slight air of annoyance.
He reached over to his computer screen and searched her name then he took a deep breath. “Yes, yes I do remember Miss Fernandez.” He looked at his keyboard, almost solemnly.
“Doctor Foster?”
“You'll have to excuse my ignorance Mr. Lake. I do remember her, she was in a delusional state. This was many weeks ago now, but yes, now I have her notes on the screen, I do remember her.”
“What do they tell you?”
“Mr. Lake, have you ever heard the term; an Immortal Hour.”
“I may have done but I'm unsure in what context?”
He stood and nodded his head, “let's get some fresh air.”
Twenty Eight
There was a nice breeze near the hospital entrance, the correct entrance I'd been told. Just around the side was a smoking area that looked like three adjoined bus stops. There were a few others hanging around, dragging down on something that I suddenly yearned for again.
“Wasn't aware you smoked?” I said to Foster.
“You'd be surprised how many medical professionals do.”
We stepped to the side of the smoking area, just away from the earshot of others who were hanging around.
Time was slipping away from me so I pushed on quickly, “an Immortal Hour?”
&
nbsp; He took a long drag before talking as the smoke seeped out of his mouth.
“The concept of an Immortal Hour is a new psychiatric term, it simply means to be trapped in time or mentally trapped in a moment of time that has come to define oneself. Some lives and personalities are defined by a traumatic experience or a bad memory. Instead of dealing with it or learning to live with it, we become trapped in its infinite occurrence forever.
“If left unaided it will only get worse and it does get worse. This worsening state of mind can result in someone living in, reliving or re-enacting the trauma over and over again. We never truly escape its clutch.”
“You're describing delusion.”
“Delusion to the point of it taking over one's life in a way that sees them disconnect fully from our reality. They live in a world of paranoia, fear, and loneliness. They live in a moment of time that plays on repeat in their heads and generally their delusions see them do terrible things to themselves or others.”
I watched as he took another drag, teasing me into its cancerous relaxation. A pint of Guinness and a smoke would have gone down all too well right then but I had to refuse the temptation. It had been too long and too much hard work had gone into quitting.
“So you're saying that Ana Fernandez was living inside one of these Immortal Hour things?”
“Miss Fernandez was incredibly delusional and lost. She was sent to Linden Psychiatric Hospital within hours of her arrival here.”
“The same place Stansey King was about to be taken to before she ran off?”
“Correct.”
“What happened to Ana?”
He took a short drag and quickly blew out, I slyly leaned in to take a few short breaths myself of the smoke that surrounded him.
“Sometimes in my line of work, you see people who are very mentally ill and it breaks my heart. If those people had been helped at an earlier junction then they would be living normal lives now, in a normal world, devoid of delusion and fear. Ana Fernandez disappeared from Linden just a few days later while on unescorted leave. I assume you have her wristband because she is no longer walking this world?”
