A Game of Minds

by Priscilla Masters

  Staring at the photos wasn’t going to give her the answer so she turned back to Kobi’s past. The subject on which he had mocked her. To a psychiatrist the police notes on him were irritatingly sketchy, chunks missing, questions she would have asked never touched on, points she would have focused on glossed over. Too little about his early home life, close relations, potentially damaging life experiences. The story of his ex-wife, for instance. There was no detail on Marie Kobi, only her name and the relevant dates were documented. They had married in 2003, separated in 2005 and divorced in 2008. And that was it. No interviews, no further detail. But then the police perspective and her own would hardly be the same. They wanted a conviction, whereas her training was to constantly ask why. Once they had unearthed the fact that Kobi had been a schoolteacher accused of inappropriate sexual behaviour against a pupil they had enough of a motive. But for her it was just the beginning of a story. What had been the substance of the allegation? Luckily Terence Wilson had documented it in his neat, precise writing. It was alleged that Kobi had slipped his hand inside the girl’s blouse after keeping her back for using her mobile phone during lessons. No witnesses. The police had never interviewed the girl but, Googling her name, Claire could see plenty to interest her. Even though Kobi had been found blameless, Miranda Pullen, who had been thirteen at the time of the alleged assault, had profited out of the story when his crimes had hit the headlines. Ignoring the findings of the school investigation, she had claimed to be the one who had recognized his ‘killer instinct’. Miranda had sold her story – or rather a story – to one of the tabloids. And what a story she’d concocted.

  Lurid, way beyond her original allegation of a single incident, there was a highly imaginative tale of his trying ‘for ages’ to get her on her own, staring at her in class, making comments that could be construed as sexual invitations. In spite of the seriousness of the circumstances and the result of these fairy tales, Claire couldn’t help smiling. There was nothing here that could be proved or disproved and, in her opinion, most of this was the result of a fertile imagination and a greedy palm. It told her more about Miranda Pullen than Jonah Kobi. Kobi just wasn’t that stupid.

  The articles conveniently ignored the fact that Kobi had been suspended for almost a year on full pay and ultimately found not guilty. It had been a long time for his anger to stew before he had been finally discharged with ‘no case to answer’. Not surprisingly he’d left the school the following year. From then he had not had a permanent job but had gone into supply teaching. Two years later he had committed his first murder.

  Prior to Miranda’s possibly false allegation there was nothing. No documentation of previous cruelty either to women or animals. No violent assaults. No brush with the law. And apart from being caught speeding over thirty, he had passed what was then known as the CRB, the Criminal Records Bureau investigation, mandatory for anyone working with children or vulnerable adults. Nothing had been flagged up. So had this one complaint festered enough for a previously blameless Jonah Kobi to erupt into a killer? Revenge turning into indiscriminate murder?

  Weaker trigger factors had been known, but not in Claire’s experience. Kobi must always have been a gun cocked ready to fire. All Miranda Pullen had done was to release the safety catch.

  And yet, two women believed in Kobi. His ex-wife’s sister and the woman who had married him, his current wife.

  She rang DS Willard and told him she was still happy to progress with her interviews but she needed access to these two women.

  ‘I can get you their details, Claire, but I can’t guarantee either of them will speak to you.’

  ‘It’s interesting,’ she said, ‘that his first marriage only lasted two years, yet his ex-wife’s sister still believes in him?’

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s often the way, isn’t it?’ he said dismissively. ‘It’s often the family who feel tainted whereas an “outsider” can afford to be magnanimous.’

  DS Willard’s attempt at psychology made her smile.

  ‘And even more surprising that someone has been prepared to marry him.’

  Willard’s response was another cynical huff.

  But she had no chance to pursue his thoughts. There was a knock on her door. Rita stuck her head round, mouthing, ‘Mr Robinson’s here.’

  She returned to the real world and her current patient load.

  ‘I’ve got to go, Zed,’ Claire managed. ‘Just give me Chloe Barker’s contact details as well as those for the current Mrs Kobi.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do but I can’t promise anything. And Claire – thanks.’

  She could hardly respond with my pleasure.

  SIXTEEN

  John Robinson had the effect of unsettling her, and she could never quite work out why. He was physically unprepossessing, plump with a balding head and pasty features. He moved in an ungainly waddle, with thick thighs and feet splaying apart. His eyes were small and pale, lids hooded and his mouth was tight and mean, reminding her of pictures she had seen of Henry VIII. She had questioned Ilsa about why she had married him. Ilsa had shrugged. ‘He pursued me,’ she’d said. ‘Flowers, dates, smart restaurants. He told me he loved me.’

  Robinson was careless about his lack of physical appeal. Today he was wearing a rumpled grey suit with an open-necked white shirt and brown brogues. He smelt vaguely of rosemary and mint. As he sat down he gave a loud, impatient sigh.

  She pasted a smile on her face and shook his hand. ‘Mr Robinson.’

  ‘Dr Roget.’ Both were aware they were going over well-trodden ground.

  ‘We intend to send your wife home.’

  He stiffened and shifted forward. ‘I can’t have her home,’ he said.

  She was taken aback. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I just don’t want her home,’ he said bluntly. ‘Not right now. If you say she’s cured—’

  She had to interrupt him then. ‘Your wife will always be vulnerable,’ she said. ‘The way you treat her, with compassion and understanding, may well avoid any future episodes.’

  His only response was to raise his eyebrows.

  ‘Her panic attacks and delusions have a root cause in a lack of confidence which is part of her personality.’

  He frowned. ‘You’re sure?’

  Claire pressed on. ‘We all have our weak spots.’ And now she had to tackle the most difficult aspect. ‘It will help Ilsa hugely if you’re supportive, encouraging, helpful. This will restore her confidence in herself and slowly but surely she will improve. We hope to send her home on medication which we’ll gradually reduce until she can, hopefully, come off it altogether.’

  John Robinson looked troubled. ‘I’m not sure she’s ready to come home.’

  ‘She will continue to improve over time.’

  ‘How much time?’

  She smiled and shook her head. ‘Hard if not impossible to say.’

  ‘What about her returning to the clinic for a month or two and a phased return home?’

  ‘I can arrange it if that’s what you’d prefer.’

  ‘I’m not sure what I prefer,’ he said.

  That was when Claire realized John Robinson was struggling. She waited while he collected himself. ‘She can be … unpredictable.’

  ‘We’ll follow your wife up with clinic appointments, some more CBT and further counselling.’ She tried to impart an optimism she wasn’t feeling. ‘I have confidence that with home support she’ll do well.’

  ‘Home support?’ He looked puzzled. ‘Do well? What exactly does that mean? They’re empty phrases, Doctor. You don’t know how bad she was.’

  ‘I was here when she was admitted.’

  That was when Robinson snapped. ‘I’m out at work all day. She would be alone and …’ He frowned. ‘Who knows what she might get up to?’

  ‘Maybe a friend could stay with her while you’re at work.’

  Robinson’s frown deepened. ‘Maggie’s her only real friend and she can be very unpredictable with her. And what about
Augustus?’

  A muffled alarm rang in the back of Claire’s head. She had a duty of care towards her patient. She had other patients who needed that precious mental health inpatient bed, but at the same time she sensed a dark miasma which surrounded Ilsa Robinson’s case. Too insubstantial to put her finger on.

  ‘And if I decide to move her back to the private clinic in Birmingham?’

  ‘If they have a bed and Ilsa agrees, I’ll arrange it.’

  But once he’d left, she couldn’t shake off the feeling that one of them would be the loser.

  SEVENTEEN

  She spent the evening at the gym, trying to work off some of her unease. Kobi was temporarily displaced as the focus of her concern. Ilsa Robinson and her husband lay at the back of her mind and however much she sweated over the pedals of the exercise bike it did little to distract her.

  Finally, after fifteen minutes on the Nordic Track Treadmill, she succeeded in moving her focus back to Kobi. She had applied to visit him again next week but really wanted to speak to Chloe Barker and Kobi’s current wife first. Possibly they would help her break the deadlock. She drove home and, feeling the need to confide in someone, climbed the stairs to the top floor, finding Simon in his room, watching a TV programme on his iPad. He switched off when he saw her face. ‘What’s up?’

  She unburdened her concerns and he listened without comment. He might know nothing about Kobi and couldn’t help her reach the truth, but he did know Ilsa and could give his honest opinion. Her worry was that she should keep her in for longer than just another week. But she had other patients on the list, two with serious depression. If she could not admit them to a secure unit, they might attempt suicide. Her duty of care was to the wider population. Not to just one troubled lady.

  ‘I don’t think she’s that bad, Claire.’ Then he added, ‘Is she?’

  ‘She’s puzzling me. And I’m bothered about why her husband doesn’t want her home.’

  He yawned. ‘Ultimately she’s his responsibility – not ours. If we find her fit for discharge and have advised him to take care with her then that’s his business. Maybe a private clinic isn’t such a bad idea?’

  ‘A private clinic with no resident psychiatrist?’

  His eyes wandered back towards the screen of his iPad and she got the hint.

  ‘OK, well, thanks. I’ll have another think about her in the morning. For now I’m having a long, hot bath and bed.’

  And hope that gives me a few hours’ peace of mind, she thought, as she descended the stairs again. Maybe having her registrar on the top floor wasn’t such a great idea after all.

  Tuesday 24 September, 9.45 a.m.

  Chloe Barker sounded crisp over the phone and surprisingly businesslike, but while she sounded reluctant to speak about her sister’s ex-husband, she was not overtly hostile to a meeting and agreed to attend Greatbach later that afternoon.

  ‘I’ll come over at four,’ she said. ‘I only work in Congleton. May as well get it over with.’

  Not very flattering, Claire thought, but let it ride and gave her instructions on how to find her office.

  Why was Kobi’s ex-sister-in-law still prepared to defend him? Had she not been shocked at his actions? Had she been hoodwinked by his charm? Was she gullible? Vulnerable? Sentimental? Naive? She hadn’t sounded it over the phone. Neither had she come across as the sort of woman who would derive enjoyment from vicarious notoriety. Was she a Christian who extended forgiveness? Or was it simply intrigue? There is always some of that surrounding a killer. People are curious. Even relatives who thought they’d known them well.

  Claire reminded herself that Chloe Barker had known the man before he had turned killer.

  Maybe that was the answer.

  It was five o’clock before she arrived, a petite woman in her early thirties, with wary eyes, but a businesslike manner and confident air which was eroded slightly by a crooked smile that made her appear slightly cynical. After an awkward start and introduction, Claire moved round to the subject of Kobi.

  ‘Tell me about the time when you first met him.’

  Chloe Barker crossed her legs and looked thoughtful. ‘When Marie brought him home I was a schoolgirl, round about fourteen,’ she said without a flicker of irony. ‘He was sweet to me.’ She gave one of her lopsided smiles. ‘He’d help me with my homework and treat me like an adult.’ She looked Claire straight in the eye. ‘My parents were very patronizing. I was hardly allowed to go out even with my friends, but once or twice Jonah let me tag along with him and my sister. I suppose I sort of hero-worshipped him. He was the first guy to make a fuss of me. You don’t forget that.’

  ‘Was he ever … inappropriate towards you?’

  ‘No. He was just sweet. Really nice. He seemed to understand me. Knew just what to say. Yes, he kissed me, but not in a sexual way.’ She bit her lip and her eyes flickered across Claire’s face who could read the subtext and had to address it. ‘Did you … want him to pay more attention to you?’

  Chloe Barker blushed. ‘Truth? Yes, I did.’

  ‘Do you still have any contact with him?’

  ‘No. I did write to him when he was on remand and he wrote back. Told me I should forget about him and get on with my life.’ She gave a small, embarrassed noise. ‘Easier said than done. I never have forgotten him. He was … an influence on my life.’

  ‘And when he and your sister split up?’

  ‘It was like a thunderbolt. I never really understood why. Marie never confided in me. Just said they were incompatible and when I asked Jonah he got quite nasty and said I should keep to my side of the court. I think he was trying to push me away.’

  ‘Have you wondered why?’

  ‘I’ve come to the conclusion that he liked young girls and didn’t want me too near.’

  Liked young girls? Hardly.

  ‘OK.’ Claire reached out and touched the woman’s hand. Her distress was palpable.

  ‘So when his crimes came out?’

  Chloe didn’t answer straight away but sat rigidly. ‘I, umm …’ She sniffed, rifled through her bag, found a tissue and blew her nose. ‘This is the awful thing, Dr Roget. I wasn’t surprised.’ She blew her nose again. ‘I think I’d always …’ She was running out of words. She made a brave attempt at a smile. ‘I felt he was … dangerous. I don’t mean a killer,’ she added hastily. ‘I mean, don’t you sometimes think a man who appears dangerous can seem attractive?’

  Claire nodded. And now it was time to work her way around to the still missing girl.

  ‘Did you see much of your brother-in-law after he and your sister broke up?’

  Chloe shook her head. ‘I had his mobile number and email address. I’d send him stuff – I was reading English in Manchester and would ask him for help and advice, which he freely gave.’

  ‘Did you meet up at all?’

  Chloe shook her head and looked slightly shamefaced. ‘I did suggest it but he said it wasn’t a good idea.’

  ‘You understand why I’ve been asked to intervene?’

  Chloe nodded. ‘The missing girl.’

  ‘Do you know anything about Marvel Trustrom?’

  Chloe shook her head. ‘He’s never mentioned her – or any of the other girls. It’s as though he thinks I don’t know.’

  There was something infinitely sad in her face, like a child who has just found out there is no Father Christmas.

  ‘Have you visited him in prison?’

  Chloe shook her head. ‘He won’t allow it.’

  ‘Is there anything else you can add?’

  ‘No.’

  And Claire felt bound to apologize. ‘I’m sorry to have upset you.’

  Chloe Barker tried to shrug it off. ‘It’s OK. Really. It’s OK. One day I’ll look back on it and it won’t seem so … awful. It’s just that it’s all being raked up again.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry,’ Claire said again. ‘But Marvel’s family deserve the truth.’

  ‘Whatever it is?’
r />   ‘Yeah. Whatever it is.’

  ‘What do you think, Doctor?’

  ‘Whether he killed her? Probably.’

  ‘And the reason he’s keeping it back?’

  ‘Who knows. You’re still fond of him, aren’t you?’

  Chloe’s face softened. ‘Yes, I am.’ She felt she should explain. ‘It’s as though there were two people, Jonah, my friend whom I always liked and Kobi the killer. I realize he did kill those girls, but he never would have harmed me. Everyone else, including my sister, can vilify him. Why should I? He never did anything bad to me.’

  If he had, Claire thought, you’d hardly be here today, would you?

  Chloe gave another of her strange, twisted smiles. ‘Jonah may be a killer but he’s not a liar, you know. If he says he didn’t do it then he didn’t.’

  Claire found it hard not to smile at this gradation of faults. But the irony of her stance appeared lost to Kobi’s sister-in-law.

  And that was the trouble. Once caught and charged Kobi had pleaded guilty. But he had continued to deny any knowledge of Marvel’s disappearance. Claire thanked her and Chloe left.