by David Hodges
The effect on her would-be killer was instantaneous. The shotgun in his hands exploded with a deadly roar, but Kate was already on him, grabbing the weapon with both hands so that the double blast erupted into the night sky as she wrenched it from his grasp. Then the first police vehicle had skidded to a halt in front of them, discharging several uniformed figures – including the for once welcome shape of Ted Roscoe – even before the wheels had stopped turning and sending George into panic-stricken flight.
Kate saw the killer vault a five-barred gate on the far side of the road and vanish into the scrub on the other side, a lean, loping figure merging with the moonlit shadows as effectively as a ghost.
*
Dawn was breaking when Kate got home from the murder scene and, even from the bottom of the stairs, she could hear Hayden’s snores. Unbelievable. He had actually gone to bed after leaving her at the nick the previous evening and had slept through the whole night’s drama in complete ignorance of what had happened to her.
Despite her angry resentment, she didn’t seek to enlighten him by waking him up. From past experience she knew that trying to rouse Hayden once he had fallen into a deep sleep was next to impossible – besides which, she was exhausted and in no mood to submit herself to what would be certain to develop into a protracted interrogation regarding her whereabouts over the past five or six hours. Instead, she knocked back the half bottle of red wine he had left on the living room coffee table and, grabbing a blanket and a pillow from the airing cupboard upstairs, she dossed down on the settee to try and capture a few hours’ much-needed rest.
But sleep did not come easily after her lucky escape and she was unable to get George out of her mind. The ruthless killer had completely vanished again and despite a thorough sweep of the fields by the search teams, not a trace of him had been found. Even the police dog-handler, who had arrived fifteen minutes later, had met with little success, his wolfish-looking Alsatian managing to raise nothing more than a marauding fox.
Characteristically, Roscoe had shown no obvious concern over Kate’s traumatic experience. To be fair, he had to be well used to her getting herself into tight corners in the years he had worked with her, but his apparent lack of interest in her welfare this time was in stark contrast to the sympathy he had shown towards her marital problems a few hours before. That seemed to indicate that the crusty DI had something of a Jekyll and Hyde personality, but on the other hand, maybe in the one-to-one at the pub he had been motivated by nothing more than self-interest in relation to the efficient operation of his department and his sympathy had only been skin deep.
On balance Kate suspected that there was no room for either sympathy or empathy in his old-school mentality. Now his focus was concentrated entirely on the hunt for the ruthless killer – driven perhaps by the knowledge that embarrassing questions were bound to be asked by both the media and the top hierarchy as to why the fugitive had been allowed not only to kill again, but to escape arrest with apparent impunity despite such a heavy police contingent at the scene.
In fact, Kate had gained the distinct impression from the demeanour of her scowling gum-chewing boss that, deep down, he blamed her personally for what had happened. It was all her fault that George had killed again and had managed to escape arrest afterwards. Her fault that she had been abducted and subjected to such a terrifying ordeal. Her fault that he had raided the wrong house, was about to be pilloried by the press, and maybe done for illegal entry and breach of police procedure on top of it all. Situation normal, she thought cynically as she plumped up the pillow and tried unsuccessfully to will herself to sleep. But then if he didn’t have her to blame, who would he have?
Sleep did eventually come, but when she finally awoke – to find to her horror that it was past eleven in the morning – a surprise awaited her. The double bed upstairs was empty. Hayden had gone, without so much as a goodbye, and, as her small team were still officially on late turn, she guessed immediately where he was off to; his other woman.
She didn’t bother to try and verify the fact by heading back to Uphill. She was fast losing interest in his extra-marital affair. If that was what he wanted, then sod him and let him get on with it. She was past caring. At least that was what she told herself repeatedly in the shower and, more as proof to herself of her new ambivalence towards his infidelity than anything else, she grabbed a slice of toast and a cup of coffee before heading into work ahead of her designated shift time.
Pushing through the double doors of the incident room twenty minutes later, however, she soon had a lot more to think about than Hayden Lewis.
Both Roscoe and the DCI were in the SIO’s office, closeted with a lean, balding man in a rumpled blue suit, and the DI beckoned her to join them as soon as he clapped eyes on her. The visitor was introduced to her as a Dr Jeremy Falls; at first, she was puzzled as to why she had been invited into the office.
But then the DI provided the doctor’s credentials.
‘Dr Falls is senior consultant at Larchfield Secure Psychiatric Hospital, up north,’ he said, studying her face intently to see her reaction.
‘Larchfield?’ she echoed, remembering the killer’s account of his incarceration. ‘That’s where George said he escaped from.’
Falls nodded gravely. ‘Chief Inspector Hennessey and Inspector Roscoe have told me all about your abduction by one of my patients,’ he replied, ‘and I’m relieved that you came to no harm. Sadly, the same cannot be said of one of my senior psychiatrists. We found his body locked away in his private apartment at the hospital several days after Georgina Lupin’s escape.’
Kate stiffened. ‘Georgina?’
The DCI nodded. ‘Apparently we’ve had it wrong from the start,’ she said grimly. ‘Our man, George, is actually a bloody woman!’
CHAPTER 20
For a few seconds Kate said nothing in response to the bombshell that had just been dropped and Roscoe studied her intently for a moment.
‘Bit of a shock, eh?’ he suggested.
She frowned and slowly shook her head, angry with herself for not tumbling to the truth when she had faced George across the table in the old farmhouse. The indicators had all been there, right in front of her – the timbre of her captor’s voice and the tell-tale facial characteristics and demeanour. It had been so obvious, yet she had simply assumed she was dealing with some effeminate male psychopath. It hadn’t occurred to her that George was displaying feminine characteristics because he – or rather she – was in fact female.
Now she knew the truth, however, she was surprised that she did not feel a lot more shocked than she would have expected. Maybe at the back of her mind she had actually suspected what had now been revealed without realizing it. Maybe the trauma of her situation at the time had skewed her focus and temporarily buried her suspicions as her emotions tried to cope with the perilous position in which she had found herself. Who could say? Except perhaps the shrink now sitting on the edge of the desk in front of her, she mused wryly.
‘Thought you’d have sussed this nutter out when you were with her, though?’ Roscoe went on, his tone hard and critical. ‘Can’t understand how you could have overlooked the obvious fact that she was a woman.’
Kate felt the anger boil up inside her, but before she could round on him, Falls coughed discreetly.
‘That’s not really surprising under the circumstances, Inspector,’ he said. ‘The problem is, Georgina is not a woman in the true sense of the word. Her gender is a lot more complicated than that.’
Roscoe snorted. ‘Well, if she’s not a man or a woman, what the hell is she?’ he snapped. ‘A bloody android?’
Falls treated him to a humourless smile. ‘No, Inspector,’ he said with heavy sarcasm, ‘we can be confident that she is not an android. But although she was born and christened female, in her own psyche she is a man, a man trapped in a woman’s body – someone society would label transgender or more accurately in her case, transsexual – and this has led to a serious emotional pro
blem or what, in medical terms, we would call gender dysphoria—’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ the DI cut in. ‘And I suppose the next thing you’ll be saying is that this dysphoria – whatever that actually is – turned this “poor mixed-up cow” into a psychopath?’
Falls’ expression tightened in a brief show of irritation at the DI’s choice of language, but he controlled himself with an effort.
‘No, Inspector,’ he said patiently. ‘I’m not about to say anything of the sort. For your information, in basic terms, gender dysphoria relates to feelings of distress or anxiety caused by a mismatch between a person’s biological sex and their perceived gender identity. It is not in itself a mental condition and it has absolutely nothing to do with personality disorders, such as psychopathy, which is a definite psychological condition on its own. The fact that Lupin was diagnosed as suffering from a psychopathic disorder is not in any way linked to the gender identity issue or to her dysphoria.’
Deidrie Hennessey threw Roscoe an angry glance and cut in quickly before he could come up with any further derogatory remarks.
‘On the question of Lupin’s dysphoria,’ she said, ‘I thought there was a surgical procedure nowadays that could sort out the sort of gender problem you are talking about?’
Falls nodded. ‘You are referring to gender reassignment surgery?’ he suggested.
‘Or slap-a-dick-to-me,’ Roscoe muttered unhelpfully, attracting another scathing glance from the DCI.
Falls ignored him this time and addressed his boss instead. ‘It is not that simple, Chief Inspector,’ he went on. ‘I won’t bore you with the clinical details, but gender reassignment is a procedure that is not suitable for every patient. The problem is that transsexualism arises from a combination of biological, psychological, and emotional factors. As I have already indicated, transsexuals are absolutely convinced that they have been born into the wrong body. It isn’t just a question of wanting to change from one sex to another for the sheer hell of it. Theirs is not a perverted whim or an attempt to shock social normality by making some kind of warped statement. In their minds they have been cheated by nature and they are the gender they identify with.’
He paused a second before continuing, as if trying to find the right words.
‘It seems that Georgina underwent hormonal therapy several years ago, followed by a double mastectomy and a full hysterectomy and ovariectomy, but she suffered a relapse after the operation which nearly killed her, and the procedure for continuing gender reassignment had to be halted.’
‘Pity it didn’t kill her,’ Roscoe butted in again. ‘Then four innocent people would still be alive today.’
‘Five actually,’ Falls corrected grimly, ‘counting my unfortunate friend and colleague, Dr Emrys Jones, whom she butchered at the hospital before escaping in his car.’
Roscoe simply shrugged, slipped some chewing gum into his mouth, and began chewing furiously as he pondered some issue known only to himself.
‘Both physically and mentally, the situation left her in a kind of gender limbo – neither male nor female,’ Falls added, ‘and this accelerated the process of emotional deterioration, with the conflict in gender identity leading to, among other things, confusion, frustration, and psychosis. Over the years this has manifested itself in self-harm and violence, but at Larchfield we thought we had finally managed to arrest this behaviour through our individually targeted therapeutic treatment programmes.’ He shrugged. ‘Georgina – or George as she insists on being called – made exceptional progress, as a result of which she earned the trust of her psychiatric team and was rewarded with certain privileges—’
‘You mean she had you over?’ Roscoe put in again. ‘You were conned by one of your own patients. Why doesn’t that surprise me?’
Falls seemed unwilling to bite. ‘We operate a much more progressive regime at Larchfield than elsewhere in the mental health sector,’ he explained patiently. ‘We believe in encouraging our patients to overcome their psychological problems by taking greater charge of themselves and their own behaviour, rather than treating them as sub-human and simply locking them away under constant sedation. Their progress is carefully monitored and although pharmacological and other interventionist therapies are employed where appropriate, these are strictly controlled and the more the patient can demonstrate their ability to manage their own condition, the more licence they are afforded within the hospital precincts. We have had considerable success with this approach too, but we have to accept that mistakes can be made on occasions—’
‘Tell that to the victims,’ Kate cut in, for once on Roscoe’s side.
Falls closed his eyes briefly, then nodded. ‘Okay, look, I am extremely sorry that innocent people have died at the hands of one of my patients, Sergeant,’ he said, ‘but you have to understand that Georgina is driven by inner demons she cannot control and we believe that their emergence and increasing influence over her behaviour harks back to her childhood.
‘We have no information on her medical history as a child, but it is likely she would have exhibited some characteristics inconsistent with her assigned biological gender at an early stage and these would have grown more pronounced as she approached puberty. The help, understanding and support of a loving family would have been essential to enable her to cope with the conflict raging inside her. I have no information as to whether she got this, but the very evident deterioration in her mental health over the years and the violence and self-harm that has accompanied it – resulting in a lifetime of incarceration – suggests that she did not.
‘Furthermore, it should be borne in mind that the time Georgina would have most needed understanding and support was in her formative years, as a child. But then we are talking about the fifties and sixties, when not only would any of the professional help society can call upon today have been unavailable, but her presentation of a more masculine identity would, like homosexuality, have been regarded as an obscene affront to public decency and dealt with as a heinous crime. People were actually put away for it, as in effect Georgina was by being sent to Talbot Court—’
‘And all this is supposed to excuse her, is it?’ Kate cut in. ‘George tried that one herself when she unloaded on me. But forgive me for not feeling particularly sorry for this poor, misunderstood psychopath after seeing the corpses of her last two victims floating in the slurry pit yesterday.’
Falls shook his head. ‘I am not seeking to excuse her at all, Sergeant,’ he replied, ‘merely to explain how a psychosis can develop and to reiterate that her apparent psychopathic illness is not a product of her transsexualism, but possibly a manifestation of the trauma she suffered earlier in life.’ He broke off with a slightly apologetic smile. ‘But enough of my burbling. You said just now that she unloaded on you. That has to be a plus. She has consistently refused to talk to myself or my colleagues about her childhood or her family, clamming up at the first mention of either. So, what did she tell you?’
Kate shrugged and, after a quick glance at Hennessey and Roscoe who were both now staring at her fixedly, she took them back to the previous night and George’s ravings.
No one said anything for a few moments after she had finished, but then Falls commented, ‘That was very illuminating, Sergeant, and it explains a great deal. We knew nothing about this abuse or about the paranoia from which she seems to have been suffering in relation to these so-called aunts of hers. We were aware that she had been sent to the orphanage at Talbot Court as a child after the death of her parents in a road accident and that she was then incarcerated for stabbing this man – Scarsfield – after he had sexually abused her, but we knew nothing about the abuse she suffered at the hands of the Quigleys.’
‘Seems to me that you didn’t know a lot about anything,’ Roscoe cut in again. ‘Even as head honcho.’
Falls noticeably coloured up this time. ‘I was not actually in post when Georgina was transferred to Larchfield, Inspector,’ he retorted defensively. ‘I have only been the
re for two years. But she was handed over to our care from another secure unit as Georgina Lupin and the paperwork we still have on file includes her birth certificate affirming this fact. I suspect that the previous institutions to which she was sent, as well as the original sentencing court, had the same details and that the aunts – or one of them – offloaded her on to Talbot Court as Georgina Lupin to protect the Quigley reputation. Obviously, no one thought to check further. Incredible when you think about it, but Georgina didn’t help matters by resolutely sticking to the Lupin name herself.
‘Unfortunately, it was exactly because we at Larchfield were unaware of her past family affiliations that the possibility she might have been planning to head back here to Somerset did not occur to us – not until we were told about the recovery of Emrys Jones’ car in that lake of yours, then subsequently found his body in his apartment at the hospital.’
‘Unbelievable!’ Roscoe burst in again. ‘You’re supposed to be running a secure psychiatric unit, Doc, yet one of your own shrinks is stiffed on the premises by a resident nutter who then manages to steal the shrink’s car and piss off into the blue without anyone being the wiser. Even worse, rather than just a couple of hours, which would have been bad enough in itself, it takes days for it to finally dawn on you that you’re one shrink and one psycho down. It’s like something out of Monty Python!’
‘That’s enough, Inspector!’ Hennessey rapped angrily, but Falls held up one hand in apparent submission, his face now pale and a haunted expression shadowing his eyes.
‘No, he’s quite right,’ he said, ‘and I take full responsibility for what has happened. All I can say is that, like other public services, we are very short staffed and critically underfunded at Larchfield, and this happened on a weekend when we were operating a skeleton crew. To compound the problem, as I have already indicated, Lupin had earned the sort of privileged status that is afforded to trusted patients, so would not have been subjected to the more rigorous checks that would otherwise have been required. As for Emrys Jones, he should have been on holiday from that Friday evening and gate security saw what they thought was Emrys driving away in his distinctive VW. As a result, it was assumed by everyone that he had actually gone away. His body was dumped in his private apartment behind a locked door, to which no one else had access, and it wasn’t until a cleaner detected an unpleasant odour coming from inside that entry was made and his remains found.’
