The Deceiver

by Priscilla Masters

Until … They exchanged looks. This time it was not a window cleaner or a confirmed bachelor. This time the stakes were higher with a divorced obstetrician whose career could be blown away by just a puff of scandal. As she closed the notes, Claire felt a twang of worry, a strange sense of impending doom, an approaching storm.

  Perhaps this child, too, would die.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Claire turned away from the notes, instead meeting Simon Bracknell’s eyes. ‘Murky waters, eh?’

  Simon’s face was animated and eager as though unravelling a particularly intriguing detective novel. ‘The plot thickens,’ he said, leafing through pages. ‘Let’s go back to some of the earlier consultations.’

  ‘Laura saw Heather during her second pregnancy,’ Simon said. ‘She started with her claims against the window cleaner. Here.’ He’d found the place, marked with a shocking pink Post-it note, screaming for attention. ‘Three months later, Laura re-interviewed her.’

  This time Heather attended with her sister, Ruth. The sisters are necessarily close, their brother, Robin Acton, having vanished at some point.

  Claire was thoughtful. The name Robin Acton was beginning to haunt her. The brother who had disappeared. She looked at Simon Bracknell. ‘I wonder how significant he is.’

  ‘The brother? We don’t know much about him.’

  ‘No, but there’s something else I’m missing: Heather’s family history. I could do with a bit more information on that.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  They continued reading until Claire found what she was looking for. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Here it is.’

  The sisters were bonded by a shared damaged childhood, a violent, short-tempered father and a mother who seemed to make no active intervention in her children’s upbringing, or to protect them from their father’s tendencies. Both parents were very religious and the girls were punished if they did not conform to a strict religious code.

  It verified what she already knew. But what part was Heather’s family playing in the drama? Claire scanned the pages, trying to read between the lines, still searching for some clue. Had there been any sexual abuse? That could explain these weird imaginings, fantasies. Substitution for the crime of incest. Had Laura explored this? She scanned the text again.

  Simon had anticipated her focus. ‘I didn’t find any mention of sexual abuse. It seems that it was more with corporal punishment. You know, spare the rod?’ He blew out his cheeks. ‘At least a bit of heavy discipline as well as a short temper.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Claire bent back over the filed letters. This one was dated May 2012, two months before Freddie was born.

  Heather seemed on edge, suspicious and defensive. I asked her again who Eliza’s father was and she stuck to her original story. Her boss at work, Mr Cartwright, she said, was in love with her, but he had initially held back his infatuation not only through a sense of duty and propriety but also out of loyalty and love for his mother. He had finally succumbed to her charms and had sex with her in his office, which had been the beginning of a steamy and surreptitious affair. She was rubbing her legs as she spoke and was visibly aroused.

  ‘No one from the office even guessed,’ she said smugly. ‘We were discreet and clever.’

  She had subsequently found out she was pregnant, knew that Tim Cartwright was the father of her child and told him.

  ‘How did he react?’ I asked.

  Her response was strangely disturbing. She leaned forward in her chair and crossed her legs. ‘He tried to wriggle out of it,’ she said, smiling indulgently and speaking as though her ex-boss was a naughty child. When I reminded her that Mr Cartwright had flatly denied her allegations she initially became very angry, thumping my desk and shouting. But then she settled down; she and Ruth exchanged secretive looks and both smiled. Then Ruth said rather tartly, ‘Well, he would say that, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘It’s a useful stock phrase,’ Claire said. ‘That’s exactly what she said to me.’

  And now she is pregnant and making claims again. And, in spite of having no hard evidence, nothing but her sister’s story, Ruth is agreeing with her.

  Just the same. The words jumped out at her. Claire could just picture Laura’s face sparkling at the challenge presented. She would not only have risen to it, she would have relished this odd picture. A rare case. But, for the three men involved, it was potentially seriously damaging.

  We either had a case of shared delusion or was it possible that Heather was telling the truth? I had to continue to consider that option. One must always give a patient’s account – however bizarre and apparently unbelievable – the benefit of the doubt. At that time, I had already decided that Heather was suffering from puerperal delusions, possible de Clerambault’s syndrome or erotomania and her sister was suffering from shared delusions possibly encouraged by a sense of loyalty, sibling bonding … But this is unlikely. Has Heather threatened her? Why is the bond so absolute? Why is Ruth, who is an intelligent woman, holding down a responsible job, so trusting of her sister’s version? Perhaps there is a clue there to Heather’s erroneous claims. All possibilities have to be considered.

  Claire leafed back to Laura’s assessment after Freddie’s death.

  I advised the GP of my findings. Freddie was born July 2012, deceased September 2012.

  Heather claimed that the window cleaner was engaged at the time, just as Mr Cartwright couldn’t confess the affair to his mother, so both affairs had to be ‘big secrets’ between them. Just like Charles. Each had something to lose by acknowledging the affair, Claire thought.

  A troubling pattern was emerging but this time I had a head start. I had the history. And when the child was born I would have the child’s DNA. But something else was troubling me.

  Eliza Krimble had died at six months old of a cot death. A cot death is an unpreventable human tragedy which unfortunately does happen. But when you factor in Heather’s apparently unstable and unreliable state, you must ask the question: is it possible the child’s death was no accident of nature? I had a bad feeling and requested a copy of Eliza’s post-mortem report, which was reassuring. I could tell by the detail that, knowing Heather’s history, the pathologist had searched for evidence of infanticide and found none. But the truth is I was still fearing for this unborn child’s life. I rang Dr Sylas and shared my misgivings.

  Claire looked up. ‘Me too,’ she admitted. ‘Tell me, Simon, have you spoken to Laura at all?’

  He shrugged. ‘Only briefly. I met her just before she went off sick. But we didn’t discuss individual cases. Only duty rostrum and stuff like that.’

  ‘Nothing about this case?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Goodness. I have so many questions.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘What was she like with the babies? Devoted? Neglectful? Did she reject them? Or accept them? Did she appear to love them? And …’

  He supplied the next question. ‘Was there sexual abuse from her father which would have distorted her view of lovemaking, children, romance?’

  ‘It would certainly explain a lot but apparently not.’ She retrieved the word that she had felt she had so far missed: brother. ‘Then there’s Robin. What part has he played in this? Why did he go? Where did he go? Exactly when did he go? I bet he could unlock some of our questions, particularly why the sisters seem to be so joined at the hip. Or was that a consequence of his vanishing? I wish I could speak to him.’

  ‘Me too.’

  They both bent back over the page to read on.

  My next move was again to invite the window cleaner, Sam Maddox, to come in for an informal interview. I needed to meet him face-to-face rather than interview him over the phone.

  He attended with his fiancée, Shirley, a hairdresser, a very glamorous and attractive woman, two months pregnant herself. The couple were obviously very fond of each other and walked in hand in hand. Sam insisted he never even went inside the Krimbles’ house, that he found Heather quite strange. ‘A bit disturbing’ was
the phrase he used. He claimed he had never even met the sister, Ruth. Geoff always paid him in cash as he returned in the evening to collect the money. He said that Heather was making the whole thing up. ‘Just to get attention,’ he said. I asked him why she would need to gain attention.

  ‘Because Geoff’s a bit of a waster,’ was his answer. And Shirley nodded.

  On the surface, Heather’s story did appear a complete fantasy with no basis in fact. Shirley, Sam Maddox’s fiancée, seemed quite unperturbed, actually laughing at the story of his supposed infidelity. I had the impression that to her the entire fiction was derisible. In her mind, it had never happened.

  Subsequently, I monitored Heather throughout the final months of the pregnancy. Her story never wavered. But all the verifiable facts were missing. Times, dates, places. Nothing to back it up except her sister. When Freddie was born the DNA paternity test proved that Freddie’s father was indeed Geoff Krimble.

  But Laura hadn’t quite finished. Her next observations were a warning to Claire.

  Immediately post-partum and throughout the puerperium Heather remained psychotic, becoming distressed when Sam Maddox failed (as she saw it) to live up to her idea of fatherhood. She complained he never visited her or (again as she saw it) showed any interest in his child. When faced with the result of the DNA result she spiralled into psychosis, depression, self-harm and harm to the baby.

  Claire was thoughtful. So this was what was ahead.

  She tried to scratch his eyes out, to thump him. We removed Freddie from her sole care and all her contacts were supervised. After six weeks Heather’s mental condition stabilized and she was discharged with social services, community midwives and health visitors all involved. But Freddie died of a cot death at eight weeks. Naturally the index of suspicions was very high considering Eliza’s death and his mother’s mental state, but again the pathologist found absolutely no trace of assault. There was nothing, he insisted, to make him doubt the initial findings. Nothing to suggest anything other than a tragic second cot death in one family. He even ventured an opinion.

  Perhaps the death of little Eliza contributed or even caused the psychosis during the second pregnancy. I would have bought that had it not been for Heather’s initial allegations against her boss which had emerged late in her first pregnancy, at around 30/40.

  But I decided not to lecture the pathologist on the complexities of de Clerambault’s syndrome complicated by pregnancy. Freddie was subsequently also cremated, like his sister.

  Claire was only too aware of the warnings hidden behind the words. Advice tucked between the lines. She was silent as she planned her approach, Simon Bracknell watching without interrupting.

  When Charles Tissot had roped her in to clear his name, he could not have imagined what a hornet’s nest he was stirring up. But, Claire warned herself, make no assumptions, take nothing for granted. Supervision of mother and baby was obviously vital. But, first of all, she wanted to separate fact from fiction. The trouble is that hidden in the sulci of psychosis could lie vital facts. Maybe there was some basis of truth behind Heather’s claims that these men had paid attention to her. She knew Charles. She didn’t know the other two men involved but her picture of them was clear enough. And most of all, whatever the pathologist said about the two babies both having been the victims of cot death, she could not afford to leave Heather alone with her baby. But for how long? When would the child be safe? Ever?

  For a short time, she worried at the problems that lay ahead while Simon maintained a respectful silence. The burden of Heather, her allegations and the unborn infant felt heavy across her shoulders, like the twin buckets on a milkmaid’s yoke. Only later would she realize she had focused too specifically. She should have reminded herself that Heather and her baby were not her only patients. She should not have forgotten the wider picture.

  Simon, at her side, remained patient, quiet and still, frown lines between his brows. At last, she started to formulate a plan. It involved him. She turned her head slowly. Studied the pale, intense face. She would rope him in as a colleague. Use him as a sounding board.

  ‘How much do you know about Heather’s current allegations?’

  ‘Not much. I mean, she’s your responsibility now, Claire. Doctor Sylas obviously believes that this time she shouldn’t be managed in the community but in supervised care. In that, she agrees with you.’

  ‘Well, this time the object of her allegations is likely to face more serious consequences.’ She explained just who Tissot was while Simon sucked in his cheeks.

  ‘Whew,’ he said. ‘Dangerous place to be. Dangerous for him. I wouldn’t like to be in his shoes, Claire.’

  ‘No.’ She leaned forward and decided to come clean. She liked the guy’s frank manner. ‘There is a slight issue,’ she said awkwardly.

  ‘Oh?’ Obviously a man of few words.

  ‘Charles Tissot and I have a bit of history. Heather’s story …’ She began again. This was proving a bit more difficult than she’d anticipated. ‘Heather’s story has a ring of truth about it.’

  Simon managed to look both intrigued and confused in equal measures. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Unlike the other two objects of her attentions, Tissot is neither a sexless man uninterested in any relationship like Timothy Cartwright, nor is he a devoted partner like Maddox. Tissot really is a bit of a Lothario. Quite capable of …’ She felt suddenly embarrassed, particularly as Dr Bracknell was looking at her, amused, his mouth visibly twitching at the corners, eyes warm as toast. She knew he was picturing a scene. And however much she tried to sanitize it, that scene would still appear sordid and tacky. A drunken tryst in the back of a car? For goodness’ sake.

  But if she was going to get him on her side, maybe take over some of Heather’s care when she was finally discharged, she was going to have to come clean. She couldn’t expect him to work blind. Full disclosure was what the legal beagles called it.

  ‘He sort of …’ She was squirming. ‘The story she gave of him having sex with her in the back of his car. It’s the way he works. He is a predatory …’

  And then Simon Bracknell got it. He took in her reddened face and awkward words, chuckled and touched her hand with the tips of his fingers. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Claire, it’s OK. Don’t worry. I think I can fill in the gaps without your having to colour the picture in.’

  But she continued doggedly. ‘If I confided this to anyone … told anyone else about this … I think Charles would be suspended. Although it was a long time ago.’ She stopped. ‘We’ve all changed since then. As it is, the MDU are prepared for him to continue working but under supervision. He’s not to be alone with a female patient; neither is he to see Heather professionally.’

  ‘And Heather,’ he asked. ‘How is she taking all this?’

  ‘She’s convinced he’ll be visiting her at Greatbach.’

  Simon lifted his eyebrows at that.

  ‘Whatever his past,’ she added, ‘I wouldn’t like to be in his position. He’s on a tightrope.’

  ‘So are there any other clues from Laura?’

  ‘Let’s have a look.’

  They bent back over Laura’s account. I asked Ruth whether she had ever seen them together and she said no. I waited for her to enlarge but she remained silent. When I pointed out that she only had her sister’s word that there had been any relationship between Maddox and her sister, she simply nodded but seemed undisturbed. When I challenged her with the fact that her sister could be making the whole thing up she said no, that wasn’t possible, that Heather was truthful. When I asked her if she ever doubted her sister’s word she got upset, said that their father had beaten them if they told lies so they never would. When I asked whether their mother had ever intervened, she said no. Their mother would stand motionless while he beat them, as though she approved. She mentioned their brother, Robin, five years older than Heather and a disappointment to their father. He smoked cannabis and drank cider. ‘He’s thoroughly bad,’ their father told
them. ‘Wicked’ was the word he used. She said that her father used to beat Robin and they were forced to stand by and watch. They loved Robin. He used to stick up for them, sometimes take the beatings for them. Then he’d finally run away from home.

  One phrase leapt off the page. When I reverted to Eliza’s death, she claimed that the Devil had taken her as punishment for the sin. I had an odd feeling that she and I were talking at cross purposes but when I asked her if she knew who Eliza’s father was, she clamped her mouth shut. When I asked her what the sin she referred to was she picked her bag up as though to leave and made no attempt to answer the question.

  Claire was thoughtful. Laura hadn’t really reached the heart of the matter. The answer was not, as she had written: We put her on a course of Haloperidol.

  Even though the problem had appeared solved. Her condition improved markedly until she was virtually normal. She was advised against further pregnancy but, of course, this is not something we have any chance of enforcing. After the ten-week period we discharged her from our care. By that time her mental state was reverting to normal.

  Simon was looking dubiously at her. ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘She sounds a tricky one. So how are you going to manage her this time round?’

  ‘Keep her in longer, supervise her contact with the baby. And I thought I might delve into her family history, try to see where all this comes from. Is the cause her upbringing, her husband, have the men given her some reason to believe they wanted sex with her? And what about her brother? Where exactly does he fit into this bizarre picture?’

  Simon nodded and glanced down at her notes before meeting her eyes. ‘There may not be answers, Claire. You know what psychiatry’s like. Not always logical or reasonable. Just a ragbag of oddities.’

  It was a good description of the fuzzy world of damaged brains.

  He grinned. ‘Well, if you want any help, any support, I’m your man.’

  ‘That’s really good of you, Simon. I guess you have quite a workload yourself?’

  He shrugged. ‘Nothing I can’t manage. Anyway, I’d like to help. She sounds interesting.’