by Oliver Tidy
‘I hope I didn’t make things too... difficult for you.’
‘I told you that my son and I don’t get on. In many ways he is like his father: bombastic, overbearing and lacking patience. He doesn’t like to be reminded that I’m still alive, I think.’
Joy felt that was a terrible thing for a mother to believe of her only son but said nothing. She sipped her tea, which was good and hot.
‘You haven’t received any more unwelcome visitors in the night?’
Mrs Christie shook her head. ‘No. Nothing. At least none that I’ve heard. And no sign of any when I come down in the mornings.’
Joy said, ‘That’s good. I’m relieved to hear it. I’ve been worried about you.’
‘It’s kind of you but there’s really no need. I’ve managed perfectly well up until now.’
The fact that the old woman’s night-time visitations had stopped soon after Marsh had spoken to the son registered immediately for the detective. She filed the information away for reflection later.
From the floor where she’d dumped it, Marsh picked up the carrier bag with her old mobile phone in it, placed it on her lap and mentally prepared herself for giving a geriatric, self-confessed technophobe a crash course in its use.
*
Romney picked up his ringing mobile to find Doctor Puchta on the other end.
‘Ms Coker did not show up for her appointment.’
Romney checked his watch, swore and said, ‘Sorry. I’ll get someone to call her. Maybe she’s just forgotten or got lost.’
‘What exactly was she told at your meeting this morning, Tom?’
‘I don’t know, exactly. I left as soon as I’d got my apology. Why? Is it important?’
‘I should say so. Unqualified if well-meaning individuals trying to convince someone that what they’ve believed for years is not true, especially something so traumatic and affecting, might do more harm than good. I hope that whoever spoke to her didn’t try any armchair therapy.’
‘It was our glorious leader and she’d have had to tell the woman something in order to convince her to seek a second opinion.’
‘Was she in a fragile state?’
‘Superintendent Vine? Quite the opposite, actually. Fearsome is the word that springs to mind.’
‘I meant Ms Coker.’
‘Oh. I suppose.’
‘Tom, this is important. It’s possible that she’s been made very confused and anxious by any misguided suggestions, however well-intentioned . If you want me to talk to her, to help, please find her and, firstly, make sure she’s all right and secondly give her my phone number and tell her to call me.’
‘I think she’s got it but I’ll get someone to chase her up.’
‘Can’t you do it?’
‘I’m a bit busy. It’ll get done.’
Romney summoned Fower, explained the situation and what he wanted him to do then forgot about Amy Coker. After the grief and embarrassment she’d caused him, he didn’t much care where she was or what she was doing.
*
Fower was knocking on Romney’s doorframe a couple of minutes later.
‘What did she say?’ said Romney.
‘Nothing, sir. She’s not answering her home or mobile phones.’
‘Well, keep trying. That’s all we can do. Let me know if you get hold of her.’
Romney’s phone was ringing within seconds of Fower leaving. He snatched it up and said his name.
‘Tom,’ said Boudicca, ‘I’ve just spoken to Doctor Puchta to make sure that Amy Coker kept the appointment. She didn’t.’
‘I know. I spoke to her too. I’ve got someone trying to get hold of her.’
‘Very good. That’s what I wanted to hear. Let me know, please, as soon as you learn something.’
Romney said he would and hung up.
His phone rang again. He answered, again, thinking that he’d leave it off the hook when whoever it was had finished with him.
‘Tom,’ said Inspector Blanchett. ‘I hope you didn’t have plans for tonight.’
*
Joy’s own mobile phone rang in her bag. Recognising the caller from the ringtone she’d assigned them, she said, ‘Sorry, Helen. I’d better answer this. It’s my boss.’
‘Joy?’
‘Sir.’
‘Where are you?’
‘In the town. Things took a little longer than I...’
‘Never mind that now. Get yourself back here, sharpish. You’re not going to believe what’s happened.’
***
49
Romney thought that Amy Coker seemed a quite different person from the one she’d been while the police had been blustering and bullying her earlier that day in Superintendent Vine’s office. Gone was the outward appearance of nervous concern for her position and her future. It had been replaced with a countenance of calm composure, like someone unburdened of a terrible secret and then absolved of it. Romney found this particularly hard to understand when he reflected on why she was back at the station – arrested and charged with the murder of Doctor Clavell.
Amy Coker and her solicitor sat across from Romney and Superintendent Vine in Interview Room One. Amy Coker’s declared intention was to cooperate with the police in explicit detail.
In an odd turning of the tables, Superintendent Vine was, if anything, looking more concerned regarding the afternoon’s developments than the arrested woman sitting opposite her facing substantial gaol time. Maybe, thought Romney, with Doctor Puchta’s words about unqualified if well-meaning individuals sticking their noses into matters they had no business doing echoing around his skull, she should be. He was mightily relieved that he had excused himself from the morning’s meeting before all that had been discussed. Not that he knew exactly what had been discussed. He’d have to wait to speak to Marsh for the details.
Superintendent Vine said, ‘So, Ms Coker, I understand that you would like to tell us what happened this afternoon?’
‘Yes, I would. I want to be completely open and honest with the police. I want to cooperate. After what you told me this morning, about how the psychiatrist who’d treated me for my past had given me false memories about my dad abusing me, I went to confront him about it at his home.’
To Romney’s experienced and cynical ear that sounded a little rehearsed. He noticed Boudicca shift in her seat and her head twitch in the direction of the recording equipment.
Superintendent Vine said, ‘For clarity’s sake, I think it worth mentioning that no one actually told you such a thing, Ms Coker. It was merely suggested that you take advantage of our offer to provide a second opinion on your history of psychiatric treatment.’
‘But you told me all about False Memory Syndrome and about how Doctor Clavell had been accused by his professional peers of being guilty of implanting false memories in his patients. I needed to talk to him. According to you, he ruined my life and any chance of a relationship I could have had with my poor father who died recently.’
Boudicca fidgeted again and looked quite distressed. ‘Perhaps we should move on...’
Amy said, ‘You asked me what I was doing there. I was there because of what you told me this morning.’
‘When was the last time you’d... visited Doctor Clavell, Ms Coker? Prior to this afternoon?’
‘It’s years since I’ve seen him under any circumstances. He retired. Why? What’s that got to do with anything?’
Vine huffed and said, ‘Tell us what happened after you left the station this morning.’
‘I went for a coffee. I needed to be alone, to think about what you’d told me. I was distraught. I felt like the carpet had been pulled out from under me. As you know, I’ve recently lost my father, a man who I’d believed had sexually abused me as a young girl. I had cut him out of my life completely, only to learn from you that those memories I had of my childhood trauma were false – the most horrible false memories a daughter could have – and that I’d been a victim of unethical practice.’ Romney
winced at that on Boudicca’s behalf. ‘I’m sure you can understand that I needed to know the truth. And the best way to discover that was to confront the man who, according to the police, had implanted me with those fake and highly disturbing memories. I decided to see if he still lived in the same house as he did when he was treating me. I was determined and desperate to speak with him, to discover the truth.’
There was a long pause. Romney imagined that Boudicca was replaying the words Amy Coker was committing to tape, wondering what damage they could do to her career aspirations.
Romney said, ‘Obviously, he does, did, still live there. So what? You just knocked on his door and...’
Amy Coker switched her cool gaze to Romney. He felt there was something not right with it. His detective’s nose twitched. ‘Yes. He answered it. I could see in his expression that he remembered me and that my visit had put him on his guard. I think I knew then that you were right this morning with what you said about him implanting me with false memories.’
Romney risked another glance at Boudicca. He saw a station chief who had never looked so apprehensive. He didn’t blame her. Amy Coker was doing Vine’s career no good at all with the damning remarks she was making, remarks that were being recorded for use in the due legal process that would follow. Superintendent Vine was coming across as someone who had overstepped her place, perhaps even incited murder. Area would not like that. When it came out, as it inevitably would, Professional Standards would probably be seeking an appointment. Stains like that on a high-ranking officer’s reputation usually proved to be stubborn to the point of indelible.
Romney said, ‘Tell us what happened then.’
Amy Coker said, ‘He tried to shut the door on me. Shouted at me to go away. I was so confused, so angry. I lost control of myself. I had to talk to him. I had to know the truth. I barged the door and he fell backwards. He was shouting at me to get out but I couldn’t leave without knowing. Could you? If you’d been me? After what you’d told me this morning?’
Amy Coker paused for a reply but got none. The silence on the tape would speak loudly to those who would listen to it.
She said, ‘I don’t know what came over me. He regained his balance and became aggressive. He started pushing me and handling me. I don’t know how, but there was suddenly an ornament in my hand. I must have picked it up from somewhere. I swung it at him. I was just trying to defend myself from him then. I hit him on the head. I didn’t mean to kill him. I didn’t even mean to hurt him. I didn’t know what I was doing. I think that I temporarily lost my mind. I’m sorry for what I did. I suppose now I’ll never know the truth about things, will I? My madness has cost me that opportunity.’ Amy Coker began to cry. She buried her head in her hands and sobbed.
Romney and Vine and Amy Coker’s solicitor exchanged looks. Romney believed he sensed admonishment in the eyes of the legal woman.
Superintendent Vine terminated the recording with the standard phrasing.
*
Vine invited Romney up to her office. She didn’t say why, but Romney had a good idea what it was about. He took the stairs with a clear conscience and a favourite tune on his lips.
Without speaking, Boudicca’s gatekeeper indicated that he should go straight through. He tapped on the doorframe. Superintendent Vine was standing at the window that looked out over the patch of well-kept grass beyond the rear station wall. She turned to face Romney with a sigh and a deep-set frown.
‘Come in, Tom. Take a seat.’
Romney hesitated, wondering whether she meant the other side of her desk or at the island of informality. She cleared that up quickly by sitting at her desk.
‘That wasn’t very good, was it?’ said Vine.
‘Not for the police,’ said Romney.
‘No. Not for the police,’ echoed Vine. She was still looking a little distant. ‘Your thoughts?’
The question surprised Romney. ‘On what exactly, ma’am?’
‘On Amy Coker for starters.’
‘I don’t know what else there is to say. She’s admitted killing him. Initial feedback from those involved at the scene and my look at it support her version of events. It looks... straightforward, for now.’
Vine sighed again. She closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘If only I could turn the clock back to this morning.’ She didn’t elaborate but she didn’t need to; they both knew she was talking about the things Amy Coker had committed to official interview recordings.
Romney felt a little bit sorry for the station chief. ‘From what I can gather, your intentions were good, ma’am. No one could have foreseen that outcome. I wouldn’t blame yourself for what’s happened.’
Vine looked at Romney with an odd expression. ‘Oh, I’m not blaming myself entirely, although I must accept some responsibility. I shouldn’t have listened so easily to unqualified if well-meaning individuals sticking their noses into matters they had no business doing.’
Romney smarted, as though he’d received a splinter, and it wasn’t just because Boudicca had used exactly the same phrase as Doctor Puchta. He also understood that Vine was possibly looking to spread some accountability for the way things had turned out. And some of that jam could end up on him. His sympathy evaporated.
*
Romney awoke in the middle of the night with an idea. He believed it must have been knocking on his deadened conscience for some minutes in a bid to wake him. He felt like he’d swum up a long way to answer the calling. Although the thought was clear, the experience of surfacing from deep sleep too quickly had a similar impact on him as surfacing too quickly from deep water might have done. He felt disorientated and fuzzy and might have turned on to his side and hoped to remember it in the morning but for a chance discovery in his recent Internet wanderings looking for pearls of wisdom from established and celebrated authors. He’d read something attributed to Saul Bellow: you never have to change anything you got up in the middle of the night to write. He flicked on the bedside lamp and, squinting in the harsh light, fumbled in the drawer of the bedside table for the notepad and pen he’d put there for just such an occasion. He scribbled, dropped the pad and pencil back in the drawer and turned out the lamp, intending to dwell on the thought as he waited for sleep to claim him once again. He did not get the opportunity to think for long.
***
50
Romney was halfway through cleaning his teeth the following morning when he remembered the thought that had disturbed his sleep. He finished his cleaning, rinsed, wiped his face and went to the bedroom. He sat on his unmade bed and removed the notepad from the drawer. He read what he’d written twice before tearing out the page and putting it in his pocket.
*
Romney waited until mid-morning before telephoning the hospice. He didn’t think the person he wanted to speak to would be in on a Saturday but he needed to try to get hold of her. Calling the hospice would be the first step.
On having his belief confirmed, he explained who he was and asked whether Mrs Bauer could be called at home and his phone number passed to her along with the message that he needed to speak with her urgently.
He made himself a cup of coffee and settled down in the lounge with the newspaper to wait.
Romney picked up the phone on the third ring and identified himself.
‘Good Saturday morning to you, Inspector,’ said Mrs Bauer. ‘They said you needed to speak with me on an urgent police matter. I don’t suppose that was just a ruse to get me to call you, was it?’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Romney, playing along. ‘I am sorry to disturb you on your weekend off. I hope I’m not interrupting anything special.’
‘Unfortunately not. A phone call from the police is probably about as exciting as my weekend is going to get. Before you think I’m after your pity,’ she said with a smile in her voice, ‘it’s my weekend for housework. It’s a crappy job but someone’s got to do it.’
‘I know the feeling,’ he said, warming to her voice and remembering that sh
e seemed quite friendly in the flesh.
‘So what is it that can’t wait till Monday morning?’
‘It’s about the same man we spoke about the other day. Sammy Coker. You told me that he burned his fingers and that it was recorded in the accident book.’
‘Incident book,’ she corrected him. ‘Can’t call them accidents any more. Someone’s always got to be held accountable.’
Romney chuckled down the line. ‘It’s not just nursing. I was wondering if you’d be able to tell me exactly when that happened.’
‘I’m sure I could. When do you need to know?’
‘I don’t suppose you could phone the hospice now, could you? I wasn’t lying when I said it was urgent,’ he lied.
‘I’d rather not. What I mean is that if I go phoning for that sort of thing within five minutes of the police trying to get hold of me, everyone will know I’m asking for the police. I am a manager there but, as I’ve told you, I’d rather avoid others knowing that I was cooperating with the law without the proper paperwork being in place, even if the paperwork is completely pointless. Believe me: you have no idea how something like that could backfire.’
Again Romney laughed lightly down the line, ‘Oh, believe me, I do. Eighty per cent of my job is pointless bureaucracy that no one ever looks at. I know they don’t, because I don’t do fifty per cent of it.’
It was Mrs Bauer’s turn to laugh. ‘Maybe I should try that. As it’s you, Detective Inspector, I suppose I could nip into the office in an hour – pretend I left something there.’
‘I couldn’t ask you to do that on your weekend off,’ he said, hoping that she would.
‘I only live fifteen minutes away and I’ve got to go out sometime today to do my weekly shop.’
‘Thank you. I really appreciate it.’
‘So shall I call you when I know more?’
