by S. E. Lynes
‘Whatever his name is, and even less way you could’ve harmed that young girl.’ She kissed my hair and sat up. A moment later and she was handing me a tissue. ‘Here. Nutjob.’
I blew my nose. ‘Thanks.’
‘I do FaceTime sessions as well, if you’re interested. Fifty quid an hour. And I’m not going anywhere, me, unless I bump into Patrick Swayze in Tesco.’
‘Patrick Swayze’s dead.’
‘Oh aye.’ She wrinkled her nose.
The two of us sat there in silence. There was something she wasn’t saying. I could feel it. When I looked at her finally, I saw it, but what it was, I couldn’t tell you in words.
‘What?’ I said.
She bit her bottom lip. ‘Rach. I mean, do you… do you think you might… I don’t know, maybe you need some help, like. Hormones can play havoc – you know that better than anyone.’ She was staring at me. For a second I didn’t know what she was getting at. But then it dawned.
‘But that was years ago,’ I said. ‘And it was a post-natal thing.’
‘I know, but… the change of life is another hormonal thing, isn’t it? It’s a tough one. I mean, we talk about it between us but I don’t know many other women who do. It’s like this big taboo. I mean, when you’re pregnant, you tell your GP and you get put in some sort of system. Healthcare. Check-ups, leaflets, weigh-ins, support groups, what have you. You get a midwife who tells you off for eating too many bacon butties, makes you put your feet higher than your head when your ankles balloon. With the menopause, it’s do you want HRT or don’t you? And if that doesn’t work, it’s just tough, you’re on your own to somehow figure out how to cope with it all.
‘And some women cope better than others. No, that’s not what I mean; I mean some women have it tougher than others and then you’ve got empty nest syndrome combined with kids that still need you and ageing parents or dying parents and you can barely hear yourself think for the sound of the new jowls no one told you you’d get slapping on the laminate floor… and I don’t know about you, but…’ She took a breath, but as funny as she was trying to be, when she spoke again the words came out ragged and her eyes filmed all over again. ‘I’m not sure I know who I am without my girls, you know, and… I can’t even put the radio on in case one of our songs comes on because I know that would finish me, so God only knows how you’re feeling, that’s all I’m saying.’
I shifted away from her, couldn’t meet her eyes. My insides were burning, an all too familiar rage bubbling up in my lungs. ‘Are you saying I’m madder than most people? Because of what happened twenty years ago? That’s what you’re really saying, isn’t it?’
‘Of course not.’ She moved away from me, only an inch, but still.
‘Maybe this is why I’m walking the streets at night. Maybe I’m looking for someone who understands rather than someone who’s ready to ship me off to the nuthouse.’
‘I didn’t say that. Come on, I would never do that. For God’s sake, Rachel, this is me, Lisa.’ She laid her hand on my arm, ducked her head to try and meet my eye. I looked away. ‘Remember Lisa?’ she insisted. ‘Can down a pint in less than ten seconds and fit a whole small pork pie in her mouth for a bet? Come on, I’m only asking if you’re OK. Really OK, I mean. If I don’t ask it, who will? I know you. I know you, Rach. Rach?’
I gave in, looked at her. ‘What?’
‘Don’t be like this. Just tell me, are you OK?’
‘Course I’m bloody not.’ I sighed. ‘I’m a murdering lunatic, our Katie’s a grumpy cow and Mark’s still breathing.’
Half an hour later, Lisa saw me out. It had taken us every minute of that half hour to recover.
‘Don’t worry about Katie,’ she said, leaning on the door frame. ‘Jodi was a beast before she left home. Now that she’s had to wash her own pants for a year and pay for her own food, she sighs when she opens the fridge and says oh my God, you’ve got sliced ham. Honestly, she’s almost human. And as for Mark, he’s just… he’s tired and feels just as crap as you do.’
I zipped my coat up and tried to smile. ‘Not sure why. He doesn’t even know where I keep the pans, and if I ask Katie to put a wash on, she’s on to Childline.’
I waved goodbye and walked home, trying to convince myself that I was lucky to still have Mark in my life and that Katie would pass through the almost permanently belligerent ball of rage she seemed to be. Lisa wasn’t short on rage either, to be honest. She’d done nothing but rant about Patrick, how he wasn’t contributing to the girls’ uni expenses, claiming not to have any money. ‘Which doesn’t quite explain the holiday photos on his Insta-friggin’-gram, does it?’ she’d said, fury pinking her cheeks. ‘Which he blocks me out of, by the way, but the girls show me everything. I mean, Tene-friggin’-rife, if you please, cocktails on the balcony, who wants to see a shot of the pool… Argh, he’s a loser; I hate him.’
I look up at Blue Eyes, hanging on in there with her silver pen and her trendy nails and her lovely clothes.
‘Love and hate,’ I say.
She nods. ‘They’re close.’
I look directly at her, the sympathetic expression on her face. It doesn’t make sense, her kindness, her understanding.
‘Are you a police officer?’ I ask.
She frowns. ‘Is… is that what you think?’
‘I don’t know. I can’t remember what you said.’
‘I’m a forensic psychiatrist.’
‘A psychiatrist?’ My mouth drops open. I have no idea how I missed that. ‘So are you building one of them criminal profiles? For the court?’
She takes a deep breath. ‘Rachel. It would be better for both of us if you saw me as here to achieve some clarity on the events of the last few months. I suppose it would help if you trusted me.’
‘Oh, I trusted you from day one. Even when I thought you were police. I’ve no secrets, love. It’s me that turned myself in, don’t forget.’
‘All right,’ Blue Eyes says.
‘I’ve forgotten your name, I’m sorry.’
She smiles. ‘Amanda.’
‘Amanda.’ I smile back. ‘Knew it started with an A.’
She nods. ‘So you recovered from your moment of tension with Lisa?’
‘Yes. Yes, I did. Only when I got home, there was something playing on my mind.’
‘Which was?’
‘Well, I couldn’t remember ever telling her about my clip file.’
30
Lisa
Transcript of recorded interview with Lisa Baxter (excerpt)
Also present: DI Heather Scott, PC Marilyn Button
HS: You last saw Rachel back in August, is that right?
LB: Well, I saw her last Friday, but yes, in person it would have been August.
HS: And how would you describe her state of mind back then?
LB: Pent up, I suppose you’d say. I kept asking her if she was OK and she got upset and said she was worried she’d had something to do with the stabbing of that girl – the first murder, I suppose you’d call it now, that Joanna – and some homeless fella, which I knew nothing about obviously. I just told her not to be so daft. Why would I say anything else? I mean, there was no way, no way I would have thought she’d have had anything to do with that. It makes sense now. But then, no. No way.
HS: How did she seem to you?
LB: She seemed… down. It was understandable, totally. But then I tried to suggest, gently, like, that she might be imagining things. I was trying to be sympathetic. I mean, it’s not like her postpartum psychosis was a secret between us. I’d been very involved in that, in getting Mark to see she needed help, you know? So it’s not like it was a taboo, only we never spoke about it. Never. (Pause) So I suppose it was a taboo then, wasn’t it? But then Rachel wouldn’t talk to me about anything anymore. As if getting upset would be the end of the world, like there’d be so many tears she’d drown us both, do you know what I mean? She was like a balloon full of water. One jab and it would all come out. And I thin
k she was afraid of that. But when I said about getting help, she got offended, which was horrible. I mean, we joked our way out of it, but she left soon after that and I didn’t see her again, not to speak to. She replied to texts but I could tell she’d gone further into herself. I hadn’t meant to upset her. I just keep thinking I could have helped her more… been a better friend… If I had been, she might never have killed anyone. (Breaks down)
31
Ingrid
Transcript of recorded interview with Ingrid Taylor (excerpt)
Also present: DI Heather Scott, PC Marilyn Button
HS: For the benefit of the tape, PC Button is showing Ms Taylor a CCTV image. Ms Taylor, if we can go back a little. This CCTV capture was taken in Victoria Road on Thursday the fourth of July this year at approximately quarter to eight in the evening. Can you describe what’s in the picture?
IT: Of course I can. I went for a drive. I think I said that, didn’t I? So what?
HS: Ms Taylor, can you tell us what you were doing in the area of St Michael’s church on the night that Mr Henry Parker was found collapsed on Langdale Road?
IT: Who?
HS: Henry Parker. He was a homeless man found in a state of asphyxiation near St Michael’s church later that evening, five nights after the attack on Joanna Weatherall.
IT: What’s that got to do anything? I thought he was just some drunk tramp?
HS: If you could answer the question, Ms Taylor.
IT: Has Rachel confessed to attacking him as well? Was he stabbed? I didn’t think he’d been attacked. I can’t remember anything about that in the news.
HS: Ms Taylor, Victoria Road is in the immediate vicinity of St Michael’s church. Can you shed any light on what you were doing there that evening?
IT: Power of suggestion. Mark had gone out for some chips – at least I thought he had. I fancied some chips too. Is that so hard to believe? I know which chip shop the Edwardses use because she… Rachel had told me which one was the best, which I’m sure she did in the interests of being neighbourly. I suppose she’d filtered useful local info through her own priorities, and in her case that information was the chippy, the Co-op and the pub. I mean, (laughs) do I look like I eat chips?
HS: Ms Taylor, a moment ago you said you were out in your car because you were going for chips.
IT: Well, yes. Occasionally, yes. Once every six months. But not every week. My point was, what, looking at me, would give her the impression that I’d go anywhere near a fast-food outlet, or a cheap supermarket, or a working men’s pub? (Laughs) She told me where the library was too. Even the bus stop! I mean, I suppose she assumed… I told her I’d won the Prius in a competition on daytime TV, but I only said that because at many points in my life I’ve struggled with other people’s jealousy. I’ve been the victim of it, I mean. That’s why I got out of Helsby. No one spoke to me after my divorce. I was barred from the Ladies’ Circle. They said it was because my ex had dropped out of the Round Table, but that was a cover. I wasn’t invited to drinks anymore, the annual charity raft race, nothing. It was just bullying. Basically, someone, and I know exactly who it was, spread a rumour that I’d had some sort of fling with her husband. It was all malicious gossip, not a word of truth – these women are toxic. Jealousy, as I said. Not my fault she couldn’t keep her husband interested, is it? He used to text me all the time, stood outside my house sometimes begging me to come and meet him… How is that my fault?
HS: Ms Taylor, did you see Rachel Edwards that evening?
IT: Only when I was trying to park. At that point I realised it wasn’t Mark, obviously. She was wearing his jacket and driving his car, though I didn’t find out why until later.
HS: Did you say hello to her?
IT: What? No. She didn’t see me. I saw her lock the car and glance about her. She looked quite shifty. Sort of watchful, you know? And now you’re saying this man’s collapse is suspicious, I’m wondering whether she was casing the joint. She headed towards the church, anyway, and when she pushed the cemetery gate open, I thought, whoa, surely not. More death-obsessed weirdness. It was like a scene from a film where there’s an abandoned warehouse and instead of even trying the lights they’re all, oh no, let’s just go in with our tiny flashing torches just in case the murderer has sensitive eyes. So naturally that’s the last I saw of her, and I certainly didn’t see him. Dirty old man.
HS: You didn’t follow her in?
IT: What?
HS: For the benefit of the tape, PC Button is showing Ms Taylor a CCTV image. Ms Taylor, can you tell me what you see on this image?
IT: That’s Rachel Edwards, going into the churchyard. In Mark’s raincoat. He let me borrow it once to run from the car into the office. He got soaked, poor man. So sweet.
HS: What about this image?
IT: It’s a… I… I mean, it’s very grainy, isn’t it? It’s a… is it a woman? Really, I can’t make it out…
HS: Notice the time recorded on the images – 19:48 on the first and 19:51 on the second. The person entering the churchyard on the second image is tall, with blonde hair, and is dressed in women’s clothes. You said you followed Mrs Edwards to the gate but you didn’t go in. And yet here you are going in.
IT: That’s ridiculous. This could be anybody.
HS: You recognised Mrs Edwards without hesitation from the same-quality photograph. (Pause) For the benefit of the tape, Ms Taylor is shrugging. Ms Taylor, you described the homeless man, Mr Parker, as a ‘dirty old man’. Can you explain what you mean by that?
IT: Well, a pervert, obviously. In a public place.
HS: For the benefit of the tape, Ms Taylor has made a masturbating gesture with her hand. Ms Taylor, that aspect of Mr Parker’s evening… activities was never reported. The only person to have witnessed it, by her own admission, is Mrs Edwards. Mrs Edwards has stated that she never told a soul. Given your casual acquaintanceship with Rachel Edwards, it’s unlikely that she told you about it, don’t you think? So how do you know what he was doing if you never went into the cemetery?
IT: I… I mean I… I mean, she must have told me. Or perhaps I saw him from the path. I did look over the fence so I must have seen him, I must have. That’s right, and it quite put me off my supper, so in the end I decided to go home.
(Pause)
HS: Mrs Edwards describes waking up with a pain in her head, as if she had passed out and perhaps hit her head. Or as if she had been knocked out by a blow to the head. Can you tell us anything about that?
IT: Of course I can’t. Are you accusing me of something? What, do you think I’d cosh her and make a run for it? (Laughs) Who do you think I am? Look, I’m her neighbour and I’ve come here to help you of my own free will. She handed herself in. I didn’t have anything against her; she was kind to me. She was just weird, that’s all. Why the hell would I attack her? (Pause) OK, so I followed her in. I did. I should have said that, but I was worried I’d sound as weird as her. I was curious, that’s all. I suppose I was imagining satanic rituals or something. Sacrifice of a small rodent on a stone slab. She was walking slowly, as if she was scared. At one point she stopped. My heart was in my mouth, to be honest. And when she turned around, I nearly screamed. Thank God there was a large headstone right there and I was able to hide behind it quite easily, being petite. And then of course she ducked behind a grave herself. It was then that I saw the Central Casting pervert in the doorway. I mean, do these people have no originality? I was going to walk away there and then. The grubbiness of it all reminded me too much of my ex. But Rachel! Oh no, she was transfixed. Could not take her eyes off him. And that made me realise that there really was no end to her weirdness. As I said to Mark, it was as if she wasn’t there in her own head, or at all. I mean, I just thought he should know. But I didn’t knock her out. Or bang her head on the gravestone. No way. I would never do something like that.
32
Mark
Transcript of recorded interview with Mark Edwards (excerpt)
Also present: DI Heather Scott, PC Marilyn Button
ME: A couple of times I heard her talking to herself. To the file, I mean. And Katie walked in on her doing it. I did try and talk to her, to Rach, about it. When she started it, she said she’d already written to our MP, said she wanted to go to Parliament to protest about the terrible knife-crime statistics and what were they going to do about it. We’re neither of us very confident about that sort of thing – public speaking, like – but I think she thought that the ones who are good at public speaking, the ones in charge who were bred and educated for it, like, weren’t speaking the kind of language she thought they should be. She wanted to try and bring the numbers down. Make the government clamp down sort of thing. Or do something. I thought it was a pipe dream, something she needed to do until she didn’t, if you know what I mean. I thought it was hopeless, to be honest. I don’t trust politicians. They’re all as bad as each other. Posh hate-mongering’s the same as any old hate-mongering in my book, and I know Rach felt the same. The blame game, going round and round. It’s always someone else’s fault.
But she didn’t take any notice of me so I stopped saying anything and she kept printing off the reports and I think they were affecting her health. I’ve thought about it since she turned herself in, obviously, about her having that episode all those years before. I’ve put two and two together. I don’t know why I didn’t think about that; it was Lisa who made me think about it, Lisa who said I should get her some help. I’ve been a bloody idiot. We were lost, me and Rach. Katie was lost as well. And Kieron, obviously.
