Courting Death

by Elleby Harper

  “Why didn’t you come forward to the police?”

  Downer spread his hands out in front of him.

  “Confidentiality between a doctor and a patient is a fine balancing act. To be honest, I didn’t feel that disclosure was in the public interest. Most of my clients prefer to keep their visits private and confidential. If Harley wanted the police to know he had been seeing me he would have told them.”

  “What sort of therapy was Harley undergoing with you?” Isla asked.

  Bex frowned at the interruption, but she was interested to hear what he would say.

  “Are you familiar with psychotherapy, Ms. Standing?” There was a hint of condescension in his voice.

  “I understand you specialize in hypnotherapy,” she replied. “I wondered if you ever undertook any hypnosis with Harley?”

  “Hypnosis is a useful tool and I do employ it where I feel it will be beneficial with a patient. But, as I keep reminding both of you, my oath prevents me from revealing any details.”

  “You can’t reveal any details without the patient’s consent, but what if I get Harley’s consent?” Isla insisted.

  He blinked several times, as though her question had caught him off guard.

  “Then, of course, yes I can talk with you about his treatment.” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared back at her. “But be careful what you ask for, Ms. Standing, because I don’t believe getting access to those session tapes is going to help your client’s defense.”

  Chapter 16

  Wednesday 13 December

  When Quinn and Reuben attended the “command center” for the Kids Commando Club, the sun had already set and a chill breeze dropped the temperature even lower.

  “They’re taking bets it’s going to be a white Christmas,” Reuben said, rubbing his hands together.

  “Then it’s about time you got yourself a decent overcoat, mate,” Quinn bated him. “You’re a stupid git if you’re more frightened of looking unfashionable than freezing to death.”

  “I’m impervious to cold,” Reuben claimed. “My ancestors come from Rotherham so London weather can’t make me shiver.”

  “Don’t make me laugh, mate, it’s not a good look for a copper on the job.”

  Kids Commando met in a hall that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Gothic romance. Quinn decided it had been an old church from which the stained glass had long ago been replaced with cheaper, plain glass panes. The wooden floorboards were unpolished, indented and scratched from years of kids’ antics.

  Plastic chairs were placed in small circular groups. Two older teens in moss green shirts and long pants scurried around the hallway setting up safety equipment at the climbing wall which dominated one end of the large space. A faint moldy smell hung in the air.

  “Excuse me, lads, who’s in charge here?” Quinn called.

  “That’ll be Ron Fisher. He’s in a meeting with the group leaders to finalize tonight’s program.” The youth, sporting soft down on his upper lip, indicated a door to a room tucked around the corner that had probably started life as a vestry.

  “Reuben, why don’t you stay and chat with the helpers out here. I’ll see what the leaders have to say.”

  Quinn left Reuben to his own devices.

  Behind the paneled wooden doors, a man and three women were seated around a desk strewn with papers. Quinn flashed his warrant card.

  “What’s this about, officer?” Ron Fisher’s pale eyebrows rose interrogatively. With his barrel chest puffed out and the thin strands of his hair fluffed over a balding pate, he reminded Quinn of a bantam rooster protecting his hens.

  Quinn buried the brief surge of humor to respond with appropriate gravitas. “Detective Inspector Standing. Are you the leader of this Kids Commando club?”

  Ron Fisher stood to face Quinn.

  “I am the club’s group leader, Ronald Fisher.”

  “I have a few questions for the club about one of your former members, Harley Carroll, and his father Keith.”

  One of the women gasped and Quinn noted that concerned looks crossed all four faces as they exchanged uneasy glances between themselves.

  “Yes, well that was a terrible incident.”

  “It was a terrible murder,” Quinn stressed the last word. He didn’t believe in sugar-coating crime.

  “I thought Harley confessed and the case went to trial? Didn’t it go to trial?” Ron appealed to the three ladies, who now shuffled their chairs closer together as though determined to make a barricade.

  The group exchanged more anxious looks and the women’s heads bobbed together. They reminded Quinn more than ever of a clucking brood of hens.

  “We’re conducting another investigation before the case gets retried. If you don’t mind, I need a few minutes to ask some questions.” Quinn debated whether to interview them singly, but decided the group dynamics might offer better results.

  “First of all, were you aware that Harley was hospitalized in March last year for a suicide attempt?”

  Again the titter of ruffled feathers rippled through the group. This time the exchanged looks contained a hint of excitement with the agitation.

  “Suicide?” Ron spluttered. “We had no idea. We were told he’d broken his wrist and he took a few weeks off. Isn’t that right, Lynn?”

  “Yes, yes, a broken wrist it was, I believe. Are you sure you’ve got the right person, Detective? That’s so hard to believe! Harley comes from a lovely family.”

  “No, he was definitely admitted for slitting his wrists. You’re telling me that nobody noticed anything odd in his behavior around that time? Nothing happened here that could have provoked such a reaction?”

  Heads were shaken, bewildered looks passed between the women.

  “I’m sorry, Detective, but none of us noticed anything untoward. Of course, that was nearly two years ago, now, which makes it more difficult to remember precisely.”

  “How old was Harley when he joined Kids Commando?”

  “He came to us as a little tacker. Possibly five or six? His dad was full of enthusiasm for how it would develop him. Harley was very shy, you see.”

  “Yes, quite introverted in fact,” one woman added.

  “Did his father become a leader and start helping out at that time?”

  Ron’s face pokered up. Quinn noted the troubled expressions appearing on the women’s faces.

  “Keith Carroll was a leader with the Kids Commandos, wasn’t he? He dealt with kids and helped them with activities?” Quinn pressed.

  “Yes, yes he was. He was great with the children. Always so patient and taking the time to explain things.” Ron sounded defiant.

  “Took the troubled ones under his wing, would you say?” Quinn kept a stony eye on Ron.

  The noise outside the door increased, a hubbub growing like a runaway train rushing through the hallway. No doubt the kids had arrived for the evening’s proceedings.

  “I’m sorry, Detective, but we really must round this discussion up, now.”

  Ron made a show of examining his watch and the women hurried to their feet, crowding behind him. Quinn wondered if they were going to stampede him. He held his ground, blocking the doorway.

  “When did Keith Carroll stop helping out?”

  Ron’s face softened, like melting butter. He spluttered and a hand went to his chest. Squealing, the ladies gathered, closing ranks to protect their rooster.

  In response, Quinn’s face hardened.

  “Or didn’t you stop Keith from helping out?”

  “There was that unfortunate incident a few years ago. A ridiculous misunderstanding of course, knowing Keith. He was always well-regarded by both the kids and the parents. The charge was utterly ridiculous. A young person seeking attention no doubt. Ghastly thing to have happened to the man. It could have ruined a good reputation.” Ron’s face blotched like an old beetroot. He continued to bluster his way through. “Keith would never step over the bounds of propriety. Unfortunat
ely, once the rumor mill got cranking some of the parents got nervous. They came and spoke to us so we couldn’t turn a blind eye. I had to ask Keith to step down from his official duties with Kids Commando. That’s when he suggested Harley take over his role. He was a bit young, but such a responsible lad and, of course, his father was helping him in the background. It all worked out beautifully.”

  “So Harley was good with the children?”

  The woman called Lynn bit her lip as though stifling words.

  “He didn’t have quite the enthusiasm of his father, but he tried hard,” Ron offered.

  Reuben bustled into the room, sliding around Quinn who still blocked the entry. He bestowed a cheery smile on the huddled group.

  “It’s a lion’s den out there! I do admire your fortitude,” he complimented them. “I wonder if we could get a list of your participants for the past three years? We just need to know names and the date the kids started and stopped coming to the group. Is that possible?”

  Ron looked uncertain. “Lynn’s in charge of memberships.” He turned to the woman nearest him. “Lynn, can we access that type of information?”

  “Yes, everything’s computerized now so we should be able to sort out a list. For the past three years did you say?” She looked nervously towards Reuben.

  “Yes please and divide the names into girls and boys if possible.” Reuben handed her a card. “Here’s my email address. If you could send the list through, it would be much appreciated.”

  “I think I can do that.”

  “If we need any more answers, we’ll be in touch,” Quinn said, finally releasing the door.

  Without another word Ron hustled the fluttering women ahead of him.

  “Thank you for your time. We’ll see ourselves out,” Quinn said to their disappearing backs.

  Outside the doorway the kids began reciting their club’s creed, followed by the national anthem.

  “What’s the list for?” Quinn turned to Reuben.

  “I spoke with the teen helpers about Harley. The general consensus was he didn’t enjoy being a leader. One went so far as to say she thought at times that he actually hated the group.” Reuben consulted his phone. “Cherry Osborne. She was right startled when I asked about Harley’s suicide attempt. ‘Not another one!’ she said. So I asked her what she meant. She told me that when one of her young commandos stopped attending the group without any warning, she asked around and discovered the girl had died. Threw herself in front of a train, Cherry thought. Or at least got hit by a train. Since all the commandos choose a name for themselves she’s not sure of the girl’s real name. Her commando name was BraveHeart.”

  “And that was three years ago?”

  “Cherry couldn’t quite remember, but thinks it was about that time because she hadn’t been a leader for long. She was surprised no one at the club spoke about it, but she thought that maybe people didn’t know why BraveHeart had stopped coming. I thought if we got a list of names we might be able to match up with hospital records to find out just who BraveHeart was.”

  “Good going, Reuben. It might be nothing, but if it was a suicide we can look for a connection to either Harley or Keith Carroll. You’re really starting to think like a detective!”

  Reuben smirked. “Careful, Quinn. I might consider that high praise, especially coming from you!”

  Chapter 17

  Wednesday 13 December

  Bex fought with DCI Cole Mackinley over the use of an interview room for Thursday morning. She wanted to bring Harley in then for questioning when she had everyone in her team present and Harley would be fresh. Cole had a host of search warrants prepared for first thing in the morning and was anticipating hauling in several suspects. He wanted access to all the interview rooms.

  While Cole was ten years older than her, his rank wasn’t senior to her so she thought they might be starting on even ground. She trusted she had a good case because her team only needed one room and she was prepared to take the smallest. That fact should have given her the edge in the argument.

  Instead she learnt there were some unassailable walls that she wasn’t able to crack. First, Cole was a bloke. Second, he had been settled at Bridesmead CID for three years and knew its ins and outs better than she did. Third, he was a regular at the Sail and Ale pub and was known to buy rounds for his crew. Somehow these details played a role in winning this particular battle. She also hadn’t counted on Cole’s underhanded tactics.

  “I need the rooms and that’s an end to the discussion. If you don’t like my decision then go crying back to Sophie Dresden. You’re her pet after all so she’ll probably back you up just because you’re a woman.”

  Bex seethed, but knew she couldn’t play that card if she wanted to maintain any credence at Bridesmead. Forced to suck up the alternative she arranged for Harley to be brought over from his cell that evening. As he was underage, he needed a lawyer present and Isla volunteered.

  Quinn and Reuben were at the Kids Commando Club and she preferred to keep Idris out of the same room as Isla, so she was forced to coopt Eli and hoped their questioning didn’t get into realms that stirred uncomfortable memories for him. They took the lift downstairs together.

  “How are Hannah and Imogen doing in Liverpool?” Bex asked. It was a question she asked on a regular basis.

  When Eli’s wife Sydney took the girls with her to Liverpool it left him a broken man, but Sydney wanted to give the girls a fresh start at a school where the traumatic events of the summer were unknown. Like Bex, Eli’s solution to his heartache was simply to throw himself more completely into his work.

  “Hannah’s homesick. Imogen doesn’t want to come down to London. It’s still too soon for her, so I’m going to Liverpool for Christmas.”

  Bex eyed the grizzled warrior with concern. Eli had always looked like he’d slept in his clothes, but with Sydney’s absence he now looked positively seedy. Dining at fast food outlets had left two nasty grease splotches decorating the front of his shirt while a button was missing from his jacket. What he needed was some home-cooking from a woman dedicated to taking care of him.

  One day, when she was feeling more sociable, she’d invite him back to Georgie’s for a meal. No doubt he’d enjoy her landlady’s English cooking, although her own palate hadn’t yet recovered from Georgie’s recommendations to add vinegar and mushy peas to her traditional fish and chips. That was a taste sensation she didn’t intend to repeat in a hurry!

  Harley and Isla were sitting inside the interview room when they entered. His head hung low and he didn’t look up when Bex greeted him. Bex let Eli snap on the tape recorder, activating the beep to confirm it was recording. She had done some videotaped interviews in her New York precinct, but didn’t have the years of experience that Eli had with the sometimes temperamental equipment.

  “Harley Blake Carroll, this interview is being tape recorded and may be given in evidence if your case is brought to trial. We are in the interview room at Bridesmead CID. The time by my watch is six fifty three p.m. I am Detective Sergeant Elijah Morgan. The other officer with me is Detective Chief Inspector Rebecca Wynter. Also present is your barrister, Ms. Isla Standing. Do you agree that no other persons are present?”

  Isla gave him a nudge and Harley uttered a low, “Yes.”

  “Tell us in your own words what happened on the night of October thirty-first last year,” Eli commenced.

  Bex noticed that Harley’s nails were bitten and broken, his fingers continually worrying at each other. His face was gaunt, his expression dour and his manner listless. He looked as far away from being a carefree seventeen-year-old as it was possible to be.

  “I went to the kitchen to pick out the knife. It was Monday so me mum was at her pub quiz. There was just Dad and me in the house. He was in his office. He called my name. I went into the office and stabbed him. Then I cut off his knob.”

  Harley’s voice was sullen but not reluctant. He relayed the facts without emotion, almost by rote, Bex thought
. Possibly because he’d been asked his version of events innumerable times.

  “Why was he found naked, Harley? Did you undress him? Were you trying to humiliate him?” Bex asked.

  “If he wasn’t naked I couldn’t cut off his knob.”

  “Are you telling us you undressed him so you could castrate him?” Bex pressed.

  A troubled look crossed his face. He never once looked at either her or Eli, keeping his eyes cemented to the top of the table.

  “I don’t remember.”

  “An awful lot you claim not to remember, mate,” Eli said in a business-like tone. “Tell us what happened with your mum.”

  “She shouldn’t have been there. She was at her pub quiz. I don’t know why she turned up at the house. She never missed quiz night. Even when my gran died, she left the wake early to get to the quiz.”

  His face screwed up and Bex thought he might cry, but he didn’t. He just sat for a moment with a pained expression on his face.

  “But you confessed to killing her. If you don’t remember, why did you confess?” Bex asked softly.

  “The police said she was killed with the same knife. I must’ve killed her when she came home. What does it matter anyway, I’m going to jail for killing my dad, no matter what.”

  His shoulders were hunched so far over he was almost concave.

  Beside him, Isla rubbed a hand over his rounded back. “It’s okay, Harley. Take your time answering,” she said.

  “Tell us about the occasion where you were hospitalized, Harley. When you cut your wrist,” Bex said.

  Grabbing his left hand, she flipped it over, pushing up the cuff. Two fine pink scars were visible.

  “Why did you do it, Harley?”

  He snatched his hand from her grip.

  “Why not? Young people kill themselves all the time. Maybe I wanted to see what that was like.”

  “Did something drive you to that decision? Perhaps something at home?” Bex asked. She hoped this line of questioning wasn’t going to distress Eli.

  Harley remained silent.