Retribution (Sebastian Trilogy Book 3)

by Rosen, Janey

  “I can’t discuss other patients. I have a duty of confidentiality. Why do you ask?” Shrugging my shoulders in feigned indifference I note the momentary flicker of something dark in Doctor Fairfax’s eyes. Anxiety? Guilt, perhaps? I struck a chord with him. A sharp rap on the study door precedes Sebastian’s entrance.

  “Ah, Sebastian.” Doctor Fairfax springs to his feet, and the two men shake hands warmly. “We’ve just finished. You have impeccable timing as ever.”

  Sebastian leans over me and plants a gentle kiss on my lips. “Okay, sweetheart?”

  “Peachy,” I reply, rising wearily to my feet. “I’m officially nuts and even have a prescription to prove it.” He arches a brow as I retrieve the folded paper from my pocket, and wave it between thumb and index finger in front of his face.

  Sebastian casts a glance at Doctor Fairfax but he’s watching me. “Medication? Is that necessary, Leo?”

  Doctor Fairfax nods as he slips his notebook into a briefcase and clicks the catch home. “Elizabeth, are you comfortable with me answering that question?” I confirm that I couldn’t give a hoot. “Absolutely, Sebastian. It’s only short-term, but in my opinion it will stabilise Elizabeth’s mood and address some of the unpleasant effects she is experiencing.

  “Indeed.” Sebastian wraps an arm protectively around my waist. “You will take the pills, Elizabeth,” he commands as though he can read my mind. “I’ll have Scarlett collect your tablets this afternoon.” I have no intention of taking the pills but nod in acquiescence. My mind is made up. Albeit my crazy, depressed, psychotic mind according to the professional and my loved ones. I am the only one who knows the truth. No, that’s incorrect. Scarlett also knows the truth and I intend to regain my senses with a week in Dorset after which, battle will commence in earnest.

  Sebastian waves from the steps of Penmorrow and I leave a little piece of my heart behind. Bella has been very quiet for the past couple of days and I’m unsure of what she thinks. Does she believe her mother is mad or does she too see what Scarlett is doing to me?

  Chapter 8

  It’s cathartic to be home. The pile of unopened bills forms a small mountain which is swept aside as I throw open the front door. The house holds its familiar homely smell albeit laced with dust in the air. Ruth carries our suitcases in and Bella bounds up to her room as I fill the kettle. “Good to be home?” Ruth asks as she hangs her denim jacket on the coat hook in the hall.

  “I have mixed feelings,” I tell her. Ruth nods her understanding and links her arm through mine.

  We drink our tea at the kitchen table, the bills now forming a neat pile on the table next to my mug.

  “I have to clear Joe’s room out.”

  “What?” Ruth asks incredulously.

  “He told me. It’s time to let go, Ruth.”

  “Whoa! Who told you?”

  “Joe did.”

  She swigs back the last dregs of her tea and gently places her mug down before laying a hand on mine. “Joe told you?”

  “That’s right. Joe told me. I don’t care if you think I’m nuts, he told me.”

  “If you say Joe told you, love, then Joe told you.” She looks doubtful and sorry for me.

  “Ruth, he came to me and said that he’s happy where he is, that Bella can have his games console. He also warned me about Scarlett.” I stare at Ruth, hoping to gauge her reaction but her expression remains unconvinced.

  “Don’t you think this is part of grief, Beth?”

  “No, Ruth. I don’t. I know what I saw and it was Joe.”

  “If you say so, love.” She squeezes my hand as though I’m a total lunatic deserving of her pity.

  “I know what I saw. Also, I’ve been thinking, I want to speak to the police officer,” I tell her.

  “DI Chambers?” She looks confused, unsure how best to handle me.

  “Yes. I feel he should be aware of my concerns regarding Scarlett. Maybe he can arrange some blood tests on me to test for poison or drugs.”

  “Okay,” she reluctantly concedes. “We’ll call him in the morning. Let’s see if there’s anything on Scarlett. If not, I want you to let this go. Okay?”

  “Agreed.”

  “In the meantime, we have an eighteenth birthday party to organise tomorrow, so you need to buck your ideas up, missy.” She winks at me, I force a smile.

  Ruth insists on sleeping on the couch despite my offer of Joe’s room or sharing with me. As I climb into bed, my mobile phone rings. Sebastian. I press the ‘decline’ button and turn off the bedside lamp. I’ll call him tomorrow. A small box of tablets sits beside a glass of water. Opening the box, I press a pill loose from the blister card and carefully wrap it in a tissue. As I did last night, I go and flush the tablet down the toilet.

  ***

  I haven’t slept well. My bed smells of Alan and the house is deathly quiet. When I call the police inspector at nine o’clock, his secretary puts me through. “DI Chambers, this is Elizabeth Dove.”

  “Who?” He’s forgotten me already. One more accident filed away and cast aside, yet another life shattered.

  “Elizabeth Dove. My husband Alan and son Joe were killed last December.”

  “Of course, sorry, I remember. Mrs. Dove, how are you?” he says hesitantly, so that I’m not sure he remembers me at all.

  “Not so good. I just wanted to talk to you regarding a matter I feel is important.”

  I can hear him sucking on a cigarette. “Go on.”

  “I know this is going to sound erratic—unbelievable even—but I think they were murdered and I think the person who did it is trying to kill me.”

  There is silence on the other end of the phone. “Are you there?” I ask.

  “Yes. I’m here. That’s quite an accusation, Mrs. Dove.” He thinks I’m crazy too. “It’s coming back to me now. A friend of yours called me recently regarding a woman who works at your boyfriend’s house.”

  Blushing a hot crimson, I mentally curse Ruth for disclosing my relationship status to the Inspector. Lord knows what he thinks of me now, with a boyfriend having lost my husband. “Can you come round please? It’s a long story and it’s easier to talk face to face.”

  “Give me thirty minutes. I’ll be there.” After noting my address, which of course he should have on file, he cuts the call.

  My father used to say ‘never trust a man whose sleeves are too short.’ DI Chamber’s sleeves fall shy of his wrists by a good three inches. He’s wearing a shabby brown, ill-fitting suit and has a coffee stain on his crumpled white shirt. I wonder if he’s married, and if so, why his wife would allow her husband to go to work in such disarray. He has kind eyes, though, eyes which have undoubtedly seen all manner of evil and carnage, yet which retain compassion and an inherent trust in mankind.

  He has the patient and poised deportment of a long serving police officer who has seen and heard just about everything, and yet who remains infallible and steadfast in his duty. “So you think you’re being poisoned?” he repeats, as he sips his sweet milky tea, regarding me over the rim of his cup.

  “That’s right. I do.”

  “Have you seen this Scarlett woman ever put anything in your food, or acting suspiciously around you?”

  “No. I’ve never actually seen her poison my food,” I say sarcastically. “But she is doing so. I’m sure of that.”

  He replaces his cup on the saucer and rests back on the armchair, his arms folded. It’s Alan’s armchair next to the fireplace and it seems amiss to see another man seated there.

  “I know you don’t believe me. Nobody believes me, but look at me. Do you remember how I looked after the accident? Even after the shock? Did I look this frail?” Ruth fidgets next to me and I sense she wishes to speak but tactfully remains silent.

  DI Chambers drinks me in. He shakes his head slowly. “No. I don’t recall you looking so thin, nor as gaunt as you do today. That doesn’t mean that someone is trying to murder you. It could be a delayed and prolonged reaction to your profou
nd loss.” His finger plays across his top lip, his eyes unreadable.

  “Yes, it could be, but I don’t think so. I’ve been hallucinating. Things seem real, terrible visions which come and go, which I didn’t have before recently.”

  “It could still be grief. Or depression,” he suggests.

  Ruth rests a hand on my arm. “Tell him about the quack’s assessment, Beth.” When I glare at her, and it’s apparent I have no intention of disclosing the psychiatrist’s diagnosis, she spurts forth on my behalf. “Beth’s been diagnosed with grief related depression and she’s on anti-depressant pills now.” He nods somberly and, I’m sure, makes a mental note of this information.

  “No. Yes. She’s right, but there’s more,” I bluster. “She said something too. She told me she’d slept with Alan and that she did something to him. I think she caused the accident.”

  “Wait. Slow down. What exactly did she say?”

  “I’m trying to remember but my memory is foggy. I think she said she’d done it for Sebastian. She said she brought me to Penmorrow because Sebastian’s wife wasn’t able to give him children. Don’t you see? I had children and so I could offer him the heir she knew he wanted. I think she somehow caused Alan’s death—not meaning to kill Joe—so that I’d come to Penmorrow with the children. Now I’m no use to him either. Nor was Libby. I think she killed her too, and now she’s trying to kill me. You have to stop her.” I can hear the hysteria in my voice but am powerless to calm down, panic gripping me as the enormity of what I’m saying hits home.

  “The car was scrutinised. It was road worthy before the accident. Are you saying you think she tampered with it?” He frowns as he leans forward. His fingers steeple under his chin.

  “I think she poisoned Alan like she’s poisoning me and like she poisoned Libby. I think it was the drugs that were found in his body. She gave them to him. You have to believe me,” I implore.

  “Libby De Montfort died from an overdose. It was recorded as suicide. I pulled the file before I came here, but we have no evidence that it was the same drug which was found in your husband’s body.”

  “Yes, yes. It looked like suicide. She’s clever, don’t you see? Surely you can check if the same medicine was found in both Libby and Alan’s bodies?”

  “Mrs. Dove, if what you say is true—and I’m not saying I agree with you—if Scarlett is poisoning everyone, where is she obtaining the medication, presuming it is the same medication? We’re not talking about over the counter headache pills here.”

  “I don’t know. That’s what you need to find out. Can you speak to her doctor? Maybe he’s prescribing them for her but she’s using them on me.”

  He sighs deeply, massaging his temples. “Okay, here’s what we do. If you make a formal complaint, I will be able to sanction the police duty quack to take blood from you and get the lab to run some toxicology tests. In the meantime, I’ll make some enquiries about Scarlett, check into her past, and I’ll get a colleague to review the wife’s death. How does that sound?”

  “Yes. No. I can’t make a complaint or Sebastian will finish with me for good.”

  “It’s up to you, but I’m pulling some serious strings for you here. It’s not normal practice to do anything without some evidence supporting your suspicions, but I figure you deserve a little help. You need to help me too though, okay?”

  “Okay. I’ll do it, I’ll file a complaint.”

  “It’s called a TRO, a Temporary Restraining Order. It has to be granted by a judge but it's there to protect you if you believe you’re being threatened or in immediate danger of physical harm from this woman. I can help you with this, but we’ll have to serve it on her, then you will need to file a Proof of Service with the court.”

  “Does this mean I can’t go back to Penmorrow?” That will be the end of my relationship with Sebastian. Dead in the water. I feel sick at the thought of losing him. I can’t lose him.

  “Not if she’s living there, no you can’t. Do you think you can convince Lord De Montfort to fire her?”

  I laugh hysterically. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? I mean, clearly it will take my death to prove to him that she’s fucking evil.”

  He doesn’t look shocked at my outburst, but I imagine he’s heard worse language than mine.

  “Can I ask you something?” He looks serious, his brow furrowed.

  “Yes, please do.”

  “Do you have any reason to believe Lord De Montfort is having a relationship with this woman?” His words hurt like a physical slap to my face.

  My cheeks redden. “They had a brief relationship in the past, before he met me. I thought perhaps it was still going on, but Ruth and Sebastian made me see that I was wrong. I know he loves me. Sorry, to answer your question, no, I don’t believe they are having a relationship. I believe that’s what she wants, though.”

  “Fine. So are you going to do the TRO?”

  “No. I can’t. I don’t know. Can I think about it?”

  “Take all the time you need. Here’s my card, call me when you’ve made your decision but don’t leave it too long. If what you’re saying is right, then we need to act on this before you go back there.”

  DI Chambers places a small white card on the coffee table. It bears the police crest and his contact details. “My mobile phone number is on there as well as the after-hours contact numbers. Be sure to call if you need to. Okay?”

  “Thank you,” I say appreciatively. “I will call. You do…believe me, don’t you?”

  “Mrs. Dove. I haven’t been a police officer for all these years without keeping an open mind at all times. I can see that you believe what you are telling me therefore I feel it’s worth looking into. If nothing else, it will put your mind at rest.” As an afterthought, he adds, “You may want to see your GP anyway to get some bereavement counselling.” His last sentence tells me he doesn’t truly believe me. He’s not on my side.

  Closing the front door dejectedly, Ruth steps out of the living room and puts an arm around my shoulders, squeezing me tightly. “Hey, girlfriend,” she says more cheerily than I’m sure she feels given my mood. “How about we head into town, pick up Bella’s birthday presents, and have lunch? It’s on me.”

  “Fine,” I reply, still melancholy.

  “You need some serious girl time.”

  The shops are bustling for a Tuesday afternoon. Office workers clutching fast food and young mums pushing buggies into clothes shops, all enjoying the balmy weather. Bella has written a birthday gift list for which I’m thankful, unsure what an eighteen-year-old girl wants today. She’s far more mature than I recall being at her age. Ruth says she’s eighteen going on thirty but, every now and again, she will throw a tantrum or act the fool and remind me that she’s still a teen. Clutching a bag of CDs and make-up, there remains one gift I wish to purchase, which wasn’t on Bella’s list. The jeweller retrieves the locket from the window display. It’s a simple gold heart with a dainty sculpted edge and fine gold chain. “I’ll take it,” I tell the pretty, blonde assistant who carefully places it in a black and gold box and runs my purchase through the till. It’s expensive but my daughter is more than worth it.

  The wine bar is busy. Several minutes spent waiting for a table are eventually rewarded and we sit by the window overlooking the town square. Ruth orders a bottle of chilled Chardonnay having first quizzed me as to whether my anti-loony pills are okay mixed with alcohol. Of course, I know I’m not taking them but I tell her that alcohol is fine in moderation. The waitress pours a large measure in each glass and notes our order of a platter of meze. Nibbling on the delicious olives, hummus, and breads while we chat is just like old times. Ruth recounts tales from the office and I realise how much I miss my work and colleagues. It feels as though I have been living in a parallel universe for the past few weeks.

  “You seem much better, Beth,” Ruth comments as she refills my glass.

  “Honestly, I feel so much better,” I concede. “My head feels clearer and I
haven’t hallucinated.”

  “Those pills are doing you the world of good, love. To be honest, I’m a little surprised. I thought it would take longer for them to get in your system.” She watches me over the rim of her wine glass, gauging my reaction I think.

  “Well, it just proves the shrink knows his stuff. He’s clearly got me on the right pills.” I’m relieved to see her smile and nod, yet am wracked with guilt at the lies that slip so freely from my mouth.

  “Beth, do you really still think Scarlett drugged you? It’s just, you’re taking your medication—which amazes me quite honestly—yet you sounded so earnest when you talked to DI Chambers this morning. If you believe she’s drugged you, then surely you don’t believe you’re mad. So my question is: why are you taking the pills?”

  My friend is astute. Now, like a cornered rabbit facing the farmer’s gun, I search my mind for a way out of this, unsure what to say. I want to tell Ruth that I’m not taking the pills, but to do so is to admit that I’ve lied to her and Sebastian. It also reveals that I wholeheartedly believe my own attempted murder theory and in turn leaves me open to being accused of insanity once more. It’s better that Ruth, Bella, Sebastian and my mother believe that I’m getting well, and to them that means taking the tablets.

  “That’s a good question, Ruth.” And it is. A very good question. “I believe everyone has my best interests at heart, except Scarlett of course, and that you all want me to take the medication and get well. I’m doing it for you. That doesn’t mean I don’t believe Scarlett means me harm. I know what she said to me. It may be a bit foggy in my mind and I can’t remember everything, but the intent to harm was clear. I also know she hinted that she hurt my son and husband. I can’t just put that to one side and not act upon it. I owe it to them. I wasn’t the world’s best mother or wife. I see that now, and I have to live with the guilt, but I can do this for them—uncover the truth, whatever that may mean.”