by Matt Brolly
‘Cornwall, still, so he says.’
‘Did you speak to Emily?’
‘No, heaven knows where she was.’
‘Okay, Dad. Listen, I’m going to hang up now and speak to a colleague in Cornwall. See if we can find him, okay?’
Louise’s earlier tension had manifested into a headache. She placed her hand on her forehead, trying to clear her thoughts. She was being torn in too many directions and the resulting indecision was troubling. From a professional viewpoint, all her focus should be on finding Amy but how could she sit back and ignore her brother’s behaviour?
The irony of trying to chase a location for her brother seconds after trying to do the same thing for Chappell was not lost on Louise as she called Joslyn.
‘Hang on a sec, DI Blackwell,’ said Joslyn, answering. ‘That’s better,’ she said, a few seconds later. ‘How are you, Louise?’
‘Not great,’ said Louise, offering a quick update first on Chappell, then her brother.
‘Shit, Louise, I don’t know what to say.’
‘You’ve summed it up pretty succinctly. Do you think you could trace Paul’s location?’
‘You know what that would mean?’
It would become official. To obtain the information, they would have to register Paul and Emily as missing and face the consequences of everything that came with it. Louise couldn’t see any other way. In retrospect, she’d let things go too far already. It shamed her that it had reached the extent where her mother was literally lost for words, such was her anguish. ‘It’s time. I don’t want Emily put at risk,’ said Louise.
‘Okay, I’ve got the number. You’re going to have to leave it with me for the time being. I need to register the case first then try and get the location tracked. Even then . . .’
The tracking couldn’t pinpoint location, and Paul could have moved since last using the phone so Louise understood Joslyn couldn’t promise anything. ‘I know. We’re going through the same procedure here. Thanks, Joslyn I definitely owe you one now.’
‘No worries, just let your parents know I’m on it.’
Louise called her parents before returning to the office. Coulson was on the phone, hopefully negotiating with the phone companies. The tech guy had proved to be a godsend and she wondered what Finch felt about him spending time with them, only for her paranoid side to suggest that Finch had sent Coulson to them to keep tracks on her.
Returning to her desk, she briefly held her head in her hands, the throbbing pain in her forehead spreading to her eyes, and wondered if there would ever be a time when she could fully trust someone again. As she looked up, Thomas was standing by her desk.
‘I’ve just got off the line to Chappell’s mother. Well, Barton’s mother. I think you’ll want to hear this, boss,’ he said.
‘I could do with hearing something positive.’
‘I wouldn’t necessarily call it positive but it might confirm our working theory.’
‘Illuminate me,’ said Louise, leaning back in her chair.
‘His father has passed but his mother still lives in Thornbury. Hasn’t seen him since he left home at sixteen. Didn’t take her long to tell me about his morbid fascination,’ said Thomas, biting his lip.
‘Which is?’
‘With death. It sounds like a typical teenage thing. Black T-shirt, death metal, that sort of thing. Only his interest was a bit more specific. She told me about one of his English essays which focused on the death of Kurt Cobain.’
‘The singer?’
‘The singer who shot himself, yes. Seems our young Jay Chappell slash Charlie Barton developed a fascination with suicide. And here’s the kicker.’
Louise’s mind went blank and she was thankful for the fact. She didn’t want to have to imagine why or how a young person could develop such an obsession. Unfortunately her mind betrayed her, creating an image of Paul taking his own life. ‘What?’ she said, louder than she’d intended, the sound of her voice causing her to wince.
‘When he was seventeen, Barton’s girlfriend took her own life.’
‘How?’ said Louise, already knowing the answer.
‘She hung herself and Barton was the one who found her.’
Chapter Fifty-Two
Louise stared at Thomas, dumbstruck. She blinked and shook herself out of her surprise, shouting over to Coulson. ‘Simon, where are we on a location for Amy?’
‘Working on it,’ said Coulson, not turning from his screen to look at her.
Louise didn’t know if Chappell finding his girlfriend dead was the catalyst for his subsequent behaviour. From Thomas’s report it seemed that suicide had been of interest to the young Chappell/Barton long before his girlfriend died. She didn’t know exactly why he killed in this manner – a subconscious way to bring his girlfriend back from the dead, a means of punishing those he felt were responsible for her taking her own life – but she would do everything she possibly could to stop him from doing it again.
‘We need to send someone to see Chappell’s mother. Find out exactly what happened.’
‘I can go,’ said Thomas.
Louise hesitated. Chappell was in hiding, that much was for sure. Louise was worried for Amy, and for anyone else in Chappell’s radar, and wasn’t sure she could risk having Thomas away from the station at such a critical time.
‘I’ll leave now and be back this evening,’ he said.
‘Okay. I’ll see if I can get Farrell back for a few days,’ said Louise.
After informing Robertson of the latest developments, Louise spent a few minutes hovering over Coulson’s desk.
‘They promised they’d get back to me within the hour,’ he said, defensively.
‘No, that’s fine, Simon. Actually, I wanted to thank you for all your work on this.’
Coulson spun around on his chair. ‘Oh, that’s okay,’ he said. ‘Actually . . . ’
Louise smiled as Coulson lowered his eyes. ‘What is it, Simon?’
Coulson looked around the office. ‘My sister. She took her life when she was fifteen.’
‘Oh my god, Simon. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.’
‘No one here knows. Bullying. You know how kids can be. We didn’t read it at the time and then she was gone.’
Louise shook her head. What could she say? The terrible revelation reminded her of the secrets people carried with them at all times, of her own secret she was keeping from the majority of her colleagues.
‘I thought. Well, when I heard about these suicides and when you came to Portishead . . .’ Coulson looked away. ‘I thought maybe I could help. It’s silly but I thought if I could somehow help these women it would be a tribute of sorts to Hannah,’ he said, looking back at her again, his eyes wide, almost hopeful. ‘It’s much more common than you would imagine.’
Unfortunately, Louise knew that thousands of people took their lives every year. ‘I’m sure Hannah would be very proud of you, Simon.’
Coulson’s eyes reddened and he returned to his screen. Louise placed her hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m always here, Simon. Whenever you want to talk. I really mean that. Okay?’
‘Okay. Thanks, Louise.’
They were out of coffee so Louise started a new pot. It probably wasn’t the best thing for her headache but she needed a hit of caffeine. She was still thrown by Coulson’s revelation. The poor guy must have spent the whole investigation thinking about his sister, yet hadn’t said a word to anyone. As the earthy smell of coffee filled the room, she once again considered her own secrets and where they would lead her; and the potential detrimental effect it could have on the case.
She called Dr Forrest, burning her tongue on the first sip of the freshly brewed coffee as she waited for the phone to be answered.
‘DI Blackwell, I’ve been reading updates on your case in the papers,’ said Forrest.
‘That will make what I have to say easier then, I hope,’ said Louise.
‘Now you have piqued my interest,’ said Forrest.
He listened in silence – interrupting Louise occasionally for clarification – as she updated him on the case, including the latest details of Chappell’s alias, and the supposed suicides in Portugal.
‘That’s one hell of a story,’ said the scientist, once Louise had finished.
‘Tell me about it. We’re treating the four deaths as murder now. Chappell has admitted using DMT. The retreat in Portugal was advertised as a place to take Ayahuasca in a safe environment. The male suicide was a shaman, for what that’s worth.’
‘Yes, I’ve come across a lot of these shamans in the UK as well. Can’t always separate the sham from shaman, unfortunately.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that. All I know is that the shaman was advertising the use of this DMT tea.’
‘Ayahuasca, yes.’
‘I know we discussed this before, about the potential to be manipulated by someone you were with when taking the drug. But could DMT itself make you want to take your life?’
‘My short answer to that would be no,’ said Forrest, murmuring. ‘I think it’s certainly possible for someone to have a negative experience from taking DMT but I haven’t heard of anyone wishing to take their life after taking it.’
‘And the chances of four women each doing so separately?’
‘Virtually zero,’ said Forrest.
Louise repeated the information Tracey had offered about DMT, that it was like dying.
‘Yes, she’s right in a basic way. My studies have only been on volunteers in a clinical environment. There are papers of similar studies as well as lots of anecdotal evidence out there. As you can imagine, studying psychedelics has its limitations. My focus is on the potential benefit of the drug in mental-illness cases. We record patients before, during, and after taking the drug. The idea that DMT is akin to dying comes from the feeling of detachment from the body. Some users compare the feeling to a sense of enlightenment, popular in religions such as Buddhism. Stop me if this gets too mystical. I’m all about the hard science but the reports are just that.’
‘No, please continue.’
‘So when the DMT hits, users often state they feel detached from not only their body but their self too. Hence, the feeling of dying.’
‘Is the experience always negative?’
‘Far from it.’
‘So the users might wish to return to this state.’
‘Of course.’
Louise exhaled. ‘You mentioned before that users often believe what they experience is real.’
‘That’s correct.’
‘So it’s conceivable that they may wish to stay in the state on a permanent basis?’
‘As I mentioned before, users of DMT often state that they no longer fear death once taking it. In part, it’s what makes DMT so fascinating. Many of the participants, in our experiments and those from past studies, report the desire of not wanting to return from their experience. Many have a certainty of consciousness existing after their death on earth. One of my respondents recently told me that hospice patients should be given DMT as a way of preparing them.’
Louise scratched her head. ‘And you?’
‘Me?’
‘What do you think?’
Forrest chuckled. ‘I’m the impartial scientist, I just collect and interpret the data.’
‘Okay. So for argument’s sake, you take DMT, see heaven. Would it make sense that you would want to return to that state as soon as possible? Could this explain these suicides?’
‘I see your angle. What we find is that the respondents who feel this way – that there is an afterlife – have a greater sense of the sanctity of life. They feel free to live life the way they want to.’
‘Safe in the knowledge of eternity?’
‘Something like that.’
Louise was struggling to cope with the surreal nature of the conversation and was glad no one else was listening. ‘So why do you think these women are killing themselves? Could Chappell be coercing them in some way through his use of the drug?’
‘Perhaps. Again, it’s not something I have come across and clearly it isn’t something we’ve explored clinically. However, the scene and setting of how someone takes psychedelics can’t be underestimated as I mentioned previously. We take this very seriously and strive to ensure our participants are relaxed and feel like they are in a safe environment. Also, we would never work with someone with a history of mental illness or depression; we wouldn’t, for instance, advise someone to take it alone, or after alcohol, and certainly not in a negative environment or mood. Whether someone could coerce someone into taking their own life . . . I truly couldn’t give you a definitive answer. If it was during the trip, my personal opinion is that they wouldn’t be responsive enough to take their own lives.’
‘They could walk off a cliff though?’
‘Possibly, with some assistance.’
‘What about hanging themselves?’
‘I imagine you would need to look at the technicalities involved but my guess is again, they would almost definitely need some assistance.’
‘Could they have taken the drug and then killed themselves immediately after?’
‘The onset of DMT can be basically instantaneous, though this would depend on how it is taken, so if they were going to do that they would have to wait until it was over.’
‘So Chappell could drug them and suggest they take their own lives?’
‘I’m sorry, DI Blackwell, I can’t give you a concrete answer. I’m sure you understand the nature of this type of study, at the present at least, makes it very difficult to give a definitive answer to these types of questions. I would say that the scene and setting could make a huge difference to the nature of the experience. So, yes, your Mr Chappell could have a huge influence on the nature of the experience.’
‘Thank you, Dr Forrest, you’ve been very helpful,’ said Louise, feeling as if she knew less than when she’d begun the conversation.
She didn’t have any time to think further as Coulson knocked on the door.
‘Come in, Simon.’
The tech consultant was red, his brow wet with perspiration. ‘Everything okay?’ asked Louise.
‘Yes. We’ve got a location for Amy’s phone.’
Chapter Fifty-Three
Amy stuck her head back inside, and began jumping to some conclusions, none of which she liked. It seemed Jay must have arranged to meet Nicole after leaving Amy that morning. She remembered Nicole’s flushed face yesterday when she’d first met Jay. Amy had recognised the adoring look. She’d seen it on the face of Megan and the other members of the group; had seen it in the mirror. She should have realised when Nicole hadn’t shown up for work that something was wrong.
With a heavy sigh she picked up her coat, the familiarity of the denim fabric comforting. The phone was on the table, still switched off. It was against the rules to have a phone, let alone take one to a ceremony, but she took it anyway, covering the bulge in her jeans pocket with the length of her grungy black T-shirt.
Nicole ran to her as she left the building, wrapping her arms around her as if they hadn’t seen each other in months. It made Amy feel like a grown up. She glanced at Jay, who gave her an enigmatic smile in response; as if Nicole being there was the most natural thing in the world.
Together they walked along the Upper Bristol Road and down through Grove Park towards town. Nicole held her hand as they made the steep descent. Jay, whose hoodie was pulled over his head, walked ahead giving Amy the chance to quiz her friend. ‘Is everything okay?’ she asked.
‘Everything is wonderful. I’m sorry I didn’t call into work this morning. Was it busy?’
‘Were you with him?’ asked Amy. The question sounded more aggressive than she’d intended and Nicole stopped still.
‘He said you wouldn’t mind,’ she said, the happiness slipping from her face.
Amy closed her eyes, the sound of the twittering birds and the smell of the flowers filling her senses. ‘I don’
t mind as such,’ she said, opening her eyes into the glare of the sun escaping from behind a cloud. ‘I’m worried you don’t know what you’re doing.’
‘I’m not a little girl, you know. You’re not that much older than me.’
‘I’m not saying that, Nicole.’ Amy shook her head. Jay was standing at the foot of the hill. Even from this distance she could see the smile on his face, the confident way he stood. As if he’d planned this little confrontation all along. ‘Did he tell you what we do?’ she asked.
‘He showed me,’ said Nicole, the smile returning. ‘It’s okay, I’ve done drugs before. I go to uni, for heaven’s sake.’
‘What did you take?’
‘Jay made me a tea. Ayahuasca. He told me what I would see and I did. You wouldn’t believe how happy I am now. Or maybe you would,’ said Nicole, moving towards her.
She should have been happy for her friend. DMT was a gift. It had changed her life. Before meeting Jay, a shroud had covered her. She would have taken her life earlier but a combination of cowardliness, and a perverse feeling that she would be dishonouring the memory of Aiden, had stopped her. Jay had shown her what was waiting and although she hadn’t directly seen him when she’d made the trip, she knew Aiden was there too.
But just because it was right for her, it didn’t mean it was right for everyone. Nicole had a full life ahead of her, had no reason to think about moving on. Everyone else Jay had helped – Victoria, Claire, Sally and Megan, and the three others still with them – had a reason to take DMT, to experience the afterlife and one day move on. What would Nicole’s story be?
She couldn’t deny there was an inkling of jealousy in the way she was feeling. Sometimes it was difficult for her to see Jay sharing himself. But that didn’t fully explain her concern. Jay’s behaviour was becoming more erratic. The way he’d helped Megan move on coupled with what the policewoman had told her about Jay’s other name, was proof enough of that. And now it was clear that he was in hiding. She still believed in him, was sure he had her and the others’ best interests in mind, but what if all the pressure was getting to him, was forcing him to take risks and therefore make mistakes?
