Déjà Vu

by Stephen Edger

  ‘But when he got up around five and found her side of the bed hadn’t been slept in, he went looking for her, expecting to see her passed out on the sofa. But she wasn’t and the front door was ajar, so he went outside to see if she was there, and that’s when he spotted her in the front seat of her car. It was only as he looked closer that he saw her top was covered in blood, and she wasn’t breathing.

  ‘He immediately called 999 and the first responders arrived ten minutes later, but she was pronounced dead at the scene. The kids are in bits, as you’d imagine.’

  Megan pictured the nightmare of Janice’s face between her knees as she thrust the blade again and again into the body.

  ‘That’s horrible,’ she managed to say, to break the awkward silence.

  ‘It is that! You know I’ve been in this job for years, and never quite seen anything like that. I hope I never get used to seeing such grisly scenes. Thankfully, murders are few and far between.’ He paused, nodding at her cup. ‘That’ll be getting cold.’

  Oh God, he wanted to see her hands. What if her attempts to scrub the blood from her fingers had failed? What if his eagle-eyes spotted a trace she’d missed form her nails? That would be game over.

  Keeping her shaking right hand squashed between her thighs, she raised her left hand and put the cup to her lips. The refreshment brought welcome relief.

  ‘You left-handed are you?’ he enquired, absently. ‘Me too! You know, in ancient times they used to say that being left-handed was a sign you’d been touched by the devil. It was why so many forced themselves to write with their other hand. All poppy-cock of course, but makes you think, doesn’t it?’

  She forced an unconvincing smile. ‘Do you need me to make a statement?’

  ‘Aye, if you give me your address I’ll have one of my team come round to see you. I appreciate your memory is in a fragile state at the moment, but if you do remember anything more about last night, I’d appreciate it if you called it in. We want to act quickly to catch the perpetrator.’

  She blinked several times. Had he bought her story? Was she in the clear?

  He slid a business card across the table. ‘This is the office number, but any of my team will be able to get hold of me.’

  She lifted the card, reading the name DCI Toshack, before dropping it into her handbag. She so desperately wanted to tell him what she’d woken up to this morning, but it was like some invisible hand was pressed firmly over her lips

  FORTY-NINE

  The Better Health practice in Bournemouth was a far grander affair than the site Jake had visited in Bursledon last night. In a custom-built building, painted white and with the green and purple logo shining on every available surface, it felt more like a private medical clinic than psychiatrists’ offices. Even the spaces in the car park were wider than standard, meaning even though Jake was forced to park between two other cars, there was still plenty of space to open his door and climb out.

  The car park’s floor was a mosaic of different coloured bricks, recreating the company logo, and everything about the place cried flagship. The retail park immediately behind the offices contained the usual selection of chain stores, bars and restaurants, as well as a multiscreen cinema and ten pin bowling complex. It looked and felt fresh and clean, which was so rare in such places these days. Trees and bushes lined the pavements, providing just enough greenery to detract from the brickwork.

  The automatic doors slid open as he approached, and a woman in a sparkling white uniform welcomed him. Her hair as purple as the company logo, she had a perfect smile, and a healthy figure, a modern-day poster girl for better mental health. The woman, whose name badge identified her as Crystal, was holding a lime green clipboard and welcomed him, asking if he was a new patient or whether he had been before.

  Jake took her to one side, presenting his identification where the other clients wouldn’t see. She seemed to appreciate his discretion and led him through to a room marked ‘Staff Only’. The room, barely four feet square was fitted with a small steel sink and draining board, a cupboard overhead and a lonely kettle stood on the drainer. For all the pomp and luxury offered to clients out front, little effort had been made with the staff room.

  ‘How can I help you, detective,’ she asked, the bright grin dropped as they were now out of sight.

  ‘I’ve already visited your Bursledon office yesterday and the Poole branch this morning. And now I’m here. I am looking for details on one of your patients, a man by the name Charles, or Carlos, Xavier. And before you give me the line about patient-doctor confidentiality you should know that Mr Xavier passed away on Sunday night.’

  She blinked several times, processing the information. ‘I’m not sure what I can do to help, so it may be best if you speak to one of the partners.’ She began to chew the tip of one of her false nails. ‘I’m just temping here and I don’t want to say anything that could cost me my job.’

  He gently patted her arm. ‘And I don’t want to put you in such a position. I tell you what, why don’t you go and explain to the partners who I am and ask if one of them can see me as a matter of urgency?’

  Crystal nodded, and asked him to wait in the office while she went to find someone who could help. Meanwhile Jake checked his phone for messages, but nothing new had come in from Harry as of yet.

  There was a knock at the door a few minutes later, and Jake was amazed to see the face of a woman he immediately recognised. ‘It’s Helen, isn’t it? We met yesterday at the Bursledon office.’

  Helen closed the door. Her face was a tangle of anxiety and frustration, and she was holding several folders in her arms. It looked like she didn’t need the distraction.

  ‘Here, let me help with those,’ Jake offered, taking the folders from her and resting them on the countertop next to the kettle. He was tempted to offer to make her a cup of tea, as she looked like she needed it, but he resisted. Instead, he moved one of the chairs towards her, but she remained on her feet.

  ‘What can we do for you today, detective...?

  ‘It’s DS Knight, but please call me Jake.’

  She rested a single hand along the back of the chair, supporting her tired body, and brushed a stray curl of white hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. ‘Is this regarding the same matter as yesterday?’

  ‘Indeed it is. Listen, I know the company want to maintain their patient-confidentiality. I get that; I really do, but I need to know more about this victim. He killed himself, and I need to understand why. There must be somebody here who can help.’

  Helen considered him, and apparently deciding he wasn’t a threat, nodded her head. ‘Dr Marshall: she’s our locum, spends a day a week in each practice and is responsible for undertaking new patient assessments. She’s here today, and more than likely would have met with this man at some point. At the very least she should be able to locate his file and tell you what you need to know.’

  Finally he was getting through to them! He wanted to hug her, but kept his arms by his sides. ‘Do you work here too?’

  ‘I’m the senior administrator,’ she said, tapping her badge. ‘But it’s less interesting than it sounds,’ she added with a slight chuckle, the tension seeming to ease in her shoulders for the first time since she’d arrived in the room.

  ‘Do staff receive free consultations as a perk of the job?’

  She chuckled again. ‘No, though most could probably do with a moment to discuss their issues! Not that any of us could afford to with the wages on offer.’ Her cheeks flushed slightly. ‘I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. What must you think of me? I’m responsible for all the admin staff – the receptionists – for each practice. When one is off sick I either have to get a temp in or cover myself, which is why I was in Southampton yesterday. Most of my time is spent typing session notes.’ She pointed at the stack of folders. ‘Some of the doctors dictate notes, others scribble. Muggins here has to type them up for the patient files.’

  ‘It’s quite an operation
you’ve got here,’ Jake said, meaning it. ‘It almost make me want to join.’

  ‘I think they have plans to set up the other sites to mirror this one in time, but for now we are where we are. Come with me, and I’ll introduce you to Dr Samantha Marshall.

  Jake followed her out of the room, through the spacious and clean-feeling waiting room, and to a white corridor with two thick green and purple lines running the length, about halfway up. They stopped at the third closed wooden door, the only door without the doctor’s name emblazoned on the panelling.

  Helen knocked twice, before opening the door and peering round to make sure Dr Marshall wasn’t with a patient. ‘Hi Sam,’ she said, ‘let me introduce Detective Sergeant Jake Knight. He needs to ask some questions about one of our patients, now deceased. I thought you’d be able to assist him.’

  Dr Samantha Marshall could have been a model, and was yet another fine example of better mental health. Wearing a figure-hugging bright red dress that stopped just above the knees, her smile stretched from ear to ear, and as she stood to introduce herself to Jake, she swept her loose long blonde hair over one side of her head.

  She offered a hand, which Jake shook, feeling awkward as her cool skin brushed his clammy palm.

  Helen left the room, closing the door behind her, and Dr Marshall invited Jake to sit. A ceiling fan whirred overhead, bringing with it welcome cool air. Dr Marshall returned to her place on the office chair closest to the desk, before opening a search window.

  ‘Who is the patient we’re searching for?’ she asked calmly.

  ‘Charles, or Carlos, Xavier. I’ve checked with the Bursledon and Poole branches and neither had him down as a patient.’

  She typed the name into the box, and it returned one entry, but rather than clicking on it, she asked him to move away from the screen. He obliged while she quickly read the cover notes.

  ‘And you can confirm he has definitely passed away?’ she asked, turning to look at him.

  ‘Suicide on Sunday night,’ Jake said grimly. ‘It’s been suggested he was seeing one of the doctors in this group for some time, and that he also attended a bereavement support group in Southampton twice a month. I just want to understand what changed to make him give up and end it all.’

  ‘I was the one treating Carlos,’ she admitted. ‘I’m saddened to hear he’s passed. Can you tell me how he did it?’

  ‘Drove his car into a lake. Drowned.’

  Her nose wrinkled. ‘Such a shame. He was a really nice guy. Quiet, but always very charming and supportive of others. The bereavement group you spoke about was partly his idea. He asked me whether it was possible to meet with other patients suffering from the loss of a child, and that sparked a conversation with Dr Patel, and the group was born.’

  ‘Can you tell me when you last saw him here?’

  She consulted the screen. ‘Two weeks ago.’

  Jake thought back to the initials “DM” on Carlos’s kitchen calendar for today. ‘And were you due to see him again?’

  ‘Today as a matter of fact. He has an appointment booked for two p.m.’

  ‘Had you noticed any kind of change in his behaviour recently? Anything to make you think he might have been planning to kill himself?’

  Her brow furrowed as she thought for a moment. ‘To be honest, no. If anything I thought we were finally starting to make a breakthrough with his treatment. He’d started running to get himself out of the house, and was making an effort to stop and speak to people he passed in the street. At least that’s what he told me a couple of sessions ago. He’d become so isolated in the years since his son...’ She paused and fixed Jake with a stare. ‘When a parent loses a child, often they can build up emotional walls to insulate themselves. Subconsciously they believe that they can’t be hurt again if they don’t let anyone in, but that only slows the grieving process, and Carlos had become trapped in the cycle.’

  ‘Dr Patel said something about him blaming himself for his son’s death?’

  ‘Oh yes, he did. He never wanted to say exactly why he felt so guilty, but I suppose it was because he felt he’d failed his son. When a person commits suicide all those left behind wonder whether there was anything more they could have done to stop it happening. I think Carlos felt his son should have been able to discuss his feelings with him, and that as a father he failed to see what was going on.’

  Jake was listening intently. ‘So, in your opinion, why did Carlos decide to kill himself now?’

  She frowned. ‘I wish I knew. I’m now beginning to wonder whether anything he told me was true. I thought the running and talking were improvements, but maybe he just told me what I wanted to hear.’

  ‘Oh he was definitely running,’ Jake said, wanting to comfort her, but unsure why. ‘He was going out twice a day.’

  ‘That’s something I suppose,’ she said gratefully, though her expression remained low. ‘I see you’re married,’ she said, nodding towards his left hand. ‘Do you have children?’

  Jake glanced at the ring, wondering whether he would continue to wear it after the divorce. ‘One, a daughter,’ he said, unable to stop the proud smile breaking out.

  ‘And what would you do if she wasn’t there tomorrow?’

  His smile evaporated immediately. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Exactly! None of us do. I don’t have children, but I can imagine how devastating a sorrow that must be; I’ve seen it in so many patients. And although everyone reacts to circumstances differently, the grief and loss is as deep for most; like losing a limb.’

  Jake sat back and rested his foot on his knee. ‘What kind of treatment was Carlos receiving? Medication?’

  ‘We don’t prescribe drugs here. If we believe a patient would genuinely benefit from taking something to restore their balance then we would speak with their GP about the best narcotic treatment. But we try not to rely on substances to repair ill mental health.’

  ‘And in Carlos’s case?’

  She glanced back at the screen to be sure. ‘No, we certainly hadn’t recommended anything, but you’d need to double-check with his GP to be certain.’

  Jake made a note of the GP’s details as she read them out. ‘So the two of you would just talk, is that it?’

  ‘Treatments vary by patient and depending on whatever is troubling them. For Carlos, he couldn’t forgive himself for what had happened to his son. So I would talk to him about how he was feeling each time, sometimes we would practise some meditation techniques, and -’

  ‘Whoa, whoa,’ Jake interrupted. ‘What do you mean by meditation techniques? Chanting?’

  She chortled. ‘Not exactly. It’s a combination of breathing techniques, listening to relaxing music and the power of suggestion.’

  ‘Hypnosis?’

  ‘Not exactly. It’s not like what used to be on the television where I’d snap my fingers and he’d cluck like a chicken, but as part of the process, I would offer reassuring positive thoughts, telling him to forgive himself, and that what happened wasn’t his fault.’

  ‘And he would be asleep during this process?’

  ‘No, no, not asleep. In a trance-like state maybe, but it was just a way of lowering the emotional barrier he’d put up. If you imagine the positive affirmations as letters being pushed through a tiny letter box. It was up to him to open the envelopes and accept them. I thought we were making progress, but then...’ Her words trailed off.

  Jake stood, his questions asked, but still feeling no closer to an outcome as to why Carlos had driven into that river.

  FIFTY

  She froze, straining to hear any sound. Overhead a night bird’s tweet echoed through the darkness. And as she held her breath, desperately hoping he wouldn’t hear the galloping of her chest, the panic grew within.

  Surrounded by an all-engulfing black, she could barely see her hand in front of her face, let alone whatever horrors lay beyond it.

  She couldn’t hear any movement, but she could sense him out there somewhere, waitin
g to strike. And as much as she wanted to curl into a ball and disappear into the muddy ground she was knelt in, she knew she had to continue onwards.

  Pressing both palms into the ice cold squelch of liquid mud, she tried to slow her breathing, but as she opened her mouth they came thick and fast. It was now or never, and with the burning desperation to cling to life, she pushed herself upwards, tucking her feet beneath her legs, and digging them into the slippery surface.

  And pausing to hear whether her own small movements had been heard by whatever was waiting for her, she prepared for the greatest dash of her life.

  Clamping her eyes shut, she willed tem to adjust to the dark surroundings, but as she opened them again, she still couldn’t see anything more than a foot ahead of her. There was no telling what kind of wildlife and foliage she would rush into before her mind had been able to process it. But what choice did she have: push on and risk injury, or stay put and wait to be found?

  It wasn’t a choice.

  And with a deep breath, she pushed up with all her might, stretching both hands out in front of her, hoping her fingers would prove an adequate warning system, and enable her to change direction before it was too late.

  Thin twigs and rotting leaves brushed against the tips of her fingers, during those first unsteady stomps. Each time her foot escaped the muddy prison, it would bring with it the brown grip, before splatting down into a new and slippery trap. After ten paces, it didn’t feel like she’d made any progress from where she’d been crouched down. Not that she could see the imprint her knees and hands had made, as that had already been swallowed by the darkness.

  There was no wind rushing against her, but this place was definitely cold, but maybe it was the terror that was lowering her body temperature. Either way, she didn’t want to hang around and debate it as she tore further forwards.

  The foliage had thickened here, and low hanging branches scratched at the skin of her upper arms, as she twisted and turned, trying to narrow the shape of her body to minimise the contact with the invisible tunnel she was channelling through.