Déjà Vu

by Stephen Edger

  ‘Okay, Megan,’ Patel began, ‘I want you to relax as much as you can. I want you to take a deep breath in, and slowly release it. Do you remember how you did it last time?’

  She inhaled deeply through her nose, allowing her eyelids to close in the process.

  ‘That’s good. In...and out...in and out...while you’re doing that I want you to focus on only my voice. I want you to think about a place that feels safe to you. It could be a room in your home, or maybe somewhere you used to go when you were a child; somewhere that makes you feel happy. And keep breathing in and out slowly, feeling all the stress slowly rising from your body, like a layer of clothing being peeled away. Your shoulders are relaxing, and you feel comfortable. There is nothing in this place but you and my voice. Picture the place. How does it look? How does it smell? Keep picturing it while breathing in and out. And are you noticing that your body is growing more still and beginning to feel warmer?’

  Megan could see the inside of the caravan where she and Rob had stayed in Weymouth. She was lying on the sofa where he had hugged her close and first told her he loved her. She’d never felt more safe her entire life.

  ‘There is a door in this place. Can you see it? It’s a single door and handle, and behind it is your locked memories. There is no need to be fearful of this door as it has a lock and you have the only key. The key is in your hand now. Can you feel it? It’s a big brass key with grooves on both sides. Why don’t you move towards that door now, and use the key. Can you see how easy that was? Just you and the door and the key in this safe place, and the sound of my voice to guide you.’

  Megan woke with a start, her head snapping around to Patel whose skin was looking unnaturally pale, and to Wanda whose makeup had left tearful streaks across her cheeks.

  ‘I remember,’ she whispered, her throat feeling incredibly dry.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  By three o’clock, the floor of the police Headquarters building was buzzing, with talk of the murder investigation. Overhead the sky couldn’t be seen for the thick grey cloud coverage. The air held that stench of damp that always preceded a major storm.

  Jake located DCI Toshack hunched over the computer screen in his office. Knocking twice, Jake waited for Tosh to look up before heading in.

  ‘Ah, the prodigal son returns,’ Tosh’s deep voice boomed. ‘Welcome back, Jake. Take a seat, bud.’

  Jake dropped into the chair across the small desk.

  ‘I’m glad you stopped by,’ Tosh continued, his accent sounding more Welsh than usual, ‘I need to have a word.’ He stood suddenly, moved behind Jake and closed the office door.

  Jake’s shoulders tensed instinctively. A chat was one thing, but talks where the door was deliberately closed first, those ones never ended well.

  Tosh returned to his seat, pushing the keyboard away so he could rest his forearms on the desk. Running his fingers through the thick white moustache, he looked like he was struggling to remember what it was they needed to speak about; either that or he was worried about how Jake would react.

  ‘Thing is, Jake, it’s like this you see; DS Waverley has made a formal request to take on the mentorship of young Annie Lockwood.’

  Jake winced; he’d been expecting this news, but just not so soon. He ground his teeth, but kept his mouth shut.

  ‘He’s submitted the request in writing, and I’ve got to be honest, it’s a compelling argument. With Annie’s poor decision-making on Tuesday afternoon, swiftly followed by your wallop on McGregor...well, you can see how it looks.’

  ‘But I didn’t officially strike McGregor, remember? How can he use that as an excuse?’

  Tosh cocked his head. ‘But we all know you did it, Jake. I doubt there’s a single officer in this station who doesn’t know why you did it. And what’s more, he’s ordered his boys to come after you for revenge. You need to watch your back.’

  Jake rolled his eyes. ‘Even so, Tosh, come on, this is me; I’m not dumb enough to do it again. It was a momentary lapse in concentration. Besides, Annie has made real progress under my guidance and supervision; you have to admit that.’

  ‘Listen, bud, I know you regret your actions, and I have no doubt that the incident will ever be repeated, but it isn’t me you need to convince. It’s out of my hands, so it is. Waverley – that snake – took his request direct to Chief Superintendent Tillman; went over my head, so he did. And although the Chief Super may ask my opinion on the matter, you know she isn’t your biggest fan; not anymore.’

  ‘Annie will be disappointed.’

  ‘I have no doubt, but to be fair there probably isn’t any harm with her learning a different approach to casework. You know there isn’t one right way, and that a strong team is made up of differing opinions. It could help her in the long run.’

  Jake closed his eyes, worried about the next answer. ‘Where does that leave me? Has he petitioned to have me booted off the team too?’

  Tosh snorted. ‘There may be some things out of my control, but who I have in my team is all down to me, and she knows better than to interfere with the selection process. No, don’t worry, I very much want you to stick around in MIT, Jakey boy, you have my word. Besides, we have an opening coming up soon for a new probationary detective, and I’ll need someone to show him or her the ropes.’ Tosh snapped his fingers and pointed at Jake. ‘You okay with that?’

  What choice did he have? The detective-in-training programme was for those PCs who had passed the relevant examination to work in the team for three months and prove they had the mettle to continue. Jake didn’t mind working with someone new, but he would miss Annie’s outlook. It could be worse; at least she would be returning to the team.

  ‘I might have someone in mind who would be a good fit for the unit.’

  ‘Ah,’ Tosh smiled, ‘I assume you’re referring to PC Harry Venables?’

  Jake had no idea how the DCI always kept his finger on the pulse.

  ‘I heard you’d been making use of him,’ Tosh continued. ‘Did you really think I’d just let you run free over at division? You should have known I’d be keeping tabs.’

  ‘He’s a bit rough around the edges, but there’s potential there.’

  ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ Tosh suddenly clapped his hands together, like he was trying to symbolise that chapter had been closed off. ‘Right, boyo, did you manage to take a statement from the woman in the wheelchair?’

  Jake nodded. ‘I met with her, but the outcome was she couldn’t remember any pertinent details about the last time she saw Janice Walker. They’d been out drinking cocktails – a whole group of them – and Janice and Megan returned in a taxi. She says the last thing she saw was Janice opening her door, before the taxi pulled away. Have you met her?’

  Tosh nodded. ‘She was at the crime scene this morning when the victim’s husband quickly pointed her out.’

  ‘What’s your take on her?’

  Thick lines appeared in Tosh’s forehead. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘On Wednesday evening, Rita Enfield plummets to her death, and Megan Hopkirk just happens to be in the vicinity, and then fast-forward twenty-four hours and she just happens to be the last person to see Janice Walker alive.’

  ‘You think she’s involved?’

  ‘Why not? She had opportunity on both occasions.’

  Tosh’s lips curled into a disbelieving smile. ‘Are you pulling my leg, boyo?’

  ‘There’s something not right about her, Tosh. When I turned up at her place she showed me this Dream Journal she reckons she keeps. In it, she’s recorded descriptions of a woman leaping to her death from a tall tower, and Janice Walker being brutally stabbed to death. She claims she had dreams of both situations prior to their deaths.’

  The smile grew wider on Tosh’s face. ‘You feeling alright, Jakey boy? You’re taking the word of psychics now are you?’

  Jake scowled. ‘No, I don’t believe her claims, but the descriptions were so detailed that I can’t help but think she’s invol
ved in the deaths somehow. You’ve been to the scene in Chandlers Ford, is it possible that she could have stabbed Janice to death before returning home?’

  ‘Means? Motive?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. Was the murder weapon found at the scene?’

  Tosh nodded. ‘Kitchen knife – the victim’s – but the handle was wiped clean, and no alien prints have been found at the scene so far; only those of the husband and children in and around the car.’

  ‘You still think the husband is involved?’

  Tosh shrugged. ‘Nine times out of ten it’s a friend or loved one. His alibi is that he was upstairs in bed and didn’t hear the attack. Neighbours say they were a loving couple who rarely argued, so it would be a bit out of the blue, but it’s happened before. One day the spouse just snaps and...’ Tosh clicked his fingers. ‘We’re not ruling anyone out, but he’s the person of most interest so far.’

  ‘We know that Megan knew the victim, and that they were back in contact because Janice was trying to get Megan back into work from long-term sickness. What if it was Megan who snapped?’

  ‘That’s why I had SOCO search for any evidence that the stabbing could have been committed by someone sat in a wheelchair, but they said whoever stabbed Janice was stood over her on that car seat. Besides, with the amount of blood that pooled on the paving slabs just outside of the car, they’d have found tyre tracks from the chair. And as for the Rita Enfield’s suicide, the witness was at ground level when the body plummeted. How do you explain how she could have got into position so quickly had she pushed the victim from the rooftop?’

  ‘Her psychiatrist says her paralysis is psychosomatic.’

  ‘What now?’

  ‘Psychosomatic: it means a buried stress of some kind is being manifested in a physical way. A psychological issue is causing the loss of feeling in her legs. It’s all in her head, or at least that’s what the doctors have concluded. Physically there is no reason for her inability to walk. What if she’s faking? Would be a good way to cover her tracks; no pun intended.’

  Tosh looked suitably impressed with Jake’s explanation. ‘Even so, bud, there’s still no physical evidence tying her to the crimes.’

  ‘How do you explain her dreams then?’

  ‘Probably just another hustler trying to cash in on people’s misery. Look, if it makes you feel any better, we’ll do some gentle digging into her background, but I’m not convinced by your theory thus far. Are you all done with that case in the New Forest? I had a message from the Inspector down there – Inspector Carlton, isn’t it? – she was full of praise for your work ethic. Said she’d thought you would do the bear minimum, but you played a key role in finding the victim or something. I’ll print it off and stick it in your personnel file. It couldn’t have come at a better time.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m not planning to have any further involvement down there. Does this mean I’m back in the fold proper now?’

  Tosh smiled broadly. ‘Absolutely. With today’s stabbing we need all hands to the pump. Head out to the assignments board and pick something that needs working. We’re going to have a team brief within the hour, so don’t stray too far.’

  Jake excused himself and Tosh returned to whatever he’d been reading on the monitor. Jake headed down to the staff restaurant, which was more like a school canteen, with vending machines lining the back wall, and a small hot food counter. Subsidised hot meals were available from five until seven for those who wanted them, but for now he would have to choose a sandwich from the largest of the vending machines. Jake chose cheese and pickle and a bottle of water, and went to find a table, spotting PC Durridge sat alone reading a newspaper.

  ‘Mind if I sit?’ Jake asked, dropping his sandwich packet to the table.

  ‘Be my guest,’ Durridge replied, closing and folding the paper. ‘I’m going out for a cigarette anyway.’

  ‘Wait,’ Jake asked quietly, ‘before you go, can I ask you a couple of questions about the Rita Enfield suicide?’

  Durridge smiled warmly. ‘Certainly.’

  ‘You were the first to interview Megan Hopkirk, weren’t you?’

  Durridge nodded.

  ‘What did you think of her? Anything strike you as, I don’t know, odd?’’

  ‘What’s your interest in her?’

  ‘She’s witness in another case we’re working in MIT and I had to take a statement from her. I just wondered how she came across to you.’

  ‘She seemed very sweet. She was clearly in shock when I spoke to her at the scene, but she was more collected when she came into the station the following morning.’

  ‘Did she mention anything to you about having a dream about the suicide?’

  ‘Ah,’ Durridge said, with a nod, ‘I see what this is about now. I take it she told you about her vision of someone leaping from the building and that’s why she’d gone there?’

  Jake nodded as he bit into his sandwich.

  ‘A word of warning with that one,’ Durridge continued, ‘she’s seeing some quack, and I’m not sure she’s all there, if you get me? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think she meant any harm, and I advised her to go and see her psychiatrist and get some proper help. She’s been through quite an ordeal this year, what with the fire and losing her partner.’

  Jake swallowed his mouthful. ‘Yeah that was the vibe I got. She reckons she also had a dream about the victim in our case being murdered, and I just want to rule her out as a possible suspect.’

  Durridge rubbed his chin with a hand. ‘Never say never, but I didn’t pick up on anything that would suggest she’s a killer. That said, her psyche isn’t in the best place.’

  ‘Anything else about Rita’s final movements that struck you as odd?’

  Durridge thought for a moment. ‘Nothing that springs to mind. We traced her final hour courtesy of the city’s security cameras. She was at the Wetherspoons at the bottom end of town, took a call, left the bar and walked up through the city and down to the station, before gaining access to the building and heading up in the lift.’

  Jake dropped his sandwich. ‘Who called her?’

  ‘Some pre-paid number or something. It’s in the report upstairs.’

  ‘Have you managed to trace who the number belongs to?’

  ‘I’m not sure, why?’

  ‘Humour me,’ Jake said, pulling out his notepad and tearing a sheet out of it, scribbling the number Harry had supplied. ‘Can you check if it’s this number? And if so where it was when it called?’

  Durridge looked confused but folded the page and nodded. ‘No worries. How urgent is this?’

  ‘If you could let me know as soon as you do, I’d appreciate it,’ Jake said.

  Durridge stood. ‘Okay. As soon as I’ve finished my cigarette I’ll go and check.’

  Jake thanked him and quickly finished his sandwich, as a new theory began to formulate in his head. It was something that Dr Marshall had said in Bournemouth this morning. It was crazy, but maybe there was more to it than he’d first thought.

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  ‘If you can slide your top off carefully for me, please, Megan, we’ll begin the examination,’ the nurse from the sexual assault referral centre said quietly, snapping on the blue latex gloves.

  Megan remained still, making no effort to pull the long-sleeved top over her head. It had been a present from Rob the Christmas before last, and she’d only put it on to feel him closer to her.

  ‘I wasn’t wearing this when...when it happened,’ she replied quietly.

  The nurse stopped what she was doing and fixed Megan with an empathetic stare. ‘I appreciate that, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it won’t contain transfer that could prove helpful to any court case.’

  She hugged the top closer. ‘Will I get it back?’

  The nurse didn’t comment at first. ‘The technicians will examine it in one piece initially, but if they do find something of interest, there is a possibility that they will need to retain it.’ Then as if reading M
egan’s mind she added, ‘Does it hold sentimental value?’

  ‘My partner gave it to me.’

  ‘I will add a note to the list of items requesting that it be returned in one piece if at all possible, okay?’

  Megan nodded, and reluctantly pulled the sleeves down, before lifting it up and over her head. Wanda had driven them to the police station, encouraging Megan to report it so that the taxi driver could be prevented from attacking anyone else in the future. Dr Patel’s regression had cemented his face in her mind, and she’d now recalled the name on his identification plate which had been stuck to the dashboard. But before a formal statement would be taken, the young officer she’d spoken to at the desk had said a forensic medical examination was the priority.

  ‘I bathed this morning,’ Megan warned, as she dropped the top in the open transparent bag the nurse was holding. ‘I didn’t even know what had happened. I saw blood on my legs, but I scrubbed them clean. I thought...I thought...’

  The nurse sealed the bag, before dropping into the chair next to Megan and leaning close. ‘I know this isn’t easy. I must have carried out hundreds of these examinations in my career, and it never gets any easier. We can take this as slowly as you need, and I won’t do anything unless you give your express permission. And if you decide to stop once the examination has begun, all you have to do is tell me, and I will immediately cease. Or if you decide you don’t want to continue speaking to the police afterwards that’s also okay. But if you do want to ensure the person who did this to you gets justice, then this examination and your subsequent statement to the police is the best foot forwards.’

  Megan looked into her eyes; barely old enough to drive, but her choice of sensible footwear suggested she was no fresh face. Her brown hair was cut in a bob and framed her small round face, which bore no trace of makeup.

  The private room in the police station resembled a triage office at any local hospital, with a bed, two chairs, sink and cupboard of medical supplies. The sign on the door had been marked as “Private”, and only those who’d ever been inside would know what was being undertaken within.