Déjà Vu

by Stephen Edger

  Jake threw his pen at the computer screen. ‘Absolutely none.’

  ‘So how did he or she do it? And why now? Why not earlier, and where are they now?’

  Therein lay the answer to the mystery, without which, Tosh wouldn’t even begin to consider the hypothesis.

  ‘Whomever it is, do you think they’re done now?’ Harry asked, returning to the screen and the article he was reading. ‘Or are you expecting another body to turn up?’

  Jake thought back to the warning Megan had given in the corridor downstairs: it wasn’t me he was chasing; it was you.

  ‘Has the name Megan Hopkirk come up at all? IC-3 female, late twenties, boyfriend was killed in a flat fire at the start of the year. Too young to be related to DeVane I’d have thought.’

  Harry stared blankly back at him. ‘Not one I’ve heard of.’

  ‘She...’ Jake began, pausing as he wondered how much of the backstory he should share. ‘She claims to have dreamt about all three crimes. And before you ask, no I don’t believe in psychics or any of that mumbo-jumbo, but she is adamant that she saw all three crimes take place, and I believe she believes her story. She was the last person to see Janice Walker alive, and was at the jump site where Rita Enfield fell from. Her psychiatrist tells me it is all in her head – she’s psychosomatic or something as well – but I can’t see anything that formally links her to the two suicides. So why entangle herself in the investigations? We know she didn’t kill Janice, and a background check showed nothing about psychic services.’ He shook his head dismissively. ‘I don’t know, there’s something about her that stands out, and I can’t for the life of me work out what.’

  ‘There’s no reference to her or anyone matching that description in what we’ve looked at. Maybe she really does have magical powers,’ Harry added with a grin.

  ‘She reckons someone is after me. At least, she had a dream where she was being chased, but she’s now concluded I’m the subject of the dream. I don’t know, maybe she’s just trying to screw with my mind.’

  ‘You think she could be the next victim? You know you’re suggesting a serial killer at work here.’

  Jake knew exactly what he was suggesting and how seriously the claim would be taken if he could just find the evidence to support it.

  Jake’s phone beeped, a message from Isabella asking what time he’d be home. She’d thrown herself at him as he’d tried to leave, and he’d had to decline as politely as he could. He was still reeling from her suggestion that they give their marriage a second chance. She’d said she could see he still loved her, and while he knew deep down he always would love her, divorce or not, he wasn’t so sure he was in love with her. There was so much had come between them, and he’d resigned himself to the formal separation. Now he couldn’t work out which was more terrifying: splitting up or staying together.

  He ignored the message and put the phone in his pocket, but as he did, a new idea presented itself.

  ‘The phone calls,’ he said, clicking his fingers. ‘We know the same number called both Carlos and Rita before their deaths. What if the killer blackmailed them into suicide? You know like, he said kill yourself or I’ll hurt your family. Or, kill yourself or wait for me to do it, or something.’

  ‘Yeah, but if you got the call wouldn’t your first step be to phone the police? I know that’s what I’d do. I wouldn’t think “that’s a tempting offer,” and find the nearest office block.’

  ‘So what would convince you to kill yourself? How bad would things have to be for you to think that was the only way out?’

  Harry frowned at him. ‘I don’t think I’d ever reach that point. I’d like to think I would reach out for help before I got to that stage.’

  Jake leaned back in his chair, pondering how desperate he’d have to feel to ever contemplate taking his own life. He knew there were plenty who suffered with depression and other mental illnesses that could lead to a feeling of worthlessness, but he’d never seen his life taking that kind of direction.

  ‘What about hypnosis,’ he suddenly said before he could stop the words escaping.

  ‘You think someone hypnotised them into killing themselves? What about free will? I’m not sure even the strongest suggestion could do that.’

  But Jake’s mind was now racing and connecting dots with wilful abandon. He grabbed a marker and headed to the nearest dry-wipe board writing the three victims’ names on it. ‘We know that Carlos was seeing a psychiatrist at Better Health Partners in Bournemouth; I spoke to a very attractive doctor there who confirmed that hypnotic suggestive therapy can sometimes be used to try and unlock patient memory. Megan’s psychiatrist used something similar just today. And we know that Rita Enfield had to have been seeing a counsellor in order to be put forward for the Bereavement Support group. We’d have to check, but what if she was also receiving hypnotic suggestive therapy as part of her treatment? And what if whomever was delivering those sessions is involved in their deaths?’

  ‘And Janice Walker?’ Harry challenged, pulling a sceptical face.

  ‘She wasn’t receiving therapy, so the killer had to take a more hands-on approach, which is why she was stabbed, rather than killing herself.’

  ‘And the woman with the dreams?’

  Jake stopped, as his mind hadn’t reached that far. ‘She goes to the same psychiatry practice, and maybe she is to be the next victim.’

  ‘But, Jake, wait, I thought we agreed she wasn’t connected to the Andres abduction?’

  Jake waved away the question, feeling the theory met most of the evidence and that the rest would simply slot into place if he could prove the theory. Grabbing his anorak from the back of the chair, he looked grimly at the heavy rain splashing against the second floor windows.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Harry asked.

  ‘The lady doctor I spoke to – Dr Samantha Marshall – has blonde hair, blue eyes and is in her late twenties. I know she had sessions with Carlos Xavier, and I would bet money she also treated Rita Enfield. All I need is to prove it. You stay here and keep working through the kinks. Dig into Marshall’s background, and chase our friend from Interpol. I think I met DeVane’s daughter earlier today. And if I’m right, she isn’t finished with her spree yet. See if you can get a trace on Iris Xavier’s current location too, and get a unit over there. We have no time to waste.’

  SIXTY-FIVE

  The street outside Better Health Partners in Bursledon was packed with cars; residents who had finished at work and were now parked for the night.

  ‘I’ll drop you here,’ Wanda said, craning her neck to look for any kind of space she could drop the car in, ‘and as soon as I’ve found a space, I’ll park up. Call my mobile when you’re done and I’ll pull back round. Will you be alright getting inside?’

  The sun had almost set in the distance, and the sky above them remained covered in dark cloud as the rain continued to fall. The cut on Megan’s leg was sticky to the touch, but she could no longer feel the tingle of pain she’d experienced when falling from the wheelchair, and she was beginning to think she’d imagined it.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, as she opened the door, the rain splashing on the pavement.

  Wanda applied the handbrake and fetched the wheelchair, which was soaked through by the time Megan had managed to shift into it. Wanda closed the passenger door, darting back to the driver’s side, lowering the window. ‘Call me when you’re done. My mobile is on.’

  Megan felt a raindrop land on the back of her neck, and roll the length of her back, causing her to shiver. There was little by way of breeze here, but the excessively warm temperatures of the past week were gone.

  Pushing forwards, she squeezed the chair through the cut way of bushes, up the ramp and pressed the buzzer.

  ‘Megan Hopkirk,’ she shouted towards the microphone when it connected. ‘I know it’s late, but I really need to see someone urgently. Tonight. Please? I don’t have an appointment, but Dr Patel mentioned he was running clinics until ei
ght.’

  The door buzzed and opened. Reversing over the slight step, Megan proceeded to the lift, already feeling warmer by the time it reached the first floor. Helen, the administration manager was tidying a pile of folders as Megan rolled into the waiting area.

  ‘Oh it’s you again,’ Megan smiled. ‘Did the other lady finally give birth?’

  Helen smiled back whimsically. ‘Her partner collected her from here at three, and she gave birth just before six. I had to come in to cover. I’ve managed to sort a temp from tomorrow. They had a little boy.’

  A lump grew in Megan’s throat. Although she’d had more than one verbal battle with the receptionist, she was pleased the baby had been delivered safely; an event she would probably never experience.

  ‘Have they decided on a name yet?’

  Helen shook her head. ‘I think they were expecting a daughter, so it’s back to the drawing board. She lowered the folders, noticing the blood on Megan’s jeans. ‘Goodness me, are you okay? Do you want me to see to that for you?’

  Megan appreciated the offer; she wasn’t in any pain – couldn’t feel a thing – but it was probably an idea to have it cleaned up. ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance.’

  ‘I tell you what,’ Helen said, ‘Dr Patel is still with another patient. Why don’t we head into the other office, where you can lie down while I clean up your wound, and by the time we’re done, he should be out? I’ll message him now and ask him to hang back to see you.’

  Helen typed something into the computer, before leading Megan through to the office where she’d met with Dr Marshall yesterday.

  ‘You must think I’m crazy,’ Megan said, as Helen turned on the lights; the ceiling fan cutting in automatically. ‘Turning up unannounced and demanding to speak to a psychiatrist.’

  Helen grinned. ‘We’re all a little crazy around here. At least you’re trying to do something about yours. How are the dreams now?’

  The smile vanished from Megan’s face. ‘How do you know...?’

  A hand shot up to Helen’s mouth. ‘Oh, forgive me, I probably shouldn’t have asked. I type up patient notes from time-to-time,’ she explained, ‘which leaves me privy to certain information. I’m sorry, it’s none of my business. I have a big mouth sometimes.’

  Megan exhaled. ‘That’s okay. The dreams are...well, if you could see what goes on in my head, you’d definitely think I was crazy!’

  Helen helped Megan onto the long couch, and helped to delicately remove the jeans, even though Megan didn’t wince once as the jeans were peeled from the sticky wound.

  ‘How did you do this?’ Helen asked absently, as she applied a pair of latex gloves and fetched a bowl of water and some gauze strips.

  Megan pulled a face, explaining how the nightmare had led her to the forest.

  Helen was blowing gently on the wound. ‘I hope this doesn’t sting too much.’

  ‘That’s okay, I can’t feel anything below the pelvis. Dr Patel reckons it’s all in my head, but you could shove a needle into my leg and I wouldn’t feel it. I had all kinds of tests in hospital after the fire, but they couldn’t find anything physically wrong with me. See, I am mad!’

  Helen dabbed the wound with the gauze. ‘Psychosomatic disorders are a lot more common these days. It’s a fascinating subject area.’

  ‘I suppose you get to read about all kinds of conditions from the various patients. You must be an expert by now.’

  Helen nodded with pride. ‘I’m no expert, but I reckon I could hold my own in a pop quiz. Take your case for instance – if you don’t mind me saying – that your mind is seeing all these future events is miraculous. Tell me, why do you think you have them?’

  ‘Do you promise not to laugh?’

  Helen nodded again, as she pressed a sticky bandage over the wound.

  ‘Well, I think my partner is showing me so I can try and help those in danger. It sounds silly, but I felt him close by each time. But so far I have failed. That’s why I was so keen to try and help the detective.’

  ‘Is that DS Knight you’re referring to?’

  ‘Yes, do you know him?’

  ‘He stopped by to ask a couple of the doctors some questions. Do you know whether he’s made any progress in his investigation?’

  Megan frowned at the question. ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Helen suddenly said, ‘there’s me butting in to other people’s business again.’

  ‘No, it’s okay,’ Megan replied, her expression softening. Do you have any children of your own?’

  ‘I did. A little boy as well, but he died.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It was a long time ago, but I’ll never forget that first moment holding him to my chest, feeling his little heart pounding against mine. It isn’t right, parents burying their children.’

  Megan could empathise; it wasn’t much better burying a soul mate.

  ‘There we go,’ Helen said, snapping off the gloves. ‘As good as new! Do you want to pull your trousers up, and I’ll see if Dr Patel is ready for you.’

  Megan huffed and pulled the material back up her legs and over her bottom, before fastening them.

  Helen returned to the room a moment later. ‘He shouldn’t be too much longer. He said you might as well stay in here and he’ll come through in a minute. I told him you were a bit tense after your experience and he suggested you do some breathing exercises. Breathe in deep through your nose and out through your mouth. In through your nose and out through your mouth.’

  Megan rested her head against the arm of the couch, staring up at the ceiling fan, following the breathing instructions to the letter, feeling the tension in her shoulders melting away.

  ‘In through your nose, and then gently out through your mouth. Picture a long flowing river, and then picture each of your troubles as paper boats. Place each one onto the river and watch as the current takes them from you.’

  A flash of lightening outside lit up the room; the furniture casting gothic shadows against the wall. A clap of thunder rumbled two seconds later.

  ‘The storm must be close,’ Helen said, lowering the blind over the window. ‘That’s it, keep focusing on your breathing, Megan, feeling all your troubles floating away down the river. You’re feeling calmer now, Megan. As you breathe in, your eyelids will start to feel heavier, so go ahead and allow them to close when they’re too heavy.’

  Megan allowed her eyes to close, as she listened to the gentle tap of rain against the glass, and the rhythmic buzzing of the ceiling fan.

  ‘I’m going to put on some music,’ Helen advised calmly, ‘just to shut out the sound of the storm. I want you to feel totally relaxed. We’re safe in here, Megan.’

  The stereo system clicked on, and the deep base of the familiar song began to play.

  SIXTY-SIX

  Jake abandoned his car around the corner from the Better Health Practice. Lifting the jacket over his head to shelter from the rain, he raced from the Hyundai, skipping across the road as he jumped to avoid puddles as they suddenly appeared out of the darkness. Darting through the gap in the tall bushes, the ground floor was dark, and staring up he could see lights on in only one of the offices, which meant someone had to still be there. He’d tried phoning, but the office answerphone had cut in, and he hadn’t bothered leaving a message. He was about to press his thumb on the buzzer when the front door opened, Dr Patel startled by the dark figure on the doorstep.

  ‘DS Knight, what are you doing here?’

  Jake stepped out of the rain, lowering his jacket, and brushing off the excess raindrops. ‘I’m glad I caught you. Are you locking up? I need a favour.’

  ‘I’m late for a dinner reservation,’ Patel replied, making a show of looking at his watch.

  ‘I was hoping to have a look on your computer system,’ Jake said, fixing him with a determined look. ‘I promise I won’t be looking at any patients not connected with my investigation. Please?’

  Patel looked at
his watch again. ‘Helen should still be upstairs. Let her know what you need and tell her I said it was okay. If you need anything specific from me, I’m afraid it will have to wait until Monday. Now, if you’ll excuse me,’ he added curtly, as he pushed past, holding a briefcase over his head as he made his way into the darkness.

  Jake closed the door and shook his arms again, before heading up the stairs to the waiting area. There was no sign of the person Patel had referred to, but he could see a thin line of light from beneath one of the closed office doors. Patel’s office door was ajar, but there were no lights on inside, save for the dim glow of the computer monitor.

  Jake considered his options: wait for her to come out, and then argue about why he needed help, or access the computer directly while he waited for her to appear. He didn’t have time to wait. If Dr Marshall was out for revenge, he needed to know where she would strike next and where she currently was.

  Tiptoeing across the carpet, he pushed the office door open with his foot, pushing it ajar when he was inside. The purple and green company logo bounced around as a screensaver, but as he pressed on the mouse, a box appeared demanding a password. He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. He would have to find Helen and ask for her help. He slumped into the office chair.

  Looking up at the ventilation shaft, he was sure he could hear the faint hum of music. Straining to hear, he recognised the opening riff of The Animals’ House of the Rising Sun. It had been one of his Mum’ favourites. There was a door connecting the two offices, and he was about to move over to it when his mobile vibrated urgently in his pocket. Seeing Harry’s name on the screen, he answered it.

  ‘Jake? I just got off the phone with your friend from Interpol. She said you owe her dinner next time she’s in the UK. Anyway, she’s confirmed that Lucas DeVane and his sister Mariela have been taken into temporary custody. Both were apprehended at the home of their mother Elsa. Apparently they were celebrating Mariela’s engagement. According to passport records, neither Lucas nor Mariela have been out of the country in nearly six months, and when they were last abroad it was for skiing in the Alps. I know you thought revenge was the most likely motive, but I don’t think either of these two can be behind it. What did you find at Better Health?’