by A J Waines
‘Ever in a good way?’
‘Oh yes – of course. You were creative, bright, intuitive, imaginative. You were always rehearsing little songs and plays for Mum and Dad, making pretty things from shells and feathers, dancing about…much more than me. I was a real stick-in-the-mud.’ I sniffed. ‘Still am.’
‘That’s true,’ she said with a giggle, laying out the plates.
As soon as she left, I rang Leo to see if he had come up with anything. He was still at the hospital and sounded hot and bothered, but assured me he was doing his best.
I couldn’t face my own thoughts, so I phoned Imogen again.
‘I’m in Berlin,’ she said. ‘Didn’t I tell you? I’m here for ten days at a conference.’
‘Ten days…?’
‘It’s two days really, but I’m tagging a holiday onto the end.’
‘Good for you,’ I said. I didn’t mean it. I really meant it was no good at all her being out of the country at a time like this. ‘I’ll be quick,’ I said.
I told her Con was missing.
‘No! Sam, what’s going on? Is he still having those flashbacks?’
‘Yes – it’s got worse.’
I wanted to give in to a tsunami of self-pity and tears, but I had to keep my nerve.
‘Have you heard of any research into mind-control by Professor Schneider?’ I asked.
‘He’s a cardiac surgeon, isn’t he?’
‘Yeah, but I’m looking at any links he might have elsewhere.’
‘You still on with the brainwashing idea?’
‘Another patient with the same nightmares has killed himself, Imogen – there’s something really weird going on. Two is a terrible coincidence. Three is highly suspicious.’
‘Shit – I see what you mean.’ She ran his name through her mental databank. ‘Schneider? No…doesn’t ring any bells in psychology,’ she said.
‘I’ve looked up the research files at St Luke’s to see who’s been doing what and found nothing remotely related to mind-control,’ I told her. ‘But perhaps the reason we can’t find anything is because it’s all very new.’
‘I’ve got a pile of recent journals you can look at, if that might help, but I won’t be back for another eight days.’ I heard roars and horns blasting in the background. It sounded like she was at Berlin’s version of Piccadilly Circus. ‘You’ll know most of them anyway: British Journal of Clinical Psychology, Journal of Psychology, Journal of Social Psychology – the usual. If anyone’s done any recent research it will be in there, somewhere.’
I was ashamed to realise I hadn’t opened any of those journals since my student days.
‘One further thought,’ Imogen said, sounding sombre. ‘I’m not sure – but there’s something about all this that sounds very theatrical.’
I stiffened. ‘You mean it might have nothing to do with the hospital?’
‘The victims were all patients there, but it doesn’t mean whatever they went through actually happened there.’
There was an awkward silence. ‘When you say theatrical, do you—’
She cut me off. ‘I’m not saying Con’s involved, but…’
I was aghast. ‘Con’s been targeted. It can’t be him.’ But suddenly, all the times Con had rushed off claiming there was some emergency came tumbling into my mind. I felt a wave of dizziness and said I’d get back to her.
By morning there was still no sign of Con. It was nearly sixty hours since anyone had seen him. Was he in some ditch somewhere…floating face down in Regent’s canal? Or, as Imogen suggested, could he be madly trying to undo whatever he’d got himself mixed up in?
I felt sick, only managing to push down half a slice of toast. At 8am, I called the police and they gave me the same line I’d heard before: ‘We’re doing all we can, Dr Willerby.’
I’d had rather too much contact with them in the past few weeks, having given my third statement about Terry’s death only yesterday. The situation was not only tragic, but starting to get embarrassing.
I sat hunched on the sofa in my dressing gown and rang three hospitals to see if Con had been admitted to A&E, but there was no record of him. Then I rang St Luke’s to cancel my morning patients.
I had an early call from Miranda.
‘Is he back?’ I gasped, hoarse with anticipation.
‘Sorry, no.’
I waited.
‘I know this is a bad time, but I’m going over to see Daddy, today,’ she continued.
‘Now?’ Once again, Miranda’s timing was second to none.
‘Mum’s away on a retreat so he’ll be on his own. She’s due back tomorrow, though, so it has to be today.’
My parents live in a small village in Kent. I imagined the picturesque setting; the gable-fronted house, the pretty summer house, the back lawn always in classic stripes.
‘Well – if you have to,’ I said. ‘You sure Mum won’t be there?’ I knew Miranda hadn’t seen our mother in twelve years and wanted to keep it that way.
‘No way – he promised it’s just him.’
‘Okay. Fine.’ I said flatly, deeply disappointed that Miranda was going to waltz off during my hour of need.
I called Leo. He’d consulted various experts, he said, and was looking into what might have caused the flashbacks.
‘I’ve got some ideas about how we might be able to approach this,’ he said.
‘Really?’
‘But we can’t go any further without Con.’
I had to find him.
I threw on jeans and a T-shirt and made more follow-up calls, getting on people’s nerves by now. It didn’t get me anywhere. I paced about aimlessly, muttering under my breath. The flat was shrinking with every step and I had no option but to take my phone and get out. I took a walk along to the expanse of grass at Clapham Common to try to distract myself, but it didn’t work.
I saw a man tickling a young boy by the swings and thought of Con and Justin. I turned away to walk beside the pond and spotted a man pulling a woman towards him in an embrace and thought of Con in my arms. He was everywhere inside my head, but not where I wanted him to be.
In a bid to cheer myself up, I bought a bunch of flowers on the way home. As soon as I closed the communal front door, I heard my mainline phone ringing and bolted up the stairs.
‘Hello?’
‘Something terrible has happened…’ It was my father. He was on the move, I could hear the roar of traffic. ‘We’re on the way to the hospital.’
‘What?! What’s going on?’
‘I’m not exactly sure. Moira came back a day early—’
‘Oh hell…’
‘Mimi attacked her.’ He snatched a breath. ‘They were in the hall and there was a bit of an altercation. As far as I could see, your mother tried to touch Mimi, but the next minute Moira was clutching her cheek and there was blood all over the place…’
‘She bit me…’ came a distant wail.
‘There’s something badly wrong with Mimi,’ Dad went on. ‘She’s here too. Just staring ahead of her, her thumb in her mouth. The paramedic said she’s in a catatonic state. She hasn’t said a word since it happened.’
‘What about Mum?’
‘Well – it looks like she’s going to need stitches. There’s a nasty wound on her face.’ His voice cracked. ‘It’s all my fault. I told Mimi – promised her that Moira wouldn’t be here, then she turned up out of the blue just as we were sitting down for lunch and—’
‘It’s not your fault, Dad. There’s no way you could have known this was going to happen.’
‘Mimi’s been so much better…and now this…I can’t believe it.’
‘Which hospital are you heading for?’
‘They’re taking us to the William Harvey.’
I was in the middle of offering soothing words of comfort when my mobile buzzed in my pocket. I recognized Danny’s number.
‘Sorry, Dad – I’ve got to go. I’ll call you back.’ All fingers and thumbs, I switched phones
. ‘Danny? Danny? I can’t hear you.’
There were crackles and pops on the line.
‘We’ve got Con. He’s blind drunk – but he’s okay.’
‘Thank God! Where are you?’
‘Dartford police station. The police picked him up. They found him on the M25.’
He gave me the details. ‘I’ll be right there,’ I said.
Chapter 28
I didn’t recognize Con. He looked like a tramp, with a thickening beard spreading across his chin and various mysterious substances in his hair: glue? vomit? Cornish pasty? He was sitting on a metal bench in the police station with his head in his hands. At least he was alive.
I sat beside him and he took my hand.
‘Oh, Con. What happened?’
‘Not sure, to be honest.’ Each word rolled into the next; his breath smelt of sick and alcohol. I slid a few inches away from him.
Danny answered for him. He was wearing a stripy Fedora hat cocked to one side, like a gangster. ‘The police found him playing “crisscross” near the Dartford Tunnel.’
‘That wasn’t me,’ said Con, slurring his words. I could tell I wasn’t going to get any sense out of him in this condition.
I rang Leo.
‘Thank God,’ he said. ‘Where is he?’
‘At Dartford Police station.’
‘Can’t think of a better place,’ he said.
‘Will you be able to help him?’
‘I’ll be honest. I’m not sure yet. I spent most of the night looking into the concept of implanting false memories. It’s a complex field – I’ve got stacks of notes and printouts here.’
‘Implanting false memories? My God, what the hell’s that?’
‘I’ll explain, but I’ve got more work to do. Call me tomorrow.’
A police officer approached us. ‘We’re placing Mr Noble in police custody until he’s sober, I’m afraid,’ he said.
It was music to my ears. At least he’d be safely locked up in a cell. I took the officer to one side.
‘I’m a clinical psychologist and I need to tell you that Mr Noble is having some…psychiatric problems at the moment. I need to stress that he be put on suicide watch the entire time.’
The officer nodded. ‘We had a doctor take a look at him earlier and she recommended it too, after his antics on the motorway. These guys…I don’t know…’ He looked across at Con, rubbing the line where his cap met his forehead. ‘He seems really smart. Well-off. What gets into them?’
‘If only we knew,’ I said pointedly.
As soon as Danny and I were outside, I rang my father. Danny opened the passenger door to his old Corsa and let me in. I mouthed an apology to him for being on the phone.
‘Your mother’s fine,’ Dad told me. ‘She’s had stitches. She’s furious – so she’s obviously on the mend. We’re still at A&E waiting for Ted to pick us up.’
‘I’m sorry I can’t be there, but I can’t leave just now.’
The silence hung between us.
‘It’s okay. Mim…Miranda said something when she first got to the house about your boyfriend being depressed. Bad business.’ I could imagine him shaking his head.
‘It’s a bit more complicated than that – but…’
‘It’s your sister I’m worried about – she’s been seen by the psychiatrist.’
‘And?’
‘They want to keep her in for observation. The way she went for your mother. I can’t understand it…’
‘Has she been taking her medication?’
‘She says she has.’ His voice almost petered out. ‘Your mother wants to press charges.’
‘Bloody hell!’
‘I’m doing my best to stop her, but she won’t listen to me.’
‘Is Mum there?’ I asked.
‘Hold on…’
I heard footsteps before a huffing sound.
‘How are you doing?’ I asked.
‘That girl!’ she snapped. ‘She’s gone too far this time. She’s completely disfigured me.’ There was an abrasive tremor in her voice and I was glad I wasn’t my father, having to sit with her while she was like this. ‘She has to be punished. She’s not going to get away with it. She’s a public menace.’
‘Mum – Miranda wouldn’t do something like this without...something must have—’
‘Mimi has always needed an iron will to bend her into submission. I did everything I could to try to bring her into line – but some creatures are born wild and there’s nothing you can do to tame them.’
‘Miranda’s not an animal, Mum.’
‘Wait until you see what she’s done to my face! Then tell me it wasn’t done by a crazy, rabid creature.’
Dad came back on the line, but he didn’t have much more to say. I put down the phone knowing there would be one big question on all our lips: Was it starting again?
Already the day had been far too long, but I still had things to do. Danny had a performance that evening, but he took the time to drop me off at St Luke’s on his way.
When I opened my office door, three figures turned to face me; two were in police uniform.
‘What’s going on?’ I said. I wasn’t expecting company, besides, my room had been locked.
‘And you are?’ asked the man in plain clothes.
‘Dr Sam Willerby.’
He extended his hand. ‘Detective Inspector Casper and two of my team; Sergeant Wallis and Sergeant Hwang.’ He flashed an ID card at me. ‘We’re investigating the deaths of three patients from this unit. I know you’ve been interviewed by my officers already, but we—’
‘Do you have a warrant to search my office?’
‘The coroner has requested all medical records relating to the cases of Jane LaSalle, Jake Stowe and Terry Masters.’
‘On what grounds?’
‘Standard procedure when we have a series of deaths like this. We’ll be talking to all the professionals here who treated the victims.’
‘You’ll have to sign for the notes,’ I pointed out. ‘I need to know exactly what you’ve got.’
‘Of course,’ said DI Casper. ‘We need access to your work computer and your own notes, too.’
‘My briefcase and laptop are at home.’
My mouth was dry. Everything was going to be under the spotlight. I gave DI Casper the password for my computer and left them to it while I made a quick call to Leo from the corridor. Much as I wanted to get to the truth about the suicides, I didn’t want it all coming out now – not when Con was in so much danger.
‘The police will be hovering around you any minute,’ I warned Leo. ‘They’re seeing everyone who had contact with Jane, Jake and Terry. I don’t want them knowing anything about the false memory angle. If they get their hands on your notes about it, they’ll know there’s an altogether different side to this. They’ll confiscate all your material before Con—’
‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave the building and take all the relevant files with me.’
As I hung around near the reception desk, waiting for the police to finish poking about in my office, a man in a white coat came hurtling through the double doors straight into me. It was Dr Graham.
‘Sorry,’ he said, as the files he was carrying went flying. ‘Wrong floor.’
‘No broken bones,’ I said, rubbing my shoulder. I bent down to help.
‘I’ll do it,’ he said.
I ignored him, scooping the pages together.
‘I said, I’ll do it,’ he said, more forcefully.
I straightened up. ‘Sorry…’
As I handed over the sheets of loose paper, I spotted his name followed by the title: ‘Neurologist’.
‘Everything all right?’ he said. He was looking over my shoulder towards my office.
‘Police,’ I said. ‘We’ve had suicides.’
‘Really?’ he said, although, in fact, he didn’t sound at all surprised. He looked like he was going to say something else, but then took off without another
word. I stood dazed for a second.
As it happened, he didn’t need to say any more. He’d said just enough for me to register his sophisticated accent and work out that he was the one Professor Schneider had been arguing with in the Prof’s office the previous day.
Before the family drama and Con’s reappearance had taken over, I’d been meaning to check something. Imogen had suggested I trawl through a stack of psychology journals, but there was another resource I could try first.
I borrowed Debbie’s computer and looked up Dr Graham’s personal profile online and scrolled down to his neurology research, just in case there was anything missing from the main list I’d already seen. Past papers included new findings relating to the spinal cord, head trauma and stereotactic surgery. I checked for current subjects: epilepsy – that was all. No further details.
I checked Professor Schneider’s record again, too. All his published papers related to cardiology and were from several years ago. There was nothing connected to the brain and nothing at all listed in the last two years.
I needed to take stock. I was dashing off in all directions and it was far too speculative. My suspicions about both Dr Graham and Professor Schneider were completely tenuous. Dr Graham happened to be a neurologist and the professor was believed to be interested in the subject. I’d heard them arguing together and it so happened there was a brainwave machine in the room at the time! That was it. I had nothing the least bit conclusive and I couldn’t afford to throw myself into a line of enquiry that was going to take me up a blind alley.
The problem was I didn’t really know what I was looking for.
Chapter 29
I didn’t mean it to happen like this. Will anyone believe that? It wasn’t a lashing out on my part. It was never meant to be a punishment although, to be fair, certain individuals have acted very badly.
Now there is a price to pay. Everyone is seeing me differently. Moving away with grave, suspicious faces. I know what they’re thinking – I’m a lost cause.
No more self-pity. Instead, I’m going to fight back. Show them what I’m made of. But first, I must recuperate, make myself whole again. I’m sliding around searching for footholds, trying to get a grip so I can claw my way back to some kind of normality. But it’s hard – time isn’t my friend. It puts weights in my pockets and attaches itself to the end of my feet, dragging me down.
