Disordered Minds

by Minette Walters

  Roy had heard it all before. Every time she was stoned or drunk the shabby family secrets poured out, contaminating her, contaminating him. He wondered sometimes if he would ever have been drawn into this suicidally symbiotic relationship if she'd told him the truth at thirteen, but he was honest enough to recognize that he would. The sort of madness that had possessed them all that fatal May in 1970 was generated by drink and self-loathing, and the problems of a skinny child who held no attraction for them wouldn't have been heeded, much less understood.

  She was right about ownership. She had held their fate in her hands for thirty-plus years, and the only thing that had kept her alive was heroin. Stumbling from one fix to another, she had been a threat to no one. Clean, she was a walking time bomb. "Take care, Lou," he warned. "I can't protect you forever."

  She blew a lungful of smoke in his direction. "You're so arrogant," she said scornfully. "Did you never think I might be protecting you? You're the one Nick's worried about, darlin'. You know what he's like-gets a bee in his bonnet and there's no shifting it. I told you months ago he didn't like you buddying up to George, but you wouldn't listen."

  "That's crap."

  She gave an indifferent shrug. "Why do you think he lets me come here? He doesn't trust you ... wouldn't trust Micky either if he was still alive. It's him told me to go through the wog's briefcase. He's round the bloody twist ... sees ghouls and goblins everywhere."

  It was partially true. The bits of Nick's memory that remained intact had fused into a looped tape of events that bore little resemblance to reality. Somewhere in the regions of his mad mind, it was only Grace's death he remembered.

  Sasha closed her palm over her mobile's mouthpiece. "The car's registered in the name of Priscilla Fletcher Hurst." She frowned at George. "Where does the Hurst come from? I thought you said her previous husband was Roy Trent."

  "Colley Hurst," said George slowly. "How very stupid of me. It's an old-fashioned abbreviation of Nicholas." She sorted through her folder for the transcript she'd made of her conversations with Billy Burton. "Her brother said her first husband was called Mike," she said, looking at Jonathan. "Could that have been Micky Hopkinson?"

  "Wouldn't he have recognized him?"

  "He said he was in prison so he never saw him."

  Jonathan hunched forward in his chair. "What kind of a databank are you accessing?" he asked Sasha. "Is it worth telling your colleague to feed in Nicholas Hurst-maybe Michael Hopkinson, too-and see if he comes up with anything?"

  "We'll give it a try but I wouldn't think so, not unless they've been convicted in the last ten years." She spoke into the phone again, giving both names, then hung up. "He'll call back in a couple of minutes with a yea or a nay." She pondered for a moment. "We have a sister company of inquiry agents who can find out anything you want to know-bank account details, family details, employment and car history, even medical and social service records-but, as most of that information's privileged, the costs are higher, to cover the company's risk. I know for a fact that Mr. Trevelyan can't afford it, but if either of you can, it might be worth a try."

  "How much?" asked George.

  "Upward of five hundred pounds."

  George pulled a face. "Is it ethical?"

  Jonathan exchanged another amused glance with Sasha. "Absolutely not," he said. "I should think it breaches every privacy law that's ever been written ... but bloody interesting, George. We could use some of this famous advance Andrew keeps promising us."

  "What about your debts?"

  He bared his teeth at her. "Don't keep reminding me."

  "Someone has to. You'll be grateful-"

  She broke off as the mobile rang and Sasha put it to her ear. "Yup," she said, "go ahead." She wrote fast in shorthand across her pad. "Got that. What about Michael Hopkinson? OK ... thanks." She laid the phone on the table. "Nothing on Hopkinson, but three years ago the Metropolitan Police was ordered to pay Nicholas Hurst two hundred thousand in compensation for brain damage, wrongful arrest, wrongful imprisonment and loss of earnings. At the time of his injuries he was managing a William Hill betting shop in the East End. He was in and out of hospital for three years and returned to Bournemouth in 2001 when the compensation came through. Last known address-" she raised her head-"the Crown and Feathers, Friar Road, Highdown."

  "Good lord!" exclaimed George. "How very incestuous it all is. Do you realize that if Mike was Micky Hopkinson, then she's been married to all three of them at one time or another? Why aren't the men jealous of each other?"

  "Because they have no more feelings for Louise than they do for each other," said Jonathan.

  "There used to be a law that said wives couldn't testify against their husbands," put in Sasha. "I don't know when it was repealed, but perhaps they think it still applies."

  Jonathan shook his head. "They're a tribe," he said. "Marriage is just a device to keep Louise within the fold." He paused. "The interesting question is why she goes along with it ... unless she has more to gain than they have."

  "Like what?"

  "Security?" he suggested. "It's a primary tribal instinct."

  From: Sasha Spencer [S.Spencer@WCHinvestigations.com]

  Sent: Wed. 5/21/03 1002

  To: jon.hughes@london.ac.uk; geo.gar@mullinst.co.uk

  Subject: Report on Roy Trent, Crown and Feathers, Friar Road, Highdown

  Dear George and Jonathan

  Re: the report from Bentham Inquiry Agents

  Bentham's agent has given me a verbal account of his investigation into Roy Trent. Copies of the full report will be posted on to you as soon as they're ready, but in the meantime the following is a summary of his findings:

  1. Roy Trent has ownership of the pub until his death. His first wife, Robyn Hapgood, was the daughter of the previous owner. She OD'd on heroin in 1988, leaving the property to Trent for his lifetime, and after that to their son, Peter (12 years old at the time of her death). The property's heavily mortgaged-possibly to pay inheritance tax at the time of Robyn's father's death (1984)-but Trent keeps up the repayments. The debts will be cleared in 2009.

  2. Peter Hapgood, now aged 28, has a criminal record and a history of drug abuse. He was first sentenced in 1994 and is currently in the second year of a 5-year term for aggravated burglary.

  3. Trent has received numerous offers on the pub and has rejected them all. It is not clear why as he has insufficient funds to develop it himself. There may be a clause in the will preventing him from selling it-but this is unlikely as such clauses can be challenged. Bentham's view is that he is holding on until the property's free of debt.

  4. He married Louise Burton a.k.a. Daisy Burton a.k.a. Priscilla Hopkinson in 1992.

  5. Michael Hopkinson OD'd in 1986 after several terms in prison. He and Louise married in 1974 (she was 17). She became chronically drug-addicted (heroin/crack cocaine) and maintained her own and her husband's addictions through prostitution.

  6. Following their marriage, Trent made some attempts to wean her off drugs (e.g. obtained a placement in a rehab center where she lasted 6 weeks before relapsing). One source, not corroborated, says she had an affair with Peter while he was under his father's roof. The same source suggests it was Louise who got the boy (a) addicted and (b) into crime to supply them both.

  7. Trent offered Nicholas "Colley" Fletcher Hurst free accommodation in 2000 and applied for a "quickie" divorce which came through in June 2001.

  8. Louise began an affair with Nicholas while he was at the Crown and Feathers and they moved into rented accommodation on Sandbanks in August 2001. Hurst's compensation came through in October 2001 and he and Louise married in November 2001. Louise has been "clean" since she hooked up with Hurst.

  9. Louise continues to be a regular visitor to the pub.

  10. Trent is well regarded by the local community (cf. George's initial impressions). The consensus view is that he has not jumped on the "leisure bandwagon" but continues to provide a service for the poor of Highdown who ca
n't afford expensive prices. He has a reputation for being anti-drugs.

  11. Full details of Trent's bank balance and mortgage history are in the report. Also, Peter Hapgood's criminal record. Trent himself spent 6 months in a juvenile institution for 5 counts of theft.

  The Bentham agent suggests you look very closely at the drug connections. Despite Trent's publicly expressed views on the subject, there's been a high level of abuse among the people he's associated with. The main source (ex-prostitute who claims Trent was her pimp in the last '70s) claims she was buying class-A drugs off him until 1985 when she quit. No evidence that he's still dealing, but there are question marks over the profitability of the pub and Trent's apparent ability to make repayments on the loans.

  There's a garage at the back which the agent was unable to investigate without blowing his cover, but it's heavily alarmed, has a CCTV coaxial cable supply and a hatch that faces onto an alleyway. (He obtained some digitally enhanced photographs from his car which are supplied with the report.) It would be possible to mount a surveillance operation from one of the neighboring houses to establish if it's being used for dealing, but the operation would be extremely expensive in manpower and fees, with no guarantee of success, and would be better done by the police. The agent's words to me were, "There may just be a Ferrari in there."

  Re: Robert and Eileen Burton

  After discussing the Burtons with my senior colleague, I have decided to put them on hold until we've had a chance to talk to Louise. It would, of course, be a great advantage to interview her from an informed position but, as Robert Burton's email to his son and the conversation William had with his mother both suggest that they will deny everything, no advantage would be gained. A premature meeting would only alert them to a possible police investigation, which in turn might prejudice future cooperation, particularly from Eileen Burton.

  Re: Louise Burton/Priscilla Fletcher

  I can confirm that her initial contact last Friday, May 16, was followed up yesterday with a proposal to meet at her house on Monday, May 26, at 1100. In this first instance, I suggest I meet with her alone and allow her to set the agenda. Assuming you're both free, I will report to you at George's house afterward.

  Hoping this meets with your approval, My best wishes Sasha Spencer

  From: Dr. Jonathan Hughes [jon.hughes@london.ac.uk]

  Sent: Wed. 5/21703 1706

  To: S.Spencer@WCHinvestigations.com

  Cc: geo.gar@mullinst.co.uk

  Subject: Playing safe

  Dear Sasha

  Thank you for this, but I question the wisdom of holding the meeting in the lions' den. I urge you to go back to Louise and suggest neutral territory. N.B. Colley Hurst is a brain-damaged rapist who may have been party to Grace Jefferies' murder.

  These are not sane people you're planning to confront, Sasha. George and I may have agreed to fund a rather dodgy investigation into Roy Trent. We did not authorize ill-considered interviews with possible murderers.

  Please do something, George! You're the psychologist. Is this sensible?

  Best, Jon

  From: George Gardener [geo.gar@mullinst.co.uk]

  Sent: Thurs. 5/22/03 0841

  To: S.Spencer@WCHinvestigations.com

  Cc: jon.hughes@london.ac.uk

  Subject: Playing safe

  Dear Sasha

  Written in haste. Jonathan is right. At least question why Louise would let you into her house when her brother's experience was the exact opposite-no entry under any circumstances. Please reconsider. Everything we know about Colley Hurst suggests he's a violent man. Best, George

  From: Sasha Spencer [S.Spencer@WCHinvestigations.com]

  Sent: Thurs. 5/22/03 1207

  To: jon.hughes@london.ac.uk; geo.gar@mullinst.co.uk

  Subject: Trust me

  Dear Jon & George

  I'm over 21.1 don't need nannies!

  Sasha

  *24*

  PALENCIA, FREAN STREET, SANDBANKS, BOURNEMOUTH

  MONDAY, MAY 26, 2003, 11:00 A.M.

  As Andrew Spicer had found, the close-up reality of Louise was nothing like Cill Trevelyan. She was finer boned, smaller featured and her eyes were the wrong color. She was also prettier and younger looking than Sasha had expected, with only a vague resemblance to the scowling, sulky child in William Burton's album. She answered the door in a crisp, well-fitting jade green dress that accentuated her slim figure. Sasha, bulky in an over-tight brown suit and wearing unattractive spectacles, felt fat and gauche by comparison, and showed it by tugging her jacket down to cover her hips. With an amused smile, Louise led her across the hall to the sitting room.

  Sasha would have known it was a rented house even if she hadn't been told by the estate agent. It was painted throughout in standard cream with unexceptional furniture and framed prints of Impressionist paintings and Dorset scenes on the walls. There was very little of a personal nature and the only point of interest in the sitting room was a large television screen similar to the one in the study. It was showing a horse race but the sound was muted. Louise noticed Sasha looking at it.

  "My husband's an Internet gambler," she said, gesturing to an armchair before lowering herself to the sofa. "We have wall-to-wall racing off the digital channels."

  Sasha went into her smiling routine as she took the chair. "I didn't know there were meetings in the morning."

  Louise glanced at the screen. "It'll be a recording. There's a video link to his study that means I have to watch whatever he's watching. Is it bothering you? Do you want me to turn it off?"

  Sasha listened to the silence. "No, it's fine. I wouldn't want to upset him."

  "He won't know unless he joins us," said the older woman, reaching for the remote and killing the picture. "Turning one off doesn't affect the others." She crossed a neat leg over the other and looked encouragingly at the younger woman. "How can I help?"

  Sasha went nervously into her preamble about confidentiality, while recognizing that she might easily have been persuaded that William's story was fantasy if Louise had opened the door twelve days ago. The woman was composed, charming and elegant, and there was nothing to indicate a violent husband or a history of drugs and sexual abuse. Her voice was more educated than William's rough Dorset burr, although Sasha wondered how natural it was.

  Louise allowed Sasha to finish her presentation without interruption. "You mentioned Cill Trevelyan on your card," she said then. "Does that mean David and Jean are your clients?"

  Sasha nodded. "Do you remember them, Mrs. Fletcher?"

  "Of course," she said easily. "Cill was my best friend ... as you know, or you wouldn't have written 'FAO Louise Burton' on your card."

  Sasha ran her tongue across her lips. "I did, yes."

  Louise was watching too closely not to notice the signs of nerves. "So how are the Trevelyans?" she asked. "I often think of them-it must be desperate to lose a child like that."

  It was a very different start from the one Sasha had been expecting-more like the opening courtesies at a social function-but she went along with it, explaining that Jean hadn't been well recently. Louise produced several amusing memories of visiting the Trevelyan home in Highdown, then spoke of her shock when she learned that Cill had run away. "We were incredibly close," she murmured, before lapsing into an abrupt silence and waiting for Sasha to continue.

  There was a sliver of sound from somewhere in the house and this time Sasha's nervousness was genuine. "I expect you're wondering how I found you."

  "Not really," said Louise. "I'm hardly in hiding. You can't get more high profile than Sandbanks."

  Sasha fixed her automatic smile to her face. "In fact it was your brother who passed your details to us, Mrs. Fletcher, because he knew we were acting for Mr. and Mrs. Trevelyan. I gather he reestablished contact with you a month or so ago?" She was watching equally closely and saw the sudden narrowing of Louise's eyes. "As you'll appreciate, David and Jean have never given up hope of finding Cill and we periodically r
eactivate the investigation when new information comes our way."

  She retrieved her file and notebook from her case and placed them on her lap. "You may not be aware that various agencies have tried to locate you over the years without success," she went on. "Presumably because of your various name changes." She bent her head to her notes, holding her glasses in place with a finger. "First Louise Burton, then Daisy Burton, then Daisy Hopkinson, then Cill Trent, now Priscilla Fletcher Hurst." She looked up again, inviting Louise to respond. "I'm a little puzzled why you chose to take Cill's Christian name and marry her rapists, Mrs. Fletcher."

  Louise answered readily enough. "Not that it's any of your business," she said mildly, "but I've known all three of them since I was a youngster. I'd have stayed with Michael if he hadn't died ... and with Roy if Colley hadn't come back. There's nothing sinister about it. Sensible people always marry their friends. That way, you know what you're getting."

  Sasha held her gaze for a moment. "Except that, in this case, you knew you were getting three violent young men who gang raped your best friend. It traumatized your brother-he's still having flashbacks thirty years after the event. Were you not similarly affected ... especially as Cill vanished into thin air three weeks later?"

  "Billy reinvents history to make his life more exciting."" Louise said dismissively. "I expect you would, too, if you'd married the most boring person you'd ever met, always done what your father told you and only ever lived in one house. He was ten years old and he was drunk. Whatever he remembers is bound to be distorted."