by Liz Mistry
She looked at each of the three people in turn. ‘What do we do now?’
Sebastian smiled. ‘We can phone ahead and make sure that Rory and Jimmy are kept separate. I think you need to meet with Rory, you may still get something of import from him, but…’ He held her gaze. ‘And I suspect you will ignore me on this one, I really don’t think you should meet with Jimmy.’
Corrine’s lips curled up, but Carlton lifted his hand. ‘Let me finish. Primarily my concern is for you, Corrine, of course it is. You haven’t had time to fully process what Angus has told you. What you believed about an extremely traumatic period of your life has been completely demolished. Whether you realise it or not, that makes you both fragile and vulnerable.’
Again, Corrine opened her mouth. Gus recognised the look on her face and waited for the angry explosion that often followed the narrowing of those laser eyes in that particular way. But once more Carlton held up a hand. ‘However … my concern isn’t only with you. I have to consider the effect you appearing from nowhere after all these years would have on Jimmy … and, more to the point, I suspect that his psychiatrist would have similar reservations. She was only too willing to allow you to visit with Rory – part of her treatment plan is to encourage Rory to interact with people. However, Jimmy is a different kettle of fish. He hasn’t been violent to others in the facility to date and has gained some rewards as a result. He’s allowed to garden, using specially modified tools – but, after speaking to her earlier, his psychiatrist is very concerned that seeing Corrine would result in a violent outburst. She says he still holds extreme resentment towards you and blames you for all the, what he calls ‘evil’ things that have happened to him. Over the years he has been at Bellbrax, the only violence he has ever demonstrated has been towards himself. We don’t want that to change, now do we? We don’t want Jimmy to be moved to a more restrictive unit.’
Corrine bowed her head. ‘Of course, I don’t want to disrupt Jamie – I really don’t, but have any of you considered that confronting me, hearing me explain what happened, might actually open him up?’ She straightened her back ram-rod stiff. ‘Also, not one of you has considered one very simple alternative scenario.’
Gus and Carlton exchanged a glance, but Corrine ignored them. ‘I know Jamie. I know my baby brother. He is incapable of doing any of the things you describe. There must be some other explanation. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Not my Jamie.’
The stunned silence lasted only seconds, then Gus jumped to his feet, his cheeks warm, his heart thumping. ‘What the hell is wrong with you, Mum? How can you possibly, even for a damn nano-second, think that you know the brother you knew for only the first four years of his life better than his psychiatrist, all the doctors who have worked with him, the police officers who investigated him and … everyone else?’
Corrine, eyes flashing, cheeks similarly flushed, glared at her son. ‘I am a psychologist myself, Angus. I’m not just a dotty old woman. I have as much knowledge in my field as Carlton has in his. Jamie is incapable of doing what he has admitted to. I stake my career on this.’
A pulse throbbed at Gus’s temple. The woman is bloody impossible. Modulating his tone with difficulty, he sat back down. ‘Look, Mum, you’ve seen for yourself how children can react to trauma experienced during childhood – some never recover. Jamie is one of those kids. Circumstances made him who he is and he’s in the safest place for him and everyone else. He is ill, but there is no earthly reason why he would admit to such awful crimes. You’re wrong on this one.’
‘No, I’m not, Angus. I know my brother. You are the police officer. Work out why he lied. That’s your job.’
Her cold tone made the colour drain from Gus’s cheeks. He’d never experienced this tone from his mum before. Her eyes challenged him, and he wondered if in their depths there lurked disappointment. He couldn’t bear that. She’d never shown disappointment in him before and Gus couldn’t for the life of him work out why she would choose this particular test to judge him.
The room vibrated with tension until Professor Carlton, clearly distressed by the turn of events, shook his head. ‘His psychiatrist is resolute, Corrine. She will not allow you to see him. Instead, Angus and I will conduct an interview of sorts with him as he works in the garden. You can watch from one of the upstairs windows, but that’s the only concession that will be made. He’s been upset today already, and she doesn’t want his fragile peace of mind disturbed. We’re going to speak to him before our meeting with Rory.’
A single tear escaped Corrine’s eye and Gus wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms round her and hold her close, but when he stood up to do just that she shook her head, her eyes like pools of darkness, her words harsh. ‘No, Angus – No. I need to be strong or I’ll collapse completely. Now, if you could all give me some time, I’d like to phone Fergus.’
Staring helplessly at his mum as she turned away from him and moved to retrieve her mobile from the bedside table, Gus’s shoulders slumped. She’d excluded him … and it hurt. Thrusting aside the thought that, now he knew how she felt every time he closed her out, he left her alone.
Chapter 60
Bradford
The Man in Black is cramped and his right leg has long since gone to sleep when he hears the sounds from below – first the doorbell, trilling through the house, then shortly afterwards, the thumps of someone banging on the door, clearly impatient at their first ring being ignored. Naughty, naughty, Karen. He moves so he is in a better position to hear everything and as stabs of pins and needles spike up his leg, he smiles. A little bit of discomfort is always worth it. When he peeks through the miniscule peep hole he’s created, he notices that the reverberations from the hammering on the door have made Karen Smith’s body sway a little. He is pleased with his work. This time he is positioned directly above the pulley structure, so when the CSI climbs up to retrieve it, he’ll almost be able to smell them. He grins and if it is Sid, he’ll definitely be able to smell him. This will be the closest he’s come to the CSIs at work and the prospect of it thrills him.
Eye focussed on the gently moving body, he sees when the stair door opens, and the movements increase. This is followed almost immediately by a high-pitched screech. His grin widens. This is so much better than being at the movies. No doubt about it. The woman, Karen Smith’s mum, clatters from the house, her sobs fading as she runs into the uncared-for garden. The Man in Black lies back down, wondering how long it will be before emergency services arrive.
Within fifteen minutes, the paramedics have declared Karen Smith deceased. The CSIs, with Hissing Sid managing the scene, are setting up their equipment, gathering their evidence, and photographing the scene. Much of their shock at the ritual setting has been replaced by anger. The language they use – dreadful! This is their third such scene and apart from the frequent curses, the team work with a steady efficiency. The Man in Black is disgruntled. This isn’t as satisfying as the previous scenes were. The sense of awe and appreciation of his skill is absent – replaced by anger. Perhaps he’ll have to mix it up a bit for the next of his ritual kills.
Sid exhales as he picks up and bags the foetal scan, before lifting the paper with verse three of the nursery rhyme and reading it aloud. ‘Listen up. This sicko’s now onto verse three from that damn rhyme. Call up your men dilly, dilly, Set them to work, Some to the plough, dilly, dilly, Some to the fork.’
Sid’s voice is filled with distaste, which is so amusing. ‘There’re five verses apparently and two extra lines. We need to stop him before we get to verse four.’
Just then, Sid’s call to arms is interrupted by the arrival of the police. He waits, his patience draining, as his ears try to pick out Gus McGuire’s deep tones. Instead, all he can hear is DS Cooper as she issues directions as if she’s in charge.
Where oh where are you, Gus? He focuses on Cooper’s tone. Trying to determine her emotions at losing her lover. Even to his discerning ear, she appears professional and focussed. Well done, Alice
!
His distraction with Alice is unfortunate, as the sound of a ladder balancing against the ceiling, just near his ear, makes him jump. He almost misses the bit he was looking forward to. One of the CSIs is climbing up to dislodge the pulley system. The Man in Black’s heartbeat increases as he maintains his position. He hears the CSI mumbling as they climb. It’s a woman, her perfume drifts up and he’s enthralled by it. She’s right there, within touching distance. He can hear each breath she takes. ‘Hold the fucking ladder, Sid. Don’t you dare let go.’
The Man in Black grins. His eye to the peephole, she is just there. Her hood rustling, her mask muffling her mumbled moans. She stretches up. He can hear the effort. A voice from below issues instructions – Sid, you old bossy boots.
‘Try not to smudge any prints.’
Oh, Sid, haven’t you realised by now that I don’t leave prints – well, not any I don’t want to be found, that is.
She stretches over. She’s got one of those cordless screwdrivers in her hand. The ladder’s not close enough, so she stretches, then, almost in slow motion, her eyes meet his. She blinks, once, then twice. He doesn’t move. Maybe she’s not seen him. Maybe it’s something else that’s caught her attention. He curses himself for being so foolish. He should have made his nest further away from the action, as usual. What an idiot!
It seems like neither of them can avert their gaze. Her pupils are dilated. He imagines her mouth open in an ‘O’ shape beneath her mask. Does she realise that the eye she so clearly sees is a human one, or does she think it’s a rat or some other vermin? Time stands still and despite the situation, The Man in Black finds his pulse speeding. He should be petrified. He is mere seconds away from discovery and the ball is in the CSI’s court. What will she do?
With slow, measured movements, she lifts the electric screwdriver and she jabs it into the plaster near his face and presses hard. It whirs, catches his cheek, and blinking, he flinches involuntarily. Spellbound, he can’t pull away, not now. She is still looking at him, as a dawning awareness settles in her eyes, as if she realises the vermin she’s caught is the one they’ve all been looking for so diligently. She takes her finger off the control trigger, her eyes still glued to his, confusion and a dash of fear clouding them.
What are you going to do now, my beauty?
A yell from beneath has her gripping the ladder rungs. She glances down and the Man in Black wonders if he should make his escape, now before she explains what she’s seen. But before he can decide, she’s yelling, ‘Sid, where are you going? Don’t let go of the ladder!’
Her voice increases in pitch and volume and the Man in Black sees the ladder beginning to slip. For a heartbeat he wants to punch through the plasterboard and grab her – they had a momentary connection after all, but then self-preservation sinks in. There’s a scuffle below, presumably Sid realising he’s been derelict in leaving the ladder unsupported. Voices are raised and the sound of multiple crime scene suits rustling in their haste to help their falling comrade reaches his ears. Meanwhile, her eyes, startled now, flick round her as her body begins to tilt. She grabs the pulley to stabilise herself, both hands gripping it tightly and for a second, she seems relieved.
A cacophony of urgent voices echo through the house.
‘Get the ladder back up!’
‘She’s going to fall!’
‘Fuck’s sake, Sid, why’d you let go?’
They’re too late though. Her weight on the pulley causes the surrounding plasterboard, softened by the leaking roof tile, to crash to the floor. The entire pulley comes away from the ceiling and with flailing limbs, her eyes once more focussed on his, the unfortunate CSI lands with an ominous thud on the floor beneath.
He doesn’t wait to determine her fate. All his instincts tell him to move. Whether she’s dead or not, he can’t afford to be seen in the attic. He has to go, now, before the dust settles, before their attention is directed upwards to the hole in the ceiling. Making use of the chaos below, he gathers his things together, his movements covered by the babble beneath him as he scuttles across the ceiling to his escape route.
His heart is thumping, adrenalin surging through his body and inside he’s laughing and laughing and laughing. This is so exhilarating, so much better than he could have hoped for. Making his escape, he hears the sirens from an ambulance as he disappears into the crowds, and while content with his day’s work, he’s still wondering where DI Gus McGuire is. That will be his homework for tonight.
Chapter 61
Bellbrax Psychiatric Facility, Scotland
Gus was standing in an upstairs hallway with his mother, Carlton, Sadia, and Dr Mara, Jimmy’s psychiatrist. They were looking down into the spacious garden area from a window above. Each of them lost in their own thoughts as they studied Jimmy, working at a raised flower bed with a plastic trowel, and a bucketful of bulbs beside him.
‘I’ve worked with Jimmy now for around three years. His medication generally keeps him on the straight and narrow and physically he hasn’t lashed out at anyone other than himself. However, during the past few weeks he’s been distressed, out of sorts. He has something on his mind yet seems unable to verbalise it. He has had to be sedated a few times recently and that’s just not like him. Earlier today, he punched himself repeatedly in the head and face. Aware that you were coming, we gave him only a light sedation and he seems more stable now.’
This man they were discussing was Gus’s uncle, yet Gus could see little to intimate a family connection from the other man’s appearance. Unlike Corrine, Jimmy, or Jamie as she insisted on calling him, was tall and although skinny and hunched, he looked physically able to handle himself. His hair was grey. He seemed focussed on the task in hand, but every so often, he straightened, rolled his shoulders, and thrust his hands into his pockets, leaving his trowel stuck into the earth.
The psychiatrist continued to speak, Carlton nodding periodically which allowed Gus to just watch Jimmy and glance up to his mum now and again.
‘In Jimmy’s mind, women have always let him down.’ She paused, quirked her head to one side and tutted. ‘No, that’s not quite correct. It’s not women – it’s females – women and girls. He thinks that all the females in his life have let him down – partly because of his own mother’s toxicity and the lies she embroiled him in concerning your leaving.’
She inclined her head towards Corrine. ‘His betrayal stems from you leaving. He placed all his faith and love on you and then to be told you’d gone to a proper family leaving him behind with a mother who abused him, affected him greatly. We’re still trying to work out the extent of some of the abuse – but it’s not good. Physical examinations make us suspect that he was prostituted out as a pre-adolescent – probably to fund his mother’s drug habit.’
Corrine rung her hands, one palm resting on the window as if she could touch her brother.
‘Mum, come and sit down.’
But Corrine shook her head, determined to drink in everything she could as if she could perhaps make up for all the lost years. ‘Jamie, did not kill anyone.’
Corrine’s words came out strong and accusatory. ‘You have got this all wrong. You need to reassess him, putting those notions to the back of your mind.’
‘My dear…’ Carlton began.
But Corrine’s glare was enough to quieten him. She turned to Dr Mara. ‘I’m a child psychologist, so I do have some experience in this field. I also know my brother. He did not kill anyone. He just couldn’t!’
Dr Mara’s eyes were kind as she nodded. ‘I’m sorry, but we’ve worked with Jimmy for years now … He admits to the murders; he freely talks about his hate of women.’
Corrine glared at her. ‘Yet, he’s never attacked or insulted you?’
Dr Mara shook her head.
‘Or any of your female staff?’
‘No, but…’
‘If I’m not allowed to visit with my brother, I’d like to be left in peace to observe how he interacts with Professor Ca
rlton and my son.’
With a forced smile, Dr Mara nodded to Gus and Carlton. ‘If you’d like to follow me, I’ll take you to Jimmy.’
Despite not wanting to leave his mum, Gus trusted Sadia to look after her. Corrine was being uncharacteristically abrasive and it worried Gus. As they approached him through the French windows leading into the garden, Gus saw that Jimmy’s hair wasn’t grey, it was white and he was more stooped than he’d first thought. Tall, and almost anorexic looking, he was hunched, his movements mechanical and slow as he used the small trowel to plant his bulbs, occasionally pulling out an errant weed and tossing it onto the wheelbarrow behind him.
‘Does he get visitors?’
‘Only one man comes, but he hasn’t been for a while. He’s a neighbour of Jimmy’s. A bloke in his forties. Jimmy looks forward to his visits. I’ve got a copy of the visitors’ log waiting for you at reception. When he visits, the pair of them walk round the garden together regardless of the weather and they occasionally join some of the other patients at teatime.’
‘Rory Robertson. Do they join him, ever?’
The psychiatrist frowned. ‘It’s possible. Jimmy and Rory are often together so it wouldn’t surprise me to discover that the neighbour joins them too.’
‘Got a name for this neighbour?’
‘In the visitors’ log. We’re very strict about keeping that up to date.’
‘Would there be any CCTV footage or indeed does the photographic ID you give to each visitor remain on file somewhere? I’d like to see an image of Jimmy’s visitor.’
