‘Can you tell me about your last session? It would be really helpful.’
‘We talked for a while and she took me through a symbolic visualisation exercise.’
Ruth looked uncomfortable and Kim could feel her retreating. Not now, she silently begged. She needed to know what the hell a symbolic visualisation exercise was. Her gut told her in this case it was not anything good. Subtlety aside, Kim knew she had to just go for it if she was to learn anything.
‘Ruth, was there anything in that last session that could have inspired you to do what you did?’
‘It was all my own doing. I took the knife, I waited for him, I followed him and I stabbed him.’
Kim could see the emotion building in the woman opposite. A flush was spreading across her chest and the muscles in her face were tight.
‘But don’t you think it’s possible that you were being manipulated, used by Doctor Thorne? I mean, by getting you to imagine killing Allan Harris, by using a knife in the symbolic exercise, is it possible that the doctor was intentionally …?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. How could she have known that I would use her efforts to help me as …?’
Ruth’s words trailed away as she realised she’d just confirmed what had been a lucky guess on Kim’s part. The crime mirrored the session.
‘Ruth, please talk to me.’
Ruth shook her head vehemently. ‘Detective Inspector, I will not say one word against Doctor Thorne. She is a skilled, intuitive psychiatrist who has helped me through the worst time in my life. I don’t know what you think she’s done, but I can tell you that she has been my saviour. I think you should leave and take your disgusting accusations with you.’
‘Ruth …’
‘Please leave and don’t come back.’
Ruth glared at her before leaving the table.
Kim cursed under her breath. The bloody woman was so wrapped up in her own flagellation she wasn’t even open to the suggestion that perhaps there were more people to blame for the crime. She had committed herself to attrition and there would be no budging her.
Kim returned to the car, now knowing what she had previously only suspected: that Alex had been instrumental in manipulating Ruth. What she didn’t know, was why.
Kim wondered if the doctor was playing some kind of sick game of power, seeing how far she could push people, but she didn’t think that was it. She remembered the first time she’d met Alex after Allan’s death and she’d asked if she could visit Ruth. Had that been to cover her tracks or something more? If the aim had simply been to manipulate Ruth, then knowing what Ruth had done would have been triumph enough, but it wasn’t. She had wanted to gauge Ruth after the fact.
No, it wasn’t as straightforward as mind-fucking. Alex wanted to learn something and Kim had to try and figure out exactly what that was. It was going to take a trip into her past to find out.
Kim could not ignore the power that Alex now held in her hands. Having access to the horrors of her past definitely made it an unfair fight. Alex could examine these events openly and not lose her mind. Kim didn’t have that luxury
Alex could use every fact to drag her closer to the darkness and Kim wasn’t even sure how to fight back. What she needed was a better understanding of exactly what she was up against.
She suspected there was only one man who could help her now.
FIFTY-ONE
Bardsley House, four miles east of Chester town centre, was used to house the criminally insane. Open since the late 1800s, it had never offered day trips to the wealthy, a guided tour through the stages of insanity like Bedlam in London. Bardsley House kept its patients private, behind closed doors and away from curious eyes. Externally, it bore no sign of the madness within.
The half-mile gravel drive wound its way through rich, undulating lawns and a 700-acre deer park before ending at an imposing structure that had retained its 17th-century appearance.
As she approached the entrance, Alex decided there were far worse places to be crazy.
The reception area was unlike a normal hospital foyer. Comfortable wing-backed chairs littered the area, with occasional tables scattered throughout. Watercolours of local landscapes dotted the walls and pan pipes sounded gently from a speaker that rested above a CCTV camera.
Alex’s finger was poised above a bell when the door opened and she was met by an overweight woman in her late fifties. A quick assessment told her that the woman had been at the facility for some time. She was dressed in black trousers formed of a cheap polyester mix, with a white T-shirt covered by a plain blue pinafore. Her nails were multicoloured, and bright yellow costume jewellery adorned her wrist and throat. Her short hair was dyed a vivid purple. A simple name badge stated ‘Helen’. No title or position, just Helen.
Alex held out her hand. ‘Hello, my name is …’
‘Doctor Thorne,’ Helen completed with a wide, open smile. The woman was clearly accessible and trusting. Just the kind of person Alex loved.
‘Doctor Price told us you were coming. He asked that we assist you in any way we can.’
Of course he did, Alex thought. Doctor Nathaniel Price was the registrar of the hospital and their ‘friendship’ went back to medical school when Alex had sussed out he was having a homosexual relationship with one of the tutors. His secret had been of little use to her at the time and she wasn’t prone to frivolous malice. There had to be a benefit to her; at the very least, her own entertainment. Back then his secret would have been low impact; news for a week or two, quickly swallowed into the whirlpool of university shallowness. But now it meant more, especially to his wife and three daughters.
Fortunately, Alex hadn’t needed to use the threat. It had been there, travelling along the phone lines. It was enough for him that she knew, and if he was as intuitive as she suspected, he also knew that she’d use it. He was probably still at it secretly. She made a quick mental note to find out. A little extra insurance never hurt.
‘That’s very kind of you, Helen,’ she said, smiling and shaking her hand warmly. Fat, ugly folks always liked attention from the beautiful people.
Helen led her from the foyer along a short corridor and took a left turn into a small orderly office.
‘Please, sit.’
Alex did so. The space was functional and small, with a window overlooking an ornate fountain on the east side of the grounds. The mouth of the dolphin looked as though it hadn’t spouted water in fifty years.
‘I’ve been Care Manager here for twenty-two years, so if there’s anything I can help you with, feel free to ask.’
Alex sat back. ‘I don’t know how much Doctor Price told you.’
‘Just that you had a similar case at the moment and that any insight would be helpful.’
Alex nodded regretfully. ‘Obviously I can’t go into detail, but if you could discuss Patricia Stone with me and if I could meet her briefly, I think it would help me treat my patient more effectively.’
Helen seemed happy to share. ‘Okay, I’ll just talk and if you have any questions feel free to jump in.’
Alex took out a notebook. Helen swigged from a can of Diet Coke; amusing considering the woman’s girth.
‘I assume you know the bare details of Patty’s earlier life. She was placed here in 1987, following the tragedy.
‘She had been diagnosed with schizophrenia years earlier but was responding to drugs and was released during the era of de-institutionalisation.
‘When she was brought into our care she exhibited many of the characteristics of Schizophrenia. She suffered delusions, hallucinations, disorganised speech and catatonic behaviour. She had been socially dysfunctional and the signs had lasted for more than six months. The exclusion of known organic causes had been confirmed.’
‘Can you be more specific on the nature of the delusions and hallucinations?’ Alex asked. This first-year medical lesson was wearing thin.