‘Is it a man or a woman?’
‘I can’t see because they all have hoods over their faces. No, it’s a man. His hands are big. Now he’s touching someone else on the head, putting blood on them.’
‘What do you mean, Robyn? He’s marking their forehead with blood? Is that what he’s doing?’
‘Yes,’ said Robyn. ‘Now he’s doing it to someone else. To all of them. Now they’ve all got blood on their foreheads.’
‘Where are you, Robyn?’
‘In the middle of the church, facing the altar. There’s someone on either side of me, holding me. Now the man is putting his hand in the boy’s blood again.’
Nightingale heard his sister breathing loudly, fast and hard.
‘Relax, Robyn, no one can hear you,’ said Barbara. ‘Stay calm. Deep breaths.’
Robyn’s breathing steadied.
‘Now, Robyn, tell me what’s happening.’
‘The man is putting blood on my face. He’s saying something but the words don’t make any sense and his voice is deep, like I’m hearing it through water. He’s putting his face really close to mine but I still can’t understand what he’s saying.’
‘You’re doing very well, Robyn. Keep calm. Nothing can happen to you. You’re safe. Now tell me what’s happening.’
‘They’re moving me towards the altar. My legs feel so heavy and I can’t feel my arms. I just want to sleep.’
‘Why are they taking you to the altar?’
‘I don’t know. Some of the people are leaving. There’re just the ones holding me and the man with the blood. He’s got a knife now.’
‘Is it the knife he used to kill the child?’
‘Yes. I think so.’
‘Is there blood on the knife?’
‘Yes. Yes there is.’
‘All right, Robyn, well done. We’re almost finished. Tell me what’s happening now.’
‘They’re putting something in my hand.’
‘What? What is it, Robyn?’
‘The knife. Oh my God, it’s the knife. Oh my God.’ The words were tumbling over each other.
‘Robyn, it’s okay. Go back to looking at the television screen. You’re not there but you can see everything. You’re quite safe.’
‘I’m scared.’
‘There’s no need to be scared, Robyn. Everything’s fine. I’m here with you. Take deep breaths. We’re going to stop soon. Just a few more minutes. Now, what’s happening? Is the knife still in your hand?’
‘Yes.’
‘So tell me what’s happening, Robyn. Tell me what you can see.’
‘I’m on the altar. Next to the boy. His blood is all over me. It’s still warm. There’s so much of it. And I’m so tired. I just want to sleep.’
‘What about the man, is he still there?’
‘He’s talking to me. He’s staring at me and talking to me and I just want to sleep.’
‘All right, Robyn. We’re going to stop soon. Just one more thing. This man, can you see his face?’
‘Yes,’ whispered Robyn.
‘Describe him to me,’ said Barbara.
‘He’s as old as my father. Almost sixty, I think. He has long grey hair and his nose is red, as if he drinks too much. And hair in his ears. I told him he should use clippers.’
‘Told him? What do you mean, you told him?’
‘I said he should clip the hairs in his ears.’
‘When did you tell him?’
‘When he came to see me.’
Nightingale frowned, not understanding what he was hearing. She had been held in the van with a hood over her head, so she hadn’t been able to say anything to anyone. When had she had a conversation with the man?
‘Robyn, do you know this man?’ asked Barbara. ‘Do you know his name?’
‘Yes,’ said Robyn.
‘Who is he?’ asked Barbara.
‘Marcus,’ said Robyn. ‘Marcus Fairchild.’
73
‘ T hat’s impossible,’ said Jenny, pressing the ‘stop’ button. ‘There’s been a mistake. Some sort of horrible mistake.’ She picked up her glass of white wine and drained it. They were sitting around the table in her kitchen. ‘Marcus couldn’t…’ She reached for the bottle of Pinot Grigio and refilled her glass.
‘Steady,’ said Nightingale.
‘Steady?’ hissed Jenny. ‘This from the man who reaches for a bottle whenever he’s under any pressure?’ She gulped down more wine as Nightingale raised his hands in surrender.
‘Jenny, as I said to Jack, there is a possibility that this is some sort of false memory.’
‘Bloody right it is,’ said Jenny.
‘But I have to say, based on my clinical experience, she’s relating events that she believes actually happened.’
‘Barbara, what are you saying? You know Marcus. Do you really believe…’ She closed her eyes and grunted in frustration.
Barbara reached over and put her hand on Jenny’s. ‘It’s Robyn describing what she believes happened to her. Don’t get angry at me.’
‘I’m not,’ said Jenny. ‘I’m not angry. I’m just frustrated because Marcus Fairchild couldn’t possibly have done something like that. I’ve known him since I was a kid. He’s known Daddy for donkey’s years. Now you’re saying that he killed a boy in some sort of ritual ceremony and then framed Jack’s sister.’
‘You don’t always know a person as much as you think,’ said Nightingale. ‘Most serial killers have parents, or siblings, spouses or children. And usually the family has absolutely no idea what they’ve been up to.’
‘He’s not a killer,’ said Jenny. ‘He wouldn’t kill anyone, let alone a child.’
‘I’m not saying he is. I’m just saying that if he was, he’d hardly be likely to let you know his true nature.’
‘That’s the same thing,’ said Jenny. ‘You think that he murdered that boy and framed your sister. And what about the other children she murdered? Are you saying he killed them, too?’
Nightingale pointed at the recorder. ‘It’s not me saying anything,’ he said. ‘It’s Robyn who was there. She saw it.’
‘She thinks she saw it,’ corrected Barbara. ‘She’s telling us what she remembers, but she might be misremembering. We’ve a lot of work to do before we know for sure one way or another.’
‘How do you know that your sister’s not making this up?’ asked Jenny. ‘Maybe she sees this as a way of getting out.’
‘That’s not going to happen anytime soon,’ said Barbara. ‘Memories released by hypnotic regression aren’t evidence.’
‘But the evidence that there is could all have been planted on her,’ said Nightingale. ‘And if what she’s now remembering is true then clearly Fairchild framed her.’
‘You can’t take this seriously,’ said Jenny, exasperated. ‘She’s in an insane asylum, for God’s sake.’
‘Secure mental hospital,’ said Barbara.
‘Yeah, a rose by any other name,’ said Jenny. ‘Rampton’s a nut-house and she’s a nut. Courts don’t convict serial killers by mistake.’
‘They didn’t convict her, Jenny,’ said Nightingale. ‘She pleaded guilty. And the thing is, I think she believes she did it. She’s not in there shouting that she’s innocent, is she?’
Jenny didn’t answer and folded her arms defensively.
Nightingale looked across at Barbara. ‘What she said while she was under, does she remember it now? Now that she’s awake?’
‘She was never asleep,’ said Barbara. ‘She wasn’t in a trance; she was just in a very relaxed state. It was being so relaxed that allowed the memory to come to the surface. But after the session, the memory will go back to where it was. After several sessions she might start to remember properly, but at the moment it’s more like a dream than a memory.’
‘So she still thinks she killed those children?’
‘I didn’t ask her,’ said Barbara.
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Jenny. ‘Why would anyone admit to murders they didn’t commit?’
‘Maybe she was hypnotised into believing she did it,’ said Nightingale.
‘By Marcus, is that what you’re saying? First he’s a killer and now he’s a magician.’
‘Jenny, I know you don’t want to believe this, but you can’t ignore it just because Fairchild is a family friend.’
‘I’ve known Marcus for years; you met your sister for the first time two weeks ago. Why should I believe her over him?’