by Wes Markin
‘I hate slow build-ups—’
‘The Conduit is back, Mike.’
Yorke opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, instead everything suddenly became clear in Yorke’s head …
A survivor. The nurse on the radio. “I don’t understand it all … he was never anything but a gentleman.” Someone else indoctrinated by the Conduit.
‘You’re not in front of a lorry, are you?’
‘No.’
‘We knew this day would come.’
‘Yes … but Christmas Day is some day to choose.’
‘Inspired choice, Mike. I think you’ll agree Dr Louis Mayers was always the showman.’
‘It’s the care home shooting in Leeds, isn’t it?’
‘Yep. We need you there tomorrow, Mike.’
‘Hang on, ma’am. It’s my holiday.’ Yorke thought of Patricia’s tone of voice earlier and imagined telling her that the two-week holiday was off. It meant he didn’t have to worry about the cold just yet, because his heart had just started to beat like a drum again.
‘Mike, I just got off the phone with former Detective Chief Superintendent Benjamin Rosset. He now heads up the HMET for West Yorkshire. He wants you, the SIO on the Christian Severance case, to assist tomorrow.’
The Homicide and Major Enquiry Team. It stood to reason. It didn’t get any more serious than a care home massacre. It also stood to reason that they’d want the Senior Investigating Officer on the last case involving Dr Louis Mayers.
Knowing it was useless, Yorke tried to plead his case anyway. ‘There are other people who were involved in the Christian Severance case. I don’t have to be your go-to on this one.’
‘Sorry, Mike. It’s the way it’s going to be.’
‘Will phone contact not suffice?’
‘How do you think Rosset will feel about that?’
Yorke sighed. ‘Unsupported.’
‘So, I don’t need to answer your question.’
‘Please explain to me, ma’am, how they even know for certain that Mayers was involved?’
‘One of the survivors …’ Madden paused. She was obviously looking through her notes, ‘Audrey Houghton. She got trapped in there with the gunman, Bernard Driggs. According to her account, he went from full-on homicidal to placid and broken in a matter of seconds after reading a text message on his phone. He then killed himself, but not before he gave her a warning—’
‘To avoid the Conduit.’
‘Lightning fast, Mike. That’s why you’re always first choice.’
‘Great. What happened after the text message?’
‘Bernard Driggs warned her about the Conduit, about a man who promises to heal you, but then does something entirely different.’
‘So … somehow Louis Mayers had been getting to this Bernard Driggs, and indoctrinating him, just like he did with Christian Severance, and just like he did with Susie Long.’
Yorke paused to take a deep breath. Susie Long. The innocent young woman had stabbed to death his friend DI Mark Topham’s boyfriend, after the Conduit had taken control of her mind with hypnosis and drugs. He had made Susie Long believe that Dr Neil Solomon was a threat to her. The Conduit’s methods were powerful, and destructive.
Yorke continued. ‘Who’s been visiting him in the care home? This is the only way it could’ve—’
‘Afraid not, Mike. The only person visiting him was his daughter. He was allowed out for a solitary daily walk between 10am and 12pm every day – this is the only time Mayers could have gotten to him.’
‘CCTV and witnesses? Someone must have seen them walking?’
‘I’m sure they have thought of that one, Mike. You may be the sharpest officer I know, but you’re not the only capable one!’
‘The text message? I bet there was two. One that switched him on, and the other that shut him down.’
‘We’d love to know, Mike, but it looks like the phone went in the fire. He wasn’t on a contract, so we can only assume he was using a burner.’
‘Ma’am. I need this break. Things aren’t so good at home with the family.’
‘They never are, Mike, that’s why I opted not to have one.’
Well, I chose differently, and I’m glad I did.
‘I’m sorry, ma’am...’
Madden laughed. ‘As if, Mike. I just heard the excitement in your voice. Nothing would keep you from this. There’ll be no need to put myself out here by pulling rank, and risking HR on my back. You’ll be in Leeds tomorrow.’
Yorke didn’t respond.
‘I’ll give you two hours to play nicely. Bye Mike.’
Yorke decided there and then that next time someone called her a bitch in the office, he would not be coming to her defence.
Once the news had finished, the Conduit switched the television off and lay back on the sofa. He always enjoyed this short period in between patients to reflect on his successes and failures. He had a growth mindset, and you couldn’t grow without being critical as well as proud.
Bernard Driggs had been his hardest task to date. He was elderly, and so the PTSD had been gestating within him for a long time, winding itself around his unconscious mind like an anaconda. Its grip was tight, and Bernard had been suffocating to death in a care home.
Under his new identity, the Conduit had done some freelance counselling at a private psychiatrist’s practice. Here, he’d been able to access old records on patients. It was through these old records, he was able to learn about Bernard’s experiences in the Falklands war, his PTSD, the care home he resided in, and more importantly, his luxurious two-hour walks around the area. The only thing, Bernard claimed, that kept him sane.
The doctor had orchestrated a chance meeting with Bernard by a lake on his walking route. He allowed the handle on his plastic shopping bag to break at exactly the right time, so Bernard was drawn over to help save the tinned food from rolling into the water. After they started talking, it didn’t take long for the Conduit to spin the lie that his uncle had also served in the Falklands. The friendship was formed. Rose Hill was out in the sticks, so there were plenty of quiet, secluded spots in the surrounding woodlands and parks for the Conduit to set up meetings in which he could develop his doctor-patient relationship further.
Bernard had first told his story on a bench, overlooking a rolling valley. ‘Me and the others were hanging back on Mount Kent. It was dark and we were readying ourselves to seize the Two Sisters Mountain. Mount Kent was a ring of hills around Stanley, so it was chock full of no-man’s land. Yankee Company, a fighting patrol, went before us, but that didn’t end well at all. Our platoon was up next. We were yet to experience a full-scale attack … and there is really nothing that can prepare you for it … there is no order to the chaos that descends. Just a shit load of noise, and blinding flashes. It was all go, go, go … mortars, artillery, arms fire … lots of people falling around you. I’m sure it sounds scary, buddy, but unless you are there, it’s really hard to explain how truly terrifying it really is. We were down on the ground and pinned back. Direct fire, but still coming from some distance … Then comes the order to move in. Fucking unbelievable really. None of us thought that we could survive that. But you go. You always go. You look at each other, and no one suggests otherwise, and then you all charge forward together not wanting to let anybody down. We defied the odds and we got to the top of Two Sisters with few casualties, but shit happens. Shit always happens. I failed to pick up a loose Argentinian soldier. My two friends, Gavin and Bradley, paid the price. They were only boys. I was the old man of the crew – well into my thirties. I should have had their backs. Bradley took a bullet in his heart. Fortunate for him, his death was quick. Not so for Gavin. He was hit in the neck and drowned in his own blood. The soldier’s third bullet went into my stomach, ruining my insides. You wondered why I’m in a care home at only seventy-four? Constant dialysis, buddy. And I’m not about to put that pressure on my daughter. As for that soldier, someone else did what I couldn’t do for Bradle
y and Gavin that day and finished him before he finished me. For many years, I wished he hadn’t. That mistake ruined my marriage, my friendships, my relationships with others … my life really. It’s a bloody miracle I’m sitting here today. But, you know, someone somewhere saw fit to give me another chance. It’s a weird world. I found Louisa, and I found some peace.’
The Conduit nodded, put a hand on the old man’s shoulder, and offered a solemn look. What he wanted to do was rub his hands together in anticipation. There was so much to work with here!
In the past, with patients such as Susie Long, his treatments, although efficient, had been quick. He often licked his lips over the memory of Susie stabbing Dr Neil Solomon countless times because she saw her murdering uncle rather than an innocent doctor. But, with Bernard, and another more recent patient, he vowed to go slower, and really fine-tune the process. He wanted to lift the cloud of PTSD from his patients and replace it with the ultimate displacement of these maladaptive emotions - an explosion of unrivalled violence.
So, he’d trodden carefully and meticulously with Bernard.
In fact, he hadn’t introduced his chemical cocktail to him until they were at least three weeks into their meetings, or, if you will, treatment. And when he had administered the cocktail, he’d done so in smaller doses at first, slipping it into the cakes he often brought along with him for Bernard to enjoy.
The Conduit took a deep breath, recalling the first time Bernard had noticed he was under the influence. ‘Sounds ridiculous, buddy, but do the colours looks different to you today? Somehow, they do to me.’
‘Sorry?’
‘The Valley. It seems to be brighter. Glowing almost. But the sun is not exactly shining, is it?’
‘I hadn’t noticed. How do you feel today, Bernard?’
‘Good. Content. I always feel good after your cakes, though.’
‘Euphoric?’
‘Now, there’s a word. Yes, I guess so. I didn’t dream much last night. That must be it! More rest than usual. I often have horrendous nightmares.’
‘Do you trust me, Bernard?’
‘Of course, you know I do. Our chats. You make me feel so much better … Of course, there is Louisa too … she also knows how to listen.’
‘You’ve still not told Louisa about me, have you?’
‘No, but you know I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal. She won’t say anything.’
‘Still … I’d rather maintain the status quo. I’m a professional doctor, and some people may not agree with what’s going on here. Treatment outside of an official environment. I cannot afford to jeopardise my career.’
‘I understand. So, I’ve simply told her that I meet an old friend for walks.’
‘Ah … good. Listen, Bernard, I’m going to ask you something now, and I need only one answer. For my treatment, I need willingness. If you answer in the negative, I’ll walk away. Our friendship will remain, but the patient-doctor relationship will be no more. If you answer in the affirmative, I promise you a mindset change that cannot be rivalled. Do you understand?’
‘Of course, and you know my answer already …’
‘Still … humour me.’
‘Of course.’
‘My name is the Conduit. I am a channel. I become the piece that is missing from inside people, and I allow the thoughts, feelings and behaviours to move fluidly through me and within them. Nod if you understand.’
At first, Bernard had looked confused, but then he’d nodded.
Yorke opened the door to Emma Gardner. She was his beloved ex-colleague and loyal friend. Usually, it was impossible not to feel joy in her presence; right now, he was feeling anything but.
It was Christmas Day. There could only be one reason she was here. The Conduit.
Madden had been wrong about one thing on the phone conversation before. Yorke wasn’t the sharpest there was.
After all this time, Yorke was still surprised to behold her thin profile. She’d lost so much weight since her days as a DI, which spoke volumes about how unhealthy this job could make you.
‘Merry Christmas, Emma. Do you come bearing gifts?’
‘Of course.’ She held up a plastic bag.
Yorke’s heart sank. She wasn’t smiling. She definitely did have another agenda.
She was dressed casually in jeans and a Christmas jumper, again surprising him, because back when they spent nearly every waking hour together, she wore suits.
‘You know something, don’t you?’ Gardner said.
Sharp, indeed. Yorke couldn’t resist a smile. ‘You’re not going to wish me Merry Christmas?’
Gardner didn’t smile.
Yorke sighed. ‘You best come in. Pat and everyone will be pleased to see you.’
Gardner shook her head. ‘No. In the car, Mike. I’m too shook up to put on a show.’
‘Okay.’
Gardner had kept her car running, so Yorke welcomed the blast of warm air. She dropped the plastic bag on his lap.
‘There’s some guitar sheets in there for Ewan for The 1975, a band he likes. Patricia filled me in as you never answer your phone these days. For Beatrice, there’s a colouring book on unicorns, stickers on unicorns, and a stuffed toy too.’
‘Let me guess … a unicorn?’
Gardner stared at him. ‘Rose Hill Care Home. Mayers is back, isn’t he?’
Yorke sighed. ‘Looks that way. What made you think of him?’
‘The obvious. This wasn’t some kind of extremist, this was a nice old gentleman winding down in a care home.’
‘Yes, but anyone can crack, you know that.’
‘That’s some highly organised, efficient crack-up for someone in his twilight years.’
‘He’s a war veteran.’
‘He was seventy-five, and madly in love with one of the victims according to some of the witnesses on the radio. Besides, why are you arguing against it, Mike? You already gave me the nod that Mayers is involved.’
‘Just hasn’t sunk in, yet. Not sure I want to believe it.’
‘Why not? This is our chance to finally catch the bastard.’
Yorke stared at her, and couldn’t resist a sardonic laugh. ‘Our chance? You’re joking, aren’t you?’
‘I’m not joking when the man who destroyed one of my best friend’s lives is the topic of conversation.’
‘I don’t mean this to sound offensive, Emma, but you’re a Marks and Spencer security guard. How were you planning on resourcing this investigation?’
‘I don’t need to. You are.’
‘Am I?’
‘Don’t bother, Mike,’ Gardner said, gripping the steering wheel, ‘You knew Mayers was involved when I got here. They’ve made the link in Leeds and been in touch. You were the SIO on the last case involving him. That’s your ticket in.’
‘Spot on, except I’ve turned the ticket down.’
‘What?’ She tightened her grip on the wheel, and the whiteness of her knuckles burned through.
‘I have two weeks off. I just can’t keep doing this. Not to Pat. Not to Ewan and Beatrice.’
‘Hello? But this is the Conduit. The man who killed Neil? Mark’s partner … have you been hit over the head?’
‘There’s always something. I’ve got to start putting my family first. Imagine if I marched in that house and told Pat that our next two weeks together were down the toilet.’
‘She’d understand.’
‘Yes, she would. But does that make it okay? It causes cracks, Emma. You know that more than anyone. That’s why you got the hell out!’
‘Anyway,’ Gardner said. ‘This is irrelevant. Madden won’t let you off the hook.’
‘She threatened as much.’
‘Precisely.’
‘But, I’m going to dig my heels in. Play a game of Chicken with her. She won’t want the shit storm with HR. Besides, what’s us finding him going to achieve? It’s not going to bring Topham back. He’s long gone, and God knows where. And if we did bring him back
, then what? He’s off to jail for killing a sex-worker. Is he not just best in the wind?’
Gardner took her hands off the wheel. Sighed, and wiped a tear away. ‘I’ve not been totally honest with you, Mike.’
Yorke stared at her. ‘Listen, Emma, please don’t tell me anything that will get—’
‘I know where Mark is, Mike.’
5
IT HAD TAKEN the Conduit a record number of sessions to build compliance in Bernard Driggs. He didn’t possess the vulnerability of some of his previous patients, and the shell around his PTSD had hardened like dead skin on an athlete’s foot.
However, after several weeks of “special” cakes and many attempts at hypnosis, the doctor finally broke through.
Treatment required the Conduit to be present in Bernard’s darkest memory. So, the Conduit stood alongside him in that fateful moment when the Argentinian soldier had opened fire on him and killed his two friends.
The first time that Bernard had spoken to him in the visualisation had been particularly enjoyable. It had come in the aftermath, when the Argentinian soldier was already dead, and Bernard was lying on the ground holding his own guts in with bloody hands. ‘It took me so long to accept it. For years, I blamed myself for the chaos of war. But that’s the irony, isn’t it? Chaos cannot be controlled. I could live through this event a thousand times, and it could happen over, or it may not do. Chance, chaos itself, could take those events either way.’
For the Conduit, this was always the most exciting part of the treatment. When the drugged patient found the bridge between clarity and disarray. The sweet spot. The point in which the patient was most malleable, and the doctor could do his best work.
It was at this point that the Conduit wanted Bernard to reject the original version of events. To do this, he had to alter the narrative. He took away the chaos. He gave Bernard the chance to stop the shooting. He created a scenario in which the Argentinian soldier was out in the open, with his rifle hanging by his side, begging for his life. At that point, Bernard could have shot him, but he was too scared to end someone’s life up close and personal. This hesitation allowed the Argentinian a way back in. He took it with open arms. His rifle came back up and two innocent men lost their lives.