Elizabeth Patterson shook her head firmly. ‘No, he did not. The first and only time he said he was travelling to Wexford was on the phone. He was on the ferry. He knew my feelings on the subject and waited until I couldn’t possibly dissuade him to tell me.’
‘Why would you have tried to dissuade him?’ I asked.
‘Because I knew that disgusting woman was dangerous.’
I nodded. ‘Go on.’
‘That’s it. I would have stopped Michael. And saved his life.’
‘Why do you think Philips is dangerous?’ asked McCarthy.
There was a long pause; Mrs Patterson’s mouth had tightened in a kind of snarl. ‘Because she stole my daughter and murdered my son.’
‘Yes.’ I put my pen down. ‘But even before she stabbed Michael, you thought she was dangerous. Why?’
Checking herself, lips parted as though she had been about to speak, Elizabeth Patterson suddenly looked thoughtful. ‘Why? Let’s see. Well, in 1985 she came to stay with us for Christmas.’
‘1985,’ repeated McCarthy, writing the date down.
‘Yes, the year after the end of the miners’ strike. I remember, because we had a blazing row. Philips was an admirer of Arthur Scargill. Which is incredible, really, considering that she comes from a wealthy family. I think she was just claiming to support the miners to annoy me. If so, she did a damned good job.”
‘Dangerous?’ I repeated.
‘Oh yes. In a manipulative sense. They stayed a week, her and Ivy, and I never once got to hold a private conversation with my daughter. One night, I crept into her bedroom and shook her awake.
‘“Who is it?” Ivy sounded terrified.
‘“It’s only me, love. Your mother.”
‘“Oh, Mum,” she whispered.
‘“Tell me what’s wrong. Why are you living with this awful young woman?”
‘“Oh, Mum, I can’t. You’d better go.”
‘“You can tell me. Anything.”
‘“I really can’t, Mum… It’s too… She might…” Then Ivy rolled away from me and wouldn’t say another word.’
‘I clicked my pen on and off, without making any notes. ‘What do you think she meant?’
‘I think Ivy was being blackmailed. That Amy had something over her.’
‘Where is Ivy?’ asked McCarthy.
Elizabeth Patterson sighed and her eyes filled up with tears that spilled over the lids to drop with little splashes on the polished table top.
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ McCarthy fished out a handkerchief and passed it over. ‘Take your time.’
‘It’s fine.’ Mrs Patterson sniffed. ‘It’s just that I don’t know. I had hoped she’d be here. In Wexford. This is where she’s supposed to be. But I haven’t had a phone call from her in months and whenever I rang the farm, it was always Philips who answered and she just kept saying that Ivy did not want to talk to me. That Ivy did not want me to ring again. I tried at all different times. But it was no good.’
‘When’s the last time you did speak to her?’
‘Last March. My phone company will have the exact date.’
This time I did make a note.
‘It was the main reason Mike gave for coming here,’ she went on. ‘To find Ivy.’
‘And what do you think happened on the night of his death?’
‘I was rather hoping you’d be able to tell me.’ She looked at me enquiringly.
‘Well,’ I felt sorry for Mrs Patterson, but I didn’t have much to say. ‘You know that he was stabbed with a knitting needle, which Amy Philips does not deny holding. The question is: was it self-defence, in which case the sentence will be minimal, or was it murder?’
‘It was murder.’ Mrs Patterson sounded utterly certain.
‘What makes you say that?’ asked McCarthy.
‘That woman is very odd. Deranged, I would say, except that she’s clever and hard to catch out. At first, I had some sympathy for her, what with her mother dying in a car crash. But she wormed her way into our family and I couldn’t get her out without a barring order.’
‘But was there something specific, that makes you think her capable of murder? Some incident, rather than your judgement of her character?’
‘Well, yes, I believe there were a few. I’m convinced she was in our master bedroom several times. I never actually caught her there. But items would be in places I never normally leave them: a hairbrush on the windowsill; a magazine on the arm of a chair. That kind of thing. They were almost like a message.’
Elizabeth Patterson shook her head. ‘I know it doesn’t sound like very much, but at the time it was distinctly creepy. Either I was mistaken, but I never believed I was, or Amy Philips was secretly searching our bedroom, or worst of all, Amy Philips was deliberately and provocatively leaving items in positions where they would stand out as being “wrong”.
‘Then there was the effect she was having on my husband. She was making eyes at him. And George, instead of knocking that kind of behaviour on head, seemed to encourage it. She’d come downstairs after a shower, for example, in just a towelled bathrobe, her hair all wet. Then she’d hang about in the kitchen, perhaps, until George would offer me a coffee and go through to her. I heard laughter and if I ever went in, she’d have her hands on her robe as if she’d just pulled it tight, having let it hang loose for him. It’s hard to put my finger on any one thing, but it was the look in her eye. A wicked stare, challenging me and laughing at me at the same time.’
‘You said barring order?’ asked McCarthy, face entirely sympathetic. ‘Was that a joke?’
‘Oh no!’ cried Mrs Patterson, ‘not at all. I really did get a barring order, in Ivy’s name. That was much later. In the late 1990s. Mike had gone away with work, to Japan, and suddenly, Ivy came home from Wexford asking for our help. She was a grown woman, but she was like a child.’
Tears returned to her eyes. ‘Ivy was thin and she wasn’t clear in her mind, the way she used to be. I think a lot of abuse had gone on, sexual abuse perhaps, although she was too ashamed to talk about it. What Ivy did say though, was that she had never loved Amy. That she’d only lived in Wexford out of fear and that she never wanted to go back.
‘Well, that was fine with us. We were delighted to have her back in the house. And it was a bit like nursing an invalid back to health, although there was nothing really wrong with Ivy. Then, one day, the doorbell rang and even as I went to answer it, there was something about the shape of the shadow on the glass that made me think it was Amy.
‘“Hello, Elizabeth,” she said. “Is Ivy in?”
‘Unfortunately, Ivy was in the kitchen and had opened the door to the hall, suspecting nothing, so they could see each other. I tried to put myself in the way of Amy Philip’s gaze. I felt like she was a Medusa out of Greek legends and that one look might destroy Ivy.
‘“Oh,” she said, “there you are, Ivy. Can I have a word?” With this she tried to push past me, but I had my foot jammed against the door and, unless willing to lose her dignity entirely by shouldering me aside, she could not come in any further.
‘“Go away, Amy. I don’t want to see you.”
‘Are you sure about that?” Amy replied and there was something very chilling in her voice. “I was thinking of going on a trip to Japan.”
‘What she meant by that, I didn’t really understand. But there was a threat in her voice. A threat to Mike perhaps? It didn’t really make sense. All I knew was that she was not welcome in my home and that I would do what I had to. I was going to protect Ivy from Amy.
‘“Go away, Amy,” said my daughter, but she wasn’t very loud or firm about this.
‘With a sudden shove, I got Amy out of the door and pushed it shut. But she didn’t leave right away. Instead, she pressed her face to the glass part, staring at Ivy.
‘“Go into the kitchen, dear,” I said firmly. Poor Ivy, she was white as a sheet and looked as though she was about to faint. “Go on. Make yourself a tea.” At last, Ivy gathe
red herself enough to get out of the hall. Then I turned back to the strange young woman at my door. I opened it again.
‘“Amy Philips.” She seemed to be surprised that I’d stepped out to confront her and she also had a slight smile around her lips when she nodded to me. “I’ve never said this to anyone before. But you are not welcome at this house. Don’t come near Ivy again.”
‘“Is it Ivy you are worried about, or your husband?” She sneered at me.
‘“Just leave and don’t come back.”
‘We stood there, at my door, for a long time. A neighbour drove past and gave me a wave. I didn’t respond. All my concentration was on this young woman with her fleshy, sinister face.
‘At last, Amy took a step back. Then another. With a last look over my shoulder, towards the kitchen, she turned and left. Her figure seemed sad. Had she got the message? Had she given up? No.
‘The next day, while we were shopping at the supermarket, I got an awful jolt. Amy Philips came up to us, basket over her arm. Beside me, Ivy began to tremble.
‘“Oh, hello,” said Amy, with a false smile. “How lovely to see you here. Isn’t the weather marvellous for the time of year.”
‘“Leave us alone, Amy. This is stalking. There are laws against it.” I spoke up as fiercely as I could, not caring that nearby, the other customers and staff turned to stare.
‘“Don’t be silly, Mrs Patterson, I’m just doing my shopping, there’s no law against that. Now, don’t those tomatoes look ripe?”
‘“Come on, Ivy.” I took my daughter’s hand, leaving the shopping trolley half full of goods and went out to a car. We sat there for a while, me watching in the mirror to see if Amy would follow us out. Ivy, shuddering and blinking back the tears.
‘“She’s dangerous, Ivy,” I said.
‘“I know, Mum. I’ve known for years.”
‘“Why did you stay with her then?”
‘“For Mike’s sake… She said she’d kill him and I believe her. She really would.”
‘“Right. That’s enough of her. I’m going to the police.”
‘Ivy gasped and looked pale. But she didn’t say anything as I drove out of the car park and down to the police station. There, the man on duty referred us to a female sergeant and soon, we were sat with her. I explained the situation but I was dependent on Ivy and for a while, I wasn’t sure that Ivy would speak. Thank God, she did though. A lot came out and I was horrified. The bullying at school. The blackmail over the pictures. The killing of the dog and the threats to kill Mike.’
‘“Can I speak to Mike?” asked the policewoman. “If we had a witness to this, we might be able to prosecute.”
‘“He’s in Japan,” I answered.
‘Ivy shook her head. “In any case, it wouldn’t help. He’s in love with Amy and would say anything for her. He’d lie. Perjure himself.”
‘“Well.” The policewoman leaned back from the computer, where she’d been typing in notes. “I think the best we can do for you here is get a barring order. I’ll put this to the District Court on Wednesday. You’ll have to attend.”
‘“And in the meantime? She’s spying on us. How else did she know we were in the supermarket?” I felt angry for some reason. Like the police were failing us.
‘“I can go to court today as ask they issue a protection order with an immediate effect. It’s not as wide ranging, but it will keep her from your house and if she breaks it, call us. We’ll probably be able to deport her if her address is outside the jurisdiction.”
‘“Thank you. Please do.” I looked across to Ivy.
‘“It has to be Ivy’s request,” the policewoman spoke softly.
‘“Yes. Yes, protect me.”
‘Driving home, I felt a lot better. Poor Ivy had been in this evil woman’s hands for years. That was at an end now. Even so, I almost shuddered as I turned the car into our drive. Somewhere, I sensed the eyes of Amy Philips were fixed upon us. Our home no longer felt friendly and safe.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mrs Patterson, who had seemed very determined and strong as she recalled these events, suddenly was tearful and her hands began to tremble. With an alarming lurch, she grabbed my arms. ‘You have to find her, Superintendent. Or her body.’
It was McCarthy who disentangled the elderly woman and set her back into her chair. ‘We will.’
‘Are you OK to carry on?’ I asked Mrs Patterson. ‘You are being very helpful. But I’d like to understand the situation more clearly, with your help. Why did Ivy, Ms Patterson, come back to Wexford, to live with Ms Philips?’
As though listening to her own, silent answer, Mrs Patterson shook her head. Then she drew a deep breath. ‘For weeks, I felt as though Amy Philips was watching us. Really, it was a most uncomfortable experience. At night, I would always draw over the curtains fully. And if ever Ivy wanted to go to the cinema or to some music, I’d go with her. I just felt that Amy was nearby and that in some way, Ivy was in danger. It was like Amy had a secret power, an ability to hypnotise her.
‘But then we started to get postcards. They were innocent enough. Just what you’d expect two old school-friends to exchange. You know: Dear Ivy, I’m in Paris. You’d love it here I’m sure; the Louvre is as good as you’d expect. Not the Mona Lisa, she is rather boring, but the modern sculpture is amazing. I shall go back for more tomorrow. Love Amy.
‘Harmless, it seemed. Yet sinister in my eyes, because we wanted nothing more to do with her. And here she was, pretending that a friendship (or love affair even) still existed. At least it meant she was out of the country and we could relax. We got about ten postcards from France and Italy.’
‘Do you still have them?’ wondered McCarthy aloud. The same thought had occurred to me. Not that they would have done us much good.
‘Oh no.’ Mrs Patterson shook her head. ‘Straight in the bin, always. The same with the letters.’
‘Letters?’ I asked.
‘After a while, we’d get these thick envelopes, postmarked Wexford. They were full of sheets of writing. It pained me to imagine Amy in her house, spending hours with pen and paper in hand, writing to Ivy. Again, it told me that she hadn’t given up.’
McCarthy nodded sympathetically, her short blonde fringe swaying as she looked down at her notes. ‘What was in the letters?’
‘I don’t know. We just threw them away unopened. The one I did look at was just full of daily news about the farm; her uncle; her dog; a description of going for a walk on the beach. Just everyday things. They would have looked normal, if you hadn’t have known that she’d been told to leave Ivy alone. But you can’t put a barring order on letters.’
McCarthy glanced at me but quite rightly didn’t interrupt. You can, in fact, get the post office to screen mail and the telecoms company to screen calls.
‘Other than these letters, I felt that Ivy was moving on with her life. She got a job in an insurance company and soon after was dating one of the other staff members there.’ Mrs Patterson gave a rare smile. ‘Gary, his name was. He was a bit on the dim side for Ivy, loved his sports rather than books and concerts. But a hearty, outgoing boyfriend was just what she needed. You know, to laugh again.
‘Ivy got a flat of her own, which I was a bit anxious about, but it was fine. Although, not long after, the letters stopped coming to my address and – she didn’t tell me for months, knowing I’d fret – they started coming to her new place. How on earth Amy knew about it, I’ll never know. She must have had someone in the vicinity reporting to her.
‘All the same, it wasn’t a big cloud in our lives. We carried on just fine until Mike came back from Japan. That would have been about 2005 and it’s when everything changed again. My foolish boy had lost his job. He’d made some Japanese girl pregnant. Some girl from his office. And over there they take these kinds of things very seriously.’
‘Mike Patterson had a child?’ McCarthy was surprised. ‘Do we need to contact someone?’
‘No, no. The woman
had an abortion.’
‘Oh.’
‘Naturally, Mike came home for a while. But after just a fortnight, he announced he was going to live with Amy Philips in Wexford. I was furious and called a family meeting. The four of us sat in our front room.’
‘Mr Patterson, Mike, Ivy and yourself?’ I clarified.
‘Exactly. And I told Mike I knew all about what Amy Philips had done to Ivy and how she was a disturbed woman who might do anything. And it wasn’t just himself he was risking, but Ivy, who out of love for him had stayed with Amy, even though she had hated it. All the time, though, Mike just sneered at me. The poor, silly boy. He was a grown man now, fleshy, grey around the cheeks but ruddy when he spoke fervently. And a silly child still.
‘George was useless too. I wanted him to back me up. To insist that Mike have nothing to do with Amy. But George just sat there listening and not speaking. I was on my own. The only one who could see the trouble, the tragedy, ahead of us. George was fatalistic, Mike was a fool and Ivy… Well, already, I could see a ghost settling upon her. In her eyes was fear and, … worse… resignation. I wanted to shake her, to shout at her, to tell her to stand up to Amy, no matter what. Later, when Mike had gone, head high, thinking he was some sort of Shakespearean hero fighting for the cause of love, Ivy said something to the effect that she knew she would never escape Amy. And my heart nearly stopped.’
‘This was 2005?’ McCarthy, in checking the date, broke Elizabeth Patterson’s train of thought, which was a shame, because I wanted to know more about why Ivy would return to Wexford. Did she really believe Amy would kill Mike? Ivy must have been convinced of this, to have surrendered herself once more to Amy.
‘Yes.’ Mrs Patterson sniffed. ‘Yes. And before the year was out, Ivy had gone over there too. I couldn’t stop her. Of course I tried. It didn’t help that I was worn out by it all and sick. The week before Ivy left, she was in my bedroom. I was lying there, trying to think clearly. Trying to explain it to her. That it was far more dangerous to Mike to go over to Wexford. That Amy should trust in the law. I don’t remember what she said in reply, but I knew I hadn’t gotten through to her. The next week I found out that she’d given up her job and her flat and gone to Wexford.’
Struggles of Psycho Page 18