Starting up the engine, she gingerly pressed her foot down on the clutch and winced as the pain flared to life. It wasn’t as bad as it had been walking out of the station but it wasn’t great either. So long as she didn’t need to do any emergency stops, she figured she’d get home just fine.
Without a backwards glance at the station, she pulled out into the flow of traffic.
By the time she made it into the house, Harriet’s foot was on fire. Hobbling into the kitchen, she pulled a packet of garden peas from the freezer and wrapped them in a tea-towel before heading back into the living room. Propping her foot up on the couch next to her, she placed the peas over the unbecoming swelling that was made her ankle look more like a misshapen turnip than anything close to what it was supposed to be.
Reaching over to the coffee table she scooped her phone and dialled Bianca’s number and listened as the ringing tone echoed in her ear. With no answer, Harriet let the phone drop back onto her lap and groaned.
Why had she been so stupid?
The answer was pretty simple. Working in the university wasn’t enough for her. She enjoyed it, and for a time it had brought her some satisfaction knowing she was shaping the minds of the future. But that had been short lived and now when she thought about work, it was a weight on her chest.
Grabbing the nearest case file, she flipped it open and studied the first page. But this had been so much more than that. It was new and exciting and for the first time since she’d started in the field of Forensic Psychology Harriet actually felt like she could make a difference to the world around her.
Perhaps by helping to understand the people who committed these kinds of crimes she could help prevent it happening in the future. It was of course pie in the sky. Crimes like these would always happen and there was nothing she could do to change that.
But it hadn’t stopped her from feeling like she was making a difference, somehow, somewhere.
The phone next to her started to ring making her jump. Typical of Bianca to miss a call and then immediately return it.
“I was wondering when—"
“Harriet, it’s Jonathan. I was calling to ask if you were running late or—"
Harriet pressed her hand over her eyes and swore silently under her breath. How could it have slipped her mind?
“Dr Connor, I’m so sorry,” she said.
“You’ve stood me up,” he said, not bothering to conceal the hurt and anger in his voice.
“No. Well, I did but it wasn’t my intention.”
“You could have had the courtesy to call,” he said.
“I am very sorry,” she said. “I’m only just in the door from work and there was an incident and—"
“Wait, you’re not hurt, are you?”
“It’s just a twisted ankle, I’ll be fine. But—"
“Harriet, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Is there something I can do to help?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” she said wincing as she moved her foot into a more comfortable position on the couch “I’m the one who should be apologising anyway. Our meeting—"
“Never mind that,” he said, cutting her off before she could finish speaking. “Our meeting is unimportant. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”
“Honestly, I’ll be fine. A little rest and I’ll be right as rain in the morning.”
“Well, if you’re certain.”
“I am.” She was pleased to sound so decisive.
Dr Connor sighed. “Well, I best let you rest then.”
“Thanks for calling,” she said before ending the call.
Letting out a long breath, Harriet let her head flop back against the pillows. How had she forgotten the meeting? Of course, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out why she’d let the meeting slip her mind. A combination of not wanting to go in the first place and the case engrossing her every waking moment.
Setting the phone down next to her, she reached over to the table and picked up another one of the files she’d brought home with her.
Drew had said he didn’t need her help anymore but she had a feeling that it wasn’t entirely true. There were things at play here that he couldn’t hope to understand. Heck, she didn’t even understand but she wanted to.
“Did you pick Sian because she was already isolated from her family? Did you know what her step-father was doing to her and if that’s true then how did you know?”
It seemed unlikely that Sian would have confided in anyone. Although it was entirely likely she had confided the terrible truth in Aidan. But that would have been different for Sian. As far as she was concerned, he was her confidant, her boyfriend, her protector. It made perfect sense that she would have told him at least some of what was happening to her. And so, the question became: would he have told anyone?
Harriet flipped over the pictures of Sian and Aidan, laying them on her lap side by side. They were both so young, so terribly vulnerable to predators who looked for someone, anyone whose armour wasn’t strong enough to withstand an assault.
And in Sian and Aidan he’d found two such victims.
Picking up the photograph of Aidan, she stared at it.
“What was your secret?”
“What made Sian trust you enough to tell you her darkest shame?” Harriet leaned her head back and stared up at the ceiling. “Did you share a secret with her? Is there something we don’t know about you?”
Harriet paused and closed her eyes. “Well, I’d imagine it would have to have been equally as shameful as hers. She wouldn’t have told you anything if your secret was something trivial. What is it, Aidan? What bonded you together?”
Grabbing a pen and pad of paper from her handbag, Harriet started to write down notes, small observations. It wasn’t easy when all she had to go on amounted to little more than hearsay and gossip from those who had known the teenagers.
A loud knock on the door pulled her from her thought process. She paused, pen poised above the page and the knock came again.
“Harriet, it’s me, Jonathan.” The voice echoed in through the letterbox and into the hall and Harriet’s heart sank in her chest.
What the hell was he doing here?
Scrambling to her feet, Harriet hobbled to the door before he could knock a third time. She tugged it open and came face to face with the handsome psychologist standing in her front porch.
The collar of his long wax jacket was pulled up around his ears and his salt and pepper hair was damp letting Harriet know it had started to rain since she’d gotten home.
His face broke out into a sympathetic smile and he raised a plastic bag in his left hand. “I thought if Mohammed can’t come to the mountain, the mountain should come to Mohammed.” He raised his right hand and presented a bottle of red wine to her.
“You really didn’t have to,” she said, doing her best to keep her smile friendly. The last thing she wanted to do was let him inside, the thought of entertaining him was beyond painful.
“Well, I figured you probably wouldn’t be able to do much on that leg of yours,” he said, as he cast a critical eye in the direction of her feet.
Harriet had the overwhelming feeling that he was testing her. Did he not believe her when she’d said she’d hurt herself? It felt a little petty and vindictive if it were true and there was a part of her that longed to disbelieve it.
“Can I come in?” He asked, waggling the bottle at her again.
Harriet hobbled aside and directed him to toward the back of the house. “Through the hall and into the kitchen,” she said.
With the confidence Harriet had become accustomed to seeing in Jonathan, he strode through to the kitchen and began to set the food out on the granite countertop.
“Do you have cutlery? Plates? Glasses?” He raised a speculative eyebrow at her cupboards.
Harriet moved around the counter and took some dishes from the cupboard above her head, every time she moved her ankle protested painfully. Perhaps Drew had been right when
he’d suggested a trip to the local A&E department but the thought of getting stuck there for hours on end was enough to make the pain bearable.
“I should be doing that,” Jonathan said, but he made no move to take the plates from her or even really help.
He let her set the dishes down and Harriet grabbed two glasses from inside the dishwasher.
“Oh, did you have company?” Despite the nonchalant air to his question, Harriet could feel the undercurrent of curiosity in his voice.
“No,” she said honestly. “I just haven’t emptied the dishwasher in a few days.”
“Here, let me,” Jonathan finally made a move toward her and took the glasses from her hands before he filled them with wine.
Screw-top-lid, Harriet noted. Either he’d come prepared, thinking she might not have a corkscrew, or he hadn’t wanted to waste too much money on a bottle of wine.
She settled onto the stool on the other side of the counter and watched him set the plastic containers out.
“I didn’t know what you’d like,” he said apologetically.
“So, you got a little of everything?” Harriet finished for him, staring at the amount of food he’d brought in surprise. Perhaps her earlier thought had been a little disingenuous. After all, why go to so much expense on the food and then skimp on the wine?
“Well, I know the woman who runs Daphne’s,” he said with a broad grin. “Surprisingly enough her name isn’t Daphne.”
Despite not seeing the humour in his little joke, Harriet felt compelled to join him in his laughter or run the risk of insulting him.
“So, what happened to your leg?” he asked, sliding a set of containers toward her. “I didn’t think there was too much danger these days in academia, although maybe it’s changed?”
Harriet smiled and shook her head. “No. The students didn’t revolt if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m helping the police with a case and got a little overzealous when I was talking to one of the victim’s families today.”
Jonathan raised his face, his expression a mixture of concern and surprise. “Wait, you’re helping the police now? When did that happen?”
“After I got back to the office yesterday, actually,” she said, popping the lid on the box next to her. The smell of pasta spilled out and filled the air, caused Harriet’s mouth to water.
The grapes and cheese from the night before hadn’t exactly been a sustaining meal and the day had gone by in a flash leaving her no time to think of eating. She took a generous helping of the pasta before sliding it toward Jonathan.
“I don’t understand, how did they find you?” There was a flicker of harshness in Jonathan’s voice as he spoke, and Harriet glanced up at him through lowered lashes.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess they read some of my papers and liked what they saw.”
“But I mean surely there are other more qualified psychologist’s out there who could have helped them?”
Harriet smiled. “I’m sure there was but they came to me.” She shrugged.
“What are you working on?”
She contemplated not telling him but decided against it. There was no point in alienating him and anyway it would probably prove useful to have another psychologist to bounce ideas off of from time to time.
“The three suicides up in Tollby,” she said. “Three teens in just over three months.”
“Was it bullying? Social media these days has gotten really quite fierce and young minds find it difficult to separate out the present from the future.”
Harriet shook her head. “We’re not looking at bullying as the cause, although I think one of the cases could very nearly have gone that way.”
“Then what?”
“Murder,” Harriet said and watched as that one simple word sent a myriad of emotions flitting across Jonathan’s face, the chief among them being jealousy.
“And the police have asked you to assist them? I’m sorry, I just don’t understand it.”
“What’s not to understand?” Harriet kept her voice mild as she wound a forkful of spaghetti up and then proceeded to pop it into her mouth.
“I think you know exactly what I’m saying. You didn’t spend very long working clinically and the amount of academic work behind you isn’t exactly monumental.”
She quirked an eyebrow at him. “I suppose you think you would have been a much better candidate?”
He nodded. “Well, yeah. Don’t you?”
She set her fork down before picking up the glass of wine he’d poured for her. She twirled the stem around her fingers for a moment before taking a sip of the cheap merlot. It wasn’t the worst she’d tasted, her student days had been filled with far dodgier bottles of plonk bought only with one intention in mind, to get as drunk as humanly possible. And given half an opportunity this would do exactly the same.
“I can’t argue with you,” she said. “You are much more experienced than I am.”
Jonathan beamed proudly. “I’m not saying that you’re not capable of giving them some guidance,” he said.
“Just not as much as you think you could.”
He nodded. “Of course. You said it yourself, I am much more experienced.”
“Maybe they thought you were too busy,” Harriet said, fighting to keep her voice neutral.
“Maybe,” he said sounding more than a little unconvinced. “So why do they think these suicides are murder? It seems a little far-fetched to me.”
“Nothing is set in stone,” Harriet said, deciding to remain a little illusive. “They’re exploring the possibilities is all.”
“Ah,” Jonathan said. “Maybe that’s why they didn’t contact me then.”
Harriet inclined her head. “Why’s that then?”
“They probably figured someone like me would have given them what for on wasting people’s time. Whereas with you,” he said as he smiled patronisingly. “Well, you’re a little bit of a soft touch, aren’t you?”
“That’s not quite how I’d describe myself,” she said, biting back the acerbic response that popped into her head.
“I hope you don’t think I’m trying to insult you,” he said, his face overcome with concern. “I would never do that.”
Harriet nodded and turned her attention to the food in front of her. He wasn’t trying to insult her, no, she could concede that point. He had however insulted her with his patronising mannerisms and his belief that just because she sought to heal through empathy that she was somehow a soft touch capable of being hoodwinked by even the most undiscerning of people.
“You wanted to discuss my mother’s care,” she said, changing the subject abruptly.
“I have insulted you, haven’t I?” He reached across the counter and awkwardly patted the top of her hand the way an adult might try and console an errant child
“No,” she said, curtly, sliding her hand away from him. “I just don’t think it’s appropriate to discuss the details of an ongoing investigation with someone who hasn’t been cleared to hear said details.” She smiled sweetly at him as she picked up her wine glass and took a deep mouthful of the bitter drink.
He shot her a wry smile as he nodded. “You’re right, of course.”
“So, what was it you wanted to discuss?”
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “As you know your mother attacked another care-assistant,” he said, setting his fork down on the side of his plate.
Harriet nodded. “She doesn’t seem to see why it was a problem.”
Jonathan’s lips thinned. “She’s not responding to the treatment the way she once was.”
“Are you sure she’s taking her medication?”
He smiled. “I thought you might ask that, and I went personally to oversee her medication being administered to her both last night and this morning.”
“And she’s definitely taking it?” Harriet couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. She’d been so certain yesterday in the hospital that there was something not quite right and the onl
y thing in the whole scenario that made any sense was that her mother was somehow duping those administering her meds. Of course, it should have been impossible, but Harriet had long since learned that nothing in this life was truly impossible. Where there was a will there was a way and many people suffering similarly to her mother struggled to keep taking their medication.
It wasn’t just defiance either. Many of them seemed to genuinely believe that the medication was somehow making them worse. Others believed incorrectly that they were now cured, as though their schizophrenia was somehow like an infection and that a course of medication could wipe it out much the way antibiotics could destroy bacteria.
“She’s definitely taking it,” he said. There was no questioning the certainty in his voice.
“I don’t know then,” she said, feeling a wave of hopelessness wash over her. “Do you think my visits are affecting her?”
He shook his head. “I honestly believe she looks forward to your visits, in her own way of course.”
Harriet nodded. “Well what do you think we should do?”
Jonathan gave her a warm smile. “Well, I’ve been thinking about this and I was wondering what you might say to having her transferred to another facility?”
“Excuse me?”
“One with a little more security, for her safety along with everyone elses.”
“I’m not sure how that’s a good idea, she’s been in there for twenty two years and—"
He shook his head. “But I think that’s exactly the issue here. She has been here for twenty-two years, that’s a long time by anyones measure and I’m starting to believe that your mother is beginning to go somewhat stir-crazy.”
“But that’s—"
“Harriet, I need you to put aside your personal feelings in this matter for a moment and imagine what is best for your mother.”
She nodded. “Don’t you think that’s what I’m doing?”
Jonathan gave her a withering smile. “I think you’re allowing your feelings to get wrapped up in what’s practical.”
“How is moving her practical? You and I both know it could set her back. Routine and familiarity is vital to someone like her.”
The Hanging Time Page 17