Dark Shadows

by Sibel Hodge

  I called the hospital where Natalie was and asked if I could arrange a visit. They told me I could come in an hour’s time. As a police officer, I would have to follow strict procedures to visit her. It would mean arranging a social worker to accompany me and leaving a paper trail. But I wasn’t going in as a police officer. I told them I was a friend of hers from university, and they said I was welcome to see her—in fact, I would be her only visitor, apart from her parents. But they did warn me that she might not be very responsive.

  I hung up, grabbed my bag, and headed to my car, keeping an eye out for Hoodie Guy. I set up the satnav for Bramble Lodge, which sounded more like a nice country retreat than a medium-secure mental health hospital that housed people deemed to be a danger to themselves or others. Most of the one hundred and fifty patients had committed offences when mentally ill or had been diagnosed with a mental illness while already in prison.

  I arrived fifteen minutes before the designated visiting slot I’d been given, so I parked on the road outside and stared at the purpose-built, modern façade—a mixture of red brick and pale-blue render. It could’ve been a leisure centre or school. Only the guard booth on the main gate and the high wire mesh security fencing gave away its purpose.

  I pulled up Natalie’s Instagram page on my phone and scrolled through photos of her partying with Jess and Millie, holding up drinks to the camera, photos of books she’d read, quotes she liked, a tattoo she admired, flowers, wine bottles, food, and selfies. There was a video clip of her doing karaoke on a stage, belting out a song off-key but not caring because she was obviously having a great time, owning the stage with a fun-loving confidence. What journey had transformed the beautiful, vibrant young woman with glowing skin and a mischievous glint in her eyes that hinted at a good sense of humour to someone whose head was completely disturbed?

  My heart ached for Natalie as I took one final look then started the engine. I stopped at the guard booth to show my driving licence for ID. The guard examined it and then called the main building to check I’d rung ahead for an appointment. Satisfied, he handed me back my licence, told me where to park, and released the electric metal gates.

  I left my bag in the boot of my car, turned my phone to silent mode, and slid it into my pocket before following a sign for the main entrance. The secure doors with safety glass had a camera pointing down at me. I pressed a bell on the intercom and held up my ID to whoever was monitoring the CCTV.

  A buzzing noise signalled an electric entry system at play, and the door was opened by a female nurse dressed in blue scrubs. She was about twice my size in both height and width. Solid but not fat. I wouldn’t want to mess with her, put it that way.

  ‘You’re here to see Natalie Wheeler?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Okay, come with me, please.’

  The door shut with a metallic clang, and she led me through another secure door into an area with a reception booth behind toughened glass. The receptionist asked for my ID again, which I showed, and he gave me a visitor’s pass to clip onto my top.

  The nurse and I headed through another secure door that led to a long corridor. I was expecting something dark, dingy, and depressing, but inside, it was bright, with cream walls and modern parquet flooring. Halfway down, we reached a staircase that had been closed off with more toughened glass doors embedded with wire. The nurse swiped a pass key against an electronic lock, opened the door, and walked up the stairs.

  ‘How is Natalie?’ I asked.

  ‘Not that great, I’m afraid. She’s not making much progress yet. It’s nice to see one of her friends coming in, though. We actively encourage visitors for our patients here. We think it can help in their rehabilitation. No one else apart from her parents has been yet.’

  We exited the staircase at the next floor and passed through more security doors before ending up in another corridor.

  ‘Does she ever mention anyone from university?’ I asked.

  ‘Not that I’m aware of, no.’

  Somewhere in the distance, I heard a high-pitched screaming. I’d been in psychiatric wards many times as a patrol officer, when sectioning someone under the Mental Health Act, and it was never easy for patients or their loved ones.

  ‘Is she violent?’ I asked.

  ‘No, she’s actually submissive. But I will warn you that she may not even realise you’re here.’

  We walked past a day room with bright artwork adorning the walls. Several female patients sat inside, either watching a TV screen or at tables playing board games. One sat in the corner, staring into space. After that was a pharmacy area with a reinforced glass window and metal grill in the counter.

  ‘Natalie’s been put in the blue meeting room for your visit,’ the nurse said.

  I followed her further along the corridor, past a row of heavy-duty doors with small reinforced glass rectangles in them. I couldn’t get a look inside, but I assumed they were the patients’ rooms. At the far end was another door. The nurse swiped the entry system with her card and entered a room flooded with light from windows overlooking the lush green gardens.

  I swallowed a lump of sadness in my throat as I looked at Natalie, sitting on a lightweight wooden chair, staring down at the matching desk in front of her and rocking forwards and backwards. Her hands were tucked underneath her thighs, shoulders hunched over. Her long, greasy brown hair fell over her face. She wore a grey T-shirt, black jogging bottoms, slip-on shoes, and socks. No laces, belts, or items that would make it easier for patients to take their own lives. As we walked in, she didn’t look up or acknowledge our existence at all.

  ‘Natalie, your friend Becky’s here to see you. Isn’t that nice?’ The nurse stood in front of Natalie and bent down to catch her sightline. ‘Natalie?’

  We waited. There was no response.

  ‘Natalie?’ The nurse tried again.

  Natalie looked up, her eyes blank for a few seconds before a slow smile of recognition crossed her face. ‘Nurse Hillary. Is it time for therapy?’

  ‘No, not yet, love. That will be in a few hours. First, you can have a nice chat with your friend. Okay? Are you feeling up to that?’

  Natalie’s gaze slid slowly over to me, her eyes forked with tiny red blood vessels. I didn’t know if it was the medication or her mental state making her seem so out of it, but eventually, she nodded.

  ‘Good. I’ll leave you to it.’ Nurse Hillary smiled and patted Natalie’s arm. Then she said to me, ‘Just knock when you want to come out. I’ll be waiting outside.’ She strode to the door and disappeared out of the room.

  ‘Hi, Natalie. How are you?’ I sat down opposite her.

  She stared at me, her focus woozy, pulled one hand out from under her thigh, and chewed on a fingernail.

  ‘My name’s Becky.’

  She tilted her head and squinted at me. ‘Do I… know you?’ Her speech was slurred and slow. ‘Only I… I can’t remember things.’ She tapped her temple. ‘Something… wrong.’

  ‘No, you don’t know me.’ I smiled. ‘And I’m sorry to bring this up, but I need to talk to you about the car accident.’

  She looked down at her lap and blinked rapidly. ‘It was… the moth. I tried to stop… stop it. It made me.’ She blinked again, and a tear slid down her cheek.

  ‘What can you tell me about the moth, Natalie?’

  She tapped her right foot up and down, still not looking at me. ‘It’s… in my head.’ She twisted slowly around on the seat so her back was to me, head still bent down. She lifted her long hair with her left hand and dug her right index finger at a spot on the back of her neck. ‘It’s inside. In… here. It told me to… told me to hit him. To kill the man. It told me he was the enemy.’ She twisted around to face me again and swiped at her wet cheeks with the backs of her hands.

  ‘When did you first start hearing the moth telling you to do things?’

  She shrugged and scratched at an angry red patch of skin on the inside of her wrist.

&nb
sp; ‘Straight after the accident, you told the police officers you didn’t remember what had happened.’

  She scratched harder.

  ‘But now you think it was the moth, making you do things?’

  She nodded manically.

  ‘I spoke to your friends, Jess and Millie. They saw you with Professor Klein a few times on campus. Were you involved in a relationship with him? Or did you volunteer for one of his research programmes?’

  Her gaze darted to the side. She tapped her foot up and down again, slowly at first, then faster and faster, obviously agitated, as if she’d recognised the name.

  ‘He’s a research fellow in the Watling Centre. Your friends saw you speaking with him on several occasions. Why were you talking to him? He didn’t have anything to do with your course.’

  Her face scrunched up, as if fighting an inner battle of some kind. ‘I can’t…’

  ‘Can’t what?’

  She leaned forward, put her index finger to her lips, and whispered, ‘Shhh. It’s a secret.’

  ‘You can tell me, Natalie. I want to help you. Did he make you promise to keep a secret?’

  Her face twisted as if she were in pain. She rammed a fist to her mouth.

  ‘Was he doing some kind of behavioural or memory study on you?’

  She smashed her fists against her thighs.

  ‘Did he do something to you?’

  ‘No!’ she cried, fists pressed against her temples.

  But I didn’t believe her.

  ‘No, no, no!’ She shook her head rapidly then suddenly went still and rigid, head bent forwards, hair falling half over her face.

  I paused for a moment, letting her take a few breaths, then said, ‘Did you know Ajay Banerjee or Vicky Aylott or Farzad Nuri? They were also students at the university.’

  She looked up, her gaze darting around the room, not settling on anything for long. She sat on her hands again and rocked gently.

  Was I wrong about there being a connection? Sitting with her, it seemed a ludicrous possibility that Professor Klein or another member of the medical faculty could be involved in trying to mess with students’ heads. It seemed much more likely that Natalie had been suffering from an undiagnosed mental health issue that could’ve been brought on by the stress and pressure of being at university. I’d read that the first signs of schizophrenia could include sleep problems, irritability, a drop in grades, or a change of friends. It was common for people affected to isolate themselves or withdraw from others, have unusual thoughts or paranoia, and exhibit strange behaviour. The disease could start with a big bang and an acute episode of hallucinations or other disorders. For a moment, I felt completely out of my depth, questioning my own judgement, uncertainty pumping through me.

  But then I thought about the video of Natalie on her Instagram page, so full of life. So happy. A million miles away from this Natalie. I thought about Hoodie Guy. The money that had come from an unknown source. Klein’s name and the Watling Centre popping up every time. Ajay’s and Vicky’s shared symptoms. Surely it was too much of a coincidence that they could’ve all been suffering from mental illnesses that hadn’t been picked up. No. However ludicrous and far-out it sounded, I was certain I was on the right track.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and swiped through to the photo I’d taken of Hoodie Guy. ‘Do you recognise this man?’ I held out the phone to her.

  She didn’t look up.

  ‘Natalie, can you just look at this photo for me, please?’ I said softly.

  She glanced up, eyes slowly focusing on the screen. Then she squeezed her eyes shut tight. ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘Yes, you can. You can tell me. I want to help you. You thought someone was following you, didn’t you? Was this him?’

  Her face seemed to crumple in on itself. Tears streamed down her cheeks. ‘Put it away! Put it away!’ She opened her eyes and held out a palm, blocking the photo from her sightline.

  I wanted to push her further, because I was sure she recognised him. She was too distraught, though, so I quickly put my phone back in my pocket. ‘It’s okay. It’s gone.’

  She rocked faster in the chair.

  ‘Were you one of Klein’s research patients?’ I tried again.

  She wrapped her arms around her stomach and carried on rocking. She swivelled her head to the left, looking at the wall, but not before a look of pure terror had etched onto her face.

  ‘What is it you think you’re not supposed to say? What secret are you supposed to keep?’

  She shook her head, biting her lower lip.

  ‘What did he do to you, Natalie?’

  More tears slid down her cheeks. She didn’t bother to wipe them, and they splashed onto her jogging bottoms, leaving dark smudges.

  ‘If he hurt you in some way, you can tell me.’

  ‘No one… will believe me. It’s… the moth. It has to be the moth.’ She clamped her teeth down harder on her lip until a spot of blood appeared.

  ‘I’ll believe you. I promise I’ll believe you. Did he assault you? Or was it something else going on? Did he give you some kind of treatment or test that did something to your mind? Did he ever hypnotise you? You were having blackouts—periods of lost time, like you were sleepwalking, but I don’t think it was sleepwalking, was it? You didn’t remember what you’d been doing. Was it something Klein did that caused it all?’

  She closed her eyes, shook her head again.

  ‘Where did you get the money from? The cash you had under your mattress? There was over two thousand pounds. Did Professor Klein pay you to be involved in his research going on at the uni?’

  She looked up at me, and for the first time, her eyes looked clear and focused, even though her words were slow. ‘It was the moth. Someone put it in my head. And now it can’t get out. I looked it up.’

  I leaned forward and rested my elbows on the table, keeping my gaze steady on her bloodshot eyes. ‘Looked what up?’

  She rocked harder in the chair. ‘Who would believe me?’

  I leaned in closer. I could smell her breath, sour and hot. ‘Did he do something to you?’

  ‘It’s still in there! I can feel it… wiggling away.’ She stopped moving and jabbed a finger at the back of her neck repeatedly. ‘It made me kill that man. I didn’t want to! I didn’t want to! I didn’t want to!’ she repeated over and over again, her desolate eyes staring into mine. ‘You believe me, don’t you? I didn’t do it on… purpose. The moth told me to.’

  Chapter 31

  Detective Becky Harris

  I left the hospital, mulling over what Natalie had said. She’d eventually broken down and turned catatonic, and I hadn’t managed to get anything else out of her. But sometimes what people didn’t say spoke the loudest. Had Klein and Hoodie Guy threatened her to keep her quiet?

  When I got back in my car, I checked my phone and found a missed call and voicemail from Sutherby, asking me to call him immediately.

  The first thing he said upon answering was ‘I think we could have another one.’

  And then he ran me through the events involving Farzad Nuri, a student of St Albans University, who’d stabbed a member of the public in the busy shopping area of St Peters Street. Details were sketchy so far, but first reports from witnesses described it as a completely unprovoked attack. Nuri had managed to flee the scene and evade any CCTV cameras, and he was still at large.

  ‘Was the actual incident captured on CCTV?’ I asked.

  ‘No. There was some kind of major power-cut glitch this afternoon, and all of St Peters Street and the immediate surrounding area was down for forty-five minutes, so there were no local authority or private cameras in operation. And because of that, Nuri’s disappeared into thin air.’

  ‘Damn. What do we know about Nuri so far?’

  ‘He’s a second-generation Iranian immigrant. His parents came to the UK thirty years ago, and Farzad was born here and is their only child. We’ve spoken to his parents by phone, who live in Luton. His mo
ther’s a nurse. Father’s a dentist. They’re as shocked as everyone else. They’ve described him as being a decent, placid kid, and they can’t imagine any reason he’d do it. As far as they’re aware, he wasn’t affiliated with any suspicious groups or organisations and wasn’t religious. He didn’t mention to them that he was having any problems recently. They thought he was happy, enjoying uni, and in a relationship with a girl called Amy. The last time they spoke to him was a week ago, when he called them.’

  ‘He didn’t mention anything to his parents about sleepwalking and nightmares? Or blackout fugue states?’

  ‘Apparently not.’

  ‘It might not be connected,’ I said. ‘Or he just might not have told them anyway, even if that was going on. But it does seem very weird there’s now a fourth student tragedy. Have you spoken to any of Farzad’s friends yet?’

  ‘That’s in hand. We’re trying to gather as much information as we can about him and where he might’ve gone. We have to catch him before he does something else. We’ve got teams all over the place searching for any trace of him.’

  ‘Have you found out anything about Klein?’

  ‘His standard police data checks come back clean. Not even so much as a parking fine. I asked Anthea to look at his personnel details, but most of his file seems to be missing.’

  ‘Missing?’ I scrunched up my face. ‘What kind of files do they keep? Digital or paper?’

  ‘For employees, they keep digital copies. But when she went into Klein’s file, there was nothing much listed, except for his qualifications and contact details. There’s no contract copy, no previous employment history.’

  My antennae went on high alert. ‘Don’t you think that’s very strange? Especially when I can’t seem to find anything on him, either. These days, there’s something about everyone on the internet. Even some people’s pets have an Instagram page. But I found no social media, no website, no LinkedIn account, and only one mention of him ever.’

  ‘It could be an error. Or a glitch in the system.’

  I snorted. ‘Another glitch? Like the CCTV glitch? I don’t think so. It’s all too convenient. I think this is all planned to cover something up. What about Hoodie Guy? Any idea who he is yet?’