Alone with the Dead: A PC Donal Lynch Thriller

by James Nally

  He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face into his hands.

  ‘Go on,’ ordered Shep.

  ‘I hear squealing, like cats fighting. I step out and see my steel ruler in Laura’s hand, Marion crawling about on the landing, blood splashes on her face, her eyes wild, staring.’

  Terry’s eyes weren’t focusing at all anymore. He was right back there.

  ‘Laura’s stalking her about the landing, saying: “That’ll fucking teach you. That’ll fucking teach you” over and over. I recognise the girl as Peter’s wife. She came to ours for dinner once. I cry out: “Jesus, what have you done?”’

  Each breath Terry now drew sounded more primeval, guttural, strangled than the last.

  ‘Laura turns, glares at me, holding the ruler up between us. I’m thinking: “She’s gonna do me now.” Then she focuses on the ruler and recoils, as if she’s no idea what she’s just done. Marion gets back on her feet. She’s stumbling about. “Terry,” she says, “Terry, please?” She’s seen us both now.’

  A bestial grunt formed deep in his guts, like a trapped soul. ‘The girl, Marion, she’s deranged. She lunges at me, scratches my eyes so hard she leaves a piece of her fingernail in my cheek. I lash out. Instinct, you know? That’s when I realise I’d taken the knife off Laura. I’ve stabbed the girl in her hand. She’s seen me now. She knows who I am. I can’t go back inside. I have to finish her off.’

  His face planted itself into the table and slid about helplessly on slobs of phlegm and snot and tears.

  ‘Interview terminated, 18.08,’ said Shep. He turned off the tape recorder, stood and inspected his stricken quarry.

  ‘Shit,’ said Mick, bolting to his feet and dashing to the door just ahead of Colin.

  They reached the table just as Shep smashed Terry Foster’s face into the table. Mick and Colin swallowed Shep in a bear hug and led him out of there, rage convulsing his whole frame like bolts of lightning.

  Chapter 41

  Clapham Police Station, South London

  Sunday, August 18, 1991; 19:00

  Terry and Laura Foster were charged with the murder of Marion Ryan. Karen Foster was charged with perverting the course of justice. All three were denied bail.

  Shep disappeared into his office for forty minutes, then summoned a briefing. As he outlined the case against the Fosters, he seemed flat, sickened, as if soiled by the words he was delivering.

  ‘Peter Ryan finally admitted today that both he and Karen Foster have a watertight alibi for the afternoon of Marion’s murder after all: from about four fifteen until six p.m. on July 1st, they were shagging in Bethan Trott’s room at the Pines care home. Of course neither of them wanted to admit it, right until the bitter end. It was only when we told Peter that we’d seized Karen’s pager and worked out all her movements from the transmitters on the day that he finally coughed. That’s not all he coughed to, but we’ll come to that later.

  ‘I have to be man enough at this point to say I became too focused on Karen Foster and it cost us valuable time and resources. McStay, Barratt, you were right. She didn’t murder Marion Ryan. But there was a reason why Karen kept popping up in the frame. Her own sister was trying to frame her.

  ‘A couple of days before the murder, Bethan Trott told Laura Foster that she was going to her mother’s after lunch that Monday, July 1st, and planned to be back by six p.m. Laura told Karen this news because Laura knew what Karen would do next: invite Peter to the room for sex that afternoon. Remember, Peter himself has said that, once he and Marion moved out of the halls in January, he and Karen preferred using Bethan’s room for their secret trysts as it was at the end of the corridor and out of sight. Karen’s room was next door to the matron’s.

  ‘Laura knew that Peter Ryan kept the keys to his flat in his briefcase, which was usually in the shed on the care home grounds. So, let me run through Laura Foster’s actions on the day.

  ‘She got home at three p.m. and told her dad Terry that Karen was being bullied at work by a woman who she wanted to “sort out”. When Terry refused to get involved, Laura threatened to tell her mum about something Terry had done to either her or one of her sisters. We might never get to the bottom of that, but it must have been pretty damning to give her that kind of leverage.

  ‘Terry agreed to drive Laura to the Pines in his work van, he thought to confront this woman who’d been bullying Karen. Before they left, Laura grabbed a black gym bag. When they reached the Pines, Laura told Terry to park up on the street outside and wait for her. Laura got out of the van and went inside the home. Ten to fifteen minutes later, she pulled up alongside Terry’s van in Karen’s car, wearing shades and a red top, told him to grab the gym bag and get in.

  ‘I will argue that Laura Foster went to the shed to retrieve the keys to Peter and Marion’s flat, then went to Karen’s room – remember, she had a key and her sister was with Peter in Bethan’s room – changed into her sister’s clothes, got hold of her sister’s car keys, car park pass and ATM card.

  ‘She used Karen’s pass to get out of the car park, pulled up next to Terry and told him that Karen wasn’t feeling very well. She said that the bully had already gone home and that Karen had asked them to go speak to her there. Terry got into the car with the gym bag.

  ‘Here’s where Laura decided to gamble. She parked just up the road from the Pines and used her sister’s bank card to withdraw ten pounds. She knew this would demolish both their alibis but had already decided that both Karen and Marion had to be taken out of the equation, and this was the only way.

  ‘Laura pulled up outside the Roundhouse pub. She and Terry unlocked both doors into the Ryan flat and waited for Marion, Terry behind a bedroom door, Laura up front on the landing. They must have both been wearing gloves.

  ‘When Terry heard Laura attack Marion he came out of his hiding place and realised Laura had stabbed her with the metal ruler he used for work. But she was still alive and she knew them both. Fearing a return to prison, he flipped and finished Marion off.

  ‘Laura had already packed a change of clothes for them both. She changed back into the black top she’d worn earlier, then drove them back to the clinic, dropped Terry off on the street and entered the car park. Right at the entrance, she spotted a woman emerging from reception who knew her and Karen. She stopped the car so that this woman couldn’t get a good look at her. It worked; that witness later assumed she’d seen Karen.

  ‘After Peter set off to clean the fish tanks, Laura got Karen out of Bethan’s room, greeted Bethan from the balcony and let her in. Laura told Bethan both she and Karen had been in her room since five. She left the gym bag in Bethan’s room because she knew she could bully and control Bethan. She had a two-hour window at that point to get the bank card, car keys, car park pass and shades back to Karen’s room, so that her sister wouldn’t suspect a thing.

  ‘Laura knew how crucial Bethan’s testimony would be. That’s why she put on such a show of grief when she heard the news about Marion in Bethan’s room. That’s why, the next day, she made sure Karen came with her when she retrieved the bag from Bethan’s room.

  ‘Laura must have been gutted when Glenn and his team ruled Karen out as a suspect. Five weeks later, when we started sniffing around, asking about Peter and Karen’s relationship, Laura saw her chance. She’d been controlling Bethan all along. Remember, she made Bethan provide the original alibi for both of them. It’s at this point it becomes clear now just how well Laura Foster has played us.

  ‘On the evening of the murder, Laura made sure she got Karen out of Bethan’s room before Bethan got back. By making sure Bethan didn’t see Karen, she could later prime Bethan about her “suspicions” about Karen’s involvement in the murder. Laura told Bethan about the times she’d caught Karen in her room eavesdropping on Peter and Marion. She told Bethan the hints Karen had dropped about what Peter was up to behind his wife’s back. She told Bethan about the time she saw Peter and Karen going into the shed together to have sex. She told Bethan
she couldn’t shop her own sister to the police. Bethan had to pretend to be the one who’d seen and heard these things.

  ‘Remember the list?’

  Shep produced a piece of paper from his inside pocket.

  ‘Bethan said she found this under her bed. It is a handwritten list of all the presents Peter bought Marion for her birthday in October last year, with the words “sick sick sick” scrawled at the bottom. Remember, this single sheet of paper set us on the trail of Karen and led to us finding out about the affair with Peter and Marion’s plans to move to Ireland. Well, guess what? I’ve had this examined. The list was written by Laura Foster.

  ‘I’ve just spoken to Bethan Trott. It took me ten minutes to convince her Laura was in custody before she’d open up. She admitted providing the sisters with the original alibi because she was scared of Laura. Once she’d told that lie, Laura had the power to make her tell more. It seems like Laura was especially proficient at playing “good cop, bad cop”. On one hand, she told Bethan that she was doing the right thing by leading the police to Marion’s killer, Karen. On the other hand, she threatened to expose her original lie if she didn’t go along with everything Laura said. Bethan was so scared of being charged with perverting the course of justice, and so scared of Laura, that she did exactly as she was told.’

  I thought back to Shep’s bullying of Bethan during her interview: we’d played right into Laura’s hands.

  Shep took a breather, pacing about to reflect on the course of events.

  ‘So why did Karen keep lying? Did Karen know that Laura and Terry were going to Marion’s home to “sort her out” that afternoon? I will argue that she didn’t. Terry only made the decision that day on the spur of the moment. It all comes back to Laura. She wanted Karen out of the way so she could frame her for the murder.

  ‘Did Laura tell Karen what happened afterwards? How it had all got out of hand? Of course not. She was too busy framing her. Did Karen or Peter suspect that her sister and dad had murdered Marion? Again, I don’t think it’s a line worth pursuing.

  ‘One thing is certain: Karen never suspected that her own sister was trying to set her up. All Karen feared was the exposure of her affair with Peter and how it might look. That’s why she stuck to the alibi that she and Laura had been shopping that day. Laura would have assured her, over and over: they can’t get you for this because you didn’t do it. But she also drummed into Karen what she’d already used to brainwash Bethan: “All they can get us for now is lying, so we must stick to our stories.” So they did.’

  Shep stopped walking, frowned and turned: ‘You know something, if we hadn’t found Laura’s trainer print on the flat door at 21, we never would have cracked this case. When I asked Peter Ryan how Laura’s shoe print might have got there he exhibited, for the first time in this whole sorry episode, a tinsy slither of shame. After six weeks pissing us about, he suddenly came clean: the day before the murder, while Marion was visiting her folks in Enfield, he fucked Laura Foster in their bedroom, in their sitting room, in their kitchen, in their bathroom and, on her way out, against the flat door.’

  Chapter 42

  The Roundhouse Pub, South London

  Sunday, August 18, 1991; 20:00

  I called Lilian from the Roundhouse pub and told her I had big news. She told me she’d be there in fifteen minutes.

  The rest of the team were in the Falcon. I’d join them later, after I tied up my life’s loose ends.

  I ordered another pint and thought about everything that had happened over the past seven weeks. I was in no doubt that Marion’s spirit had directed me to two key clues in the case. The first had been Karen’s unwitting admission that she’d parked twice near Marion’s home on the day of the murder. From that point on, I knew Marion had been steering me towards her killers, I’d simply guessed the wrong one.

  Had she not persisted in pointing me towards the door to her flat, we never would have made the breakthrough with Laura’s trainer. It was illogical, an affront to science. But it was true.

  I thought about poor Samantha and Jazmine Bisset. Why hadn’t they come to me? I resolved to do all I could to help them, even if it meant returning to the scene of their murders and risking the wrath of their restless souls. Whatever I’d suffer would pale in comparison to the warped depravity of their wretched deaths.

  My thoughts then turned to Meehan, three long years ago. What the hell had he wanted with me? Would I ever get to the bottom of the event that started this whole thing? Had he somehow opened up this channel to me from the other side?

  Lilian turned up, humanised by free-flowing hair and a yellow summer dress. She smiled and threw me a little hand wave, both catching me by surprise.

  We got straight down to business. I felt empowered relaying my extraordinary story as she wrote feverishly, obediently recording every detail. When I finished milking the udders of my undoubtedly unique gift, I asked her what she thought.

  ‘I’ve already written most of the paper,’ she announced breathlessly, ‘the only thing missing is you uncovering hard evidence as a direct result of a sleep paralysis episode. This is the missing link, but I can finish it now. I really think I might be able to get it published.’

  ‘Can I read it, when you’re done?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said.

  ‘And just so we’re straight on this, you’re definitely not revealing my identity.’

  ‘I promised,’ she sighed. ‘I call you The Empathist, because you clearly identify with these victims. It’s like you feel their agony.’

  ‘The Empathist,’ I said, giving it a good roll around my mouth, ‘I like it.’

  Then, adopting film trailer gravitas, I announced: ‘In a world where tormented souls seek justice, one man offers hope.’

  Lilian laughed, properly. It felt like my biggest breakthrough yet, so I ploughed on, genetically compelled to spoil a good gag: ‘Paramount pictures presents: The Empathist.’

  Cue dead-joke awkward silence. I should have bailed out when I was on top.

  ‘So what now, Doc?’

  She took a deep breath: ‘Well, I’ve done all I can do for you, clinically speaking.’

  ‘So I am no longer your patient?’

  ‘I am no longer your psychologist,’ she announced, holding out her hand. I smiled and shook it.

  ‘My God,’ I thought to myself, ‘this woman knows the real me and doesn’t seem to hate me or find me terrifying. And now, just like that, our relationship is over. I’ve confided in her, spilled my guts. I can’t just let her slip away.’

  ‘So, you’ve done all you can for me clinically,’ I teased, ‘but I think there’s still work to be done, emotionally. I’m not at all well in that department.’

  This silence felt less awkward, more cringing. Finally, Lilian reached for her drink, then changed her mind.

  ‘I’d really like to get to know you better, Donal,’ she said, choosing her words carefully, ‘I think you’re a really nice guy.’

  I stopped myself saying but? She’d clearly figured this all out already.

  ‘There are strict rules about this sort of thing. The Association expressly forbids us from starting any kind of relationship with a patient until at least two years after we’ve finished treating them. Even a friendship.’

  My brain recoiled: two years? Two. Whole. Years. ‘But you weren’t treating me. I was helping you,’ I argued, a little too pleadingly.

  ‘But if my paper gets published, and they find out I’m involved with the patient, no one would take my research seriously. There’s a good chance I’d get struck off before I even qualify. I can’t risk that.’

  ‘Fine, then. I’m withdrawing my permission.’

  That felt good.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Listen, Lilian, I’ve made up my mind, I don’t want you to publish anything about me or my condition.’

  ‘What? Oh my God. So this is the real you, is it, Donal? You try it on with me and when I turn you down you … fuck
me over?’

  She wanted me to say no. I couldn’t.

  ‘Well I’m glad I got to see the real you before anything more developed.’

  ‘Yeah well, you give yourself a big slap on the back for working that much out, Doctor. What a brilliant reader of minds you are. Like I said, I’m expressly forbidding you from publishing anything about me and my condition.’

  ‘It’s too late for that, Donal,’ she said, quietly but firmly, holding my glare.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That day you first came to me, you signed a waiver which permits me to publish anything about your treatment, providing I don’t identify you.’

  My mind rewound to that first appointment, those papers.

  ‘You can’t do that … I have rights.’

  ‘Oh I can, Donal,’ she said, getting to her feet, ‘and I will. Here.’

  She snatched a file out of her bag, slung it on the table and stomped off.

  ‘Hang on, Lilian,’ I called, leaping to my feet and scaring the shit out of the Roundhouse regulars.

  ‘Lilian?’ I roared, as the final person who cared about me left the building.

  I opened the file and found her cover note. In psychotically neat handwriting, Lilian explained how she’d failed to get hold of my medical records but, remembering that Mum is insomniac, applied and received hers from Tullamore General Hospital. She warned that the file contains a lot of information about my traumatic birth. Her conclusion: ‘I really think you should get a CT scan on your skull AT ONCE, to check for intracranial pressure which is a common cause of severe insomnia.’

  She’d added pink Post-it notes in the relevant areas, helpfully explaining the content. This exercise must have taken her at least a couple of hours. I started to feel bad.

  The headlines: I came out of my mother too quickly, too early. She’d suffered perineum and rectal tearing (no explanation given, nor sought) and life-threatening blood loss. She was found unconscious on the kitchen floor and required intensive care treatment. A surgeon had to re-open her cervix by hand to release the placenta.