Wicked Leaks

by Matt Bendoris

  Kelly followed Duggie like an obedient dog for more than an hour. The sun rose up over the Cairngorm peaks, smoothed into giant black humps that looked like a pod of whales in the half-light.

  She hadn’t gone hiking in years. The last time had been with Brian before they were married. They’d climbed the Cobbler on the brilliantly named Arrochar Alps mountain range, drank themselves stupid in the local inn, then shagged themselves silly in a tent. But Kelly hated camping. You had to be drunk to get any sort of sleep, but drinking made you constantly need to pee. It wasn’t long before she insisted on a B&B instead, forcing Brian to go camping on his own. She could never figure out the attraction, but he truly loved the great outdoors, hiking all day then sleeping on a bed as hard as the rock underneath it.

  How she hoped the kids would be safe with him. The thought stiffened her resolve, banishing any remaining nerves, readying her for what was to come. They approached the crest of a hill, making sure to stay off the horizon, where they’d be more visible. Duggie silently indicated for her to crouch low. Hugging the terrain he then crawled towards a cliff edge. Kelly followed. Duggie eventually stopped crawling, took a small but powerful pair of binoculars from a pocket somewhere and scanned the gorge below. He then handed them to Kelly and pointed at a spot far below. Kelly peered at a brilliantly green-coloured loch, which had a small stretch of narrow golden beach.

  Duggie whispered, ‘See that boulder on the beach. It’s surprisingly smooth from being sat on by a thousand arse cheeks. Sit on that and wait. I’ll be ready.’ He slipped his backpack off and placed it in front of him. Within moments he had assembled a powerful rifle with a sophisticated-looking sight. ‘I’ll leave my backpack on the edge of the cliff. It will look like a rock from down there. As long as you can see the backpack then you know I’m there. If it’s gone then so am I. This goes everywhere with me.’

  Duggie pointed towards a path and told her to head down to the loch. ‘Good luck. Once we’ve flushed this bastard out we can take it from there.’

  Kelly trudged down to the loch, dodging low branches and climbing over tangled tree roots exposed by the elements. Without Duggie’s big frame traipsing along in front of her she suddenly felt all alone. She eventually reached the boulder on the beach. He was right: it was surprisingly smooth and comfortable. Kelly looked back to the cliff ridge to see the outline of Duggie’s backpack. She felt reassured he was watching over her.

  Now the second part of the plan was to swing into operation as Duggie would radio Monahan. He would also email, text and call Monahan, safe in the knowledge that at least one form of their communications was being monitored. They would then sit it out and see who came calling. Monahan was most insistent that it wouldn’t be the police. An hour passed. Then another. Kelly was just beginning to wonder what to do when a hand cupped her mouth and she was dragged silently from the boulder out of sight into the undergrowth. She was briefly able to glance towards the ridge, expecting to see a flash of light as Duggie the expert marksman came to her rescue.

  But there was nothing. Not even his backpack.

  Kelly was flipped onto her front and her hands were quickly fastened behind her back with plastic ties. She was then turned onto her back with ease, as if she was nothing more than a rag doll. She looked up at the faces of half a dozen men in the same black survival clothes worn by Monahan and Duggie. She knew there would be no one rushing to her rescue this time.

  She felt used and abused by Monahan, just as she had all those years ago when she lost her virginity to a boy who didn’t deserve it.

  Kelly felt a jab in her right arm as one of the men roughly administered some sort of fast-acting sedative. Her eyelids suddenly became heavy and she wanted to sleep, but she was still eerily aware of what was going on. It was a bit like being able to hear a party in full swing in a neighbour’s house but you can’t join in.

  At some point, she can’t remember when, the men in black handed her over to some other men in a building that looked like a doctor’s surgery. One that hadn’t opened yet as most of the lights were off or dimmed. A man in a suit led her to a room where he examined her, so she figured he must have been a doctor. He looked everywhere, giving her an internal examination before deciding to swab her vagina. She heard him say, ‘This one’s been busy – we’ll soon find out if it was with Monahan.’

  Afterwards she was strong-armed into another vehicle and sandwiched between two men in the back seat. Psychie nurses, Kelly thought to herself. She always claimed she was able to spot a psychiatric nurse. ‘They are as crazy as their patients,’ an old nursing sister once told her.

  The car or bus, or whatever she was in, seemed to be in transit for hours. Kelly was quite enjoying the detached feeling. It was as if she was floating. She didn’t have a care in the world. Not of the kids. Brian. Thoughts of her mother. Her late father. Monahan. Doctor Shabazi. Nothing at all stayed in her mind long enough to elicit any sort of emotion. Kelly wondered if this was what junkies experienced. Heroin taking them to a place they never wanted to leave, and where they would do anything – including rob from their own grannies – to stay there. She understood now. It was nice to take a holiday from it all. A brain-break, Kelly decided to name it. She chuckled to herself. The chuckle soon became a hearty laugh. Eventually she couldn’t stop.

  ‘Brain-break,’ she said, laughing louder and louder. ‘I’m off on a brain-break. Wish you were here.’

  Kelly felt another prick in her arm and she turned groggily to see one of the psychiatric nurses giving her an injection. Within minutes she fell fast asleep. She would stay that way for the rest of the journey.

  47: Loose woman

  ‘Heard anything, Bing?’ Connor asked DCI Crosbie after getting no new information through official police channels.

  ‘Only that I am a fucking great lover,’ DCI Crosbie replied.

  ‘Sorry to burst your bubble, pal, but I bet Amy Jones says the same to everyone,’ Connor replied. He was not in the mood to play his usual game of cat and mouse with the detective for information.

  ‘Are you saying my girl is a loose woman?’ DCI Crosbie said with mock hurt.

  ‘If it was the 1950s I might use “loose woman”, but frankly I couldn’t care what anyone gets up to between the sheets. All I’m telling you, fella, is she uses it.’

  ‘Well, she uses it fucking well, let me tell you.’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t. This isn’t behind the bike sheds.’

  ‘Well, funnily enough she dressed up as a slutty schoolgirl the other day, and I was to be a strict cunt of a headmaster. Quick as a fucking flash she whipped off her…’

  ‘And she just so happened to have all these role-play costumes handy, did she?’ Connor asked suspiciously.

  ‘Come to think of it, she did have quite a few to choose from.’

  ‘I bet. Will it be the naughty nun tonight? The lesbian librarian? The knickerless nurse?’

  ‘Fucking hell, Elvis, are you psychic?’

  ‘No, I’m just pointing out that it’s a routine, Bing. To keep getting info out of you. But she will burn you and move on. She always does.’

  ‘Yeah, but until then, what a ride.’

  ‘She’s dangerous, Bing.’

  ‘Now you just sound jealous. And let’s be honest here, Elvis, it’s a lot better than the occasional meal or drink you take me for.’

  ‘Oh, have I not been paying you enough attention, darling? Sorry, I promise to make it up to you.’

  ‘Good. I look forward to it. Until then, if you don’t mind, I’ll continue pumping away with Miss Jones.’

  ‘I give up. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Please tell me if you hear anything about the real nurse before you shag the naughty one,’ Connor said, hanging up. Sometimes he genuinely despaired at his fellow man’s total absence of rationality when it came to sex.

  48: Nurse Drury

 
Kelly woke in the same daze she’d felt before being forced to sleep. She had no idea how long she’d been out of it, but she felt in no way rested.

  ‘So you’re awake, are ye?’ a voice said in a broad Ayrshire accent.

  Kelly was always amazed that there were so many dialects for such a small country. She wanted to answer but couldn’t: the words in her brain wouldn’t form in her mouth. She managed to shift her eyes to see the source of the voice. Sitting in the corner was an obese male nurse. He stood up to approach Kelly’s bed, his tyre rolls of fat wobbling under his blue tunic, which was too small for his bulk, but probably the largest made for the NHS. And in her experience the NHS made some very large uniforms.

  He leaned over her and smiled. His front row of teeth, top and bottom, had rotted down to black and brown stubs. His breath emitted a hideous odour, like meat that had gone off, and Kelly felt her stomach turn. She had never seen or smelled such a repulsive member of her profession. Kelly had no idea nurses like this even existed anymore, he was like a throwback to the Victorian asylums.

  ‘Ahm Nurse Drury, but ma pals call me Jim. You can call me Jim if ye want tae as I just know we’re gonna be pals. Right lets dae yer obs, and see what’s what.’

  Jim checked Kelly’s chart, scanning a page, before flipping over to the next one. ‘So you’re called Kirsty Adams and ye’ve been sectioned ’cos ye were threatening folks. Uch, that’s no very nice, Kirsty,’ he smirked.

  Kirsty Adams? Kirsty Adams? You’ve got the wrong person, Kelly wanted to shout but couldn’t.

  ‘Oh aye, what huv we got here? You’ve been swabbed doon below. Says ye were working as a prostitute. Funny, ye dinny look like a dirty, wee prossie. We get loads in here. Maist are junkies. But ye look awright. Ye must be wan of those high-class prossies,’ he said, with glee in his eyes.

  He began to slowly roll up the sleeve on Kelly’s hospital-issue, starched pyjamas, taking his time – too much time, Kelly thought. He was clearly getting some sort of thrill from the experience. ‘Nice arm,’ he whispered. Kelly had never been complimented on her arm before. ‘A little thin, mind you, but we’ll soon fatten you up,’ Jim continued. But it wasn’t just her arms he was interested in. Jim gently pulled her pyjamas up to expose her breasts, making some sort of noise of appreciation. Kelly tensed inside but again she was powerless to defend herself.

  ‘I just need to give you a mammary examination, make sure there are no lumps.’

  Jim cupped Kelly’s left breast with both hands.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he groaned, ‘what a perfect specimen.’ He slowly moved his hands over to the next breast and began to knead and massage it too. ‘Oh aye. Oh, that’s magic. Fucking magic.’ Jim spread his hands over both Kelly’s breasts and squeezed them so tightly it hurt. His whole body shuddered as he stood motionless for several moments. He pulled Kelly’s pyjama top back down.

  ‘We must dae that again sometime. But don’t go telling anyone. It’ll be oor wee secret.’ Jim seemed awful pleased with himself as he returned to his seat, with a visible stain at his crotch.

  ‘Uch, look what you’ve made me dae. I’ve goan and made a mess aw masel.’

  Jim dabbed at his crotch with some paper towels from the sink, before collapsing in the armchair. Moments later he was snoring loudly.

  Kelly tried to force her muscles into action. Even if she could turn her head she would get some orientation. She didn’t even know what time of day it was. Using all her willpower and strength to fight against the drugs, she managed to move ever so slightly. The room had a row of small windows along the top of one side. Too narrow for anyone to fit through, and too high to reach. They had either been blacked out or it was night-time.

  The place had the feel of a nightshift, as there wasn’t the noise and bustle you get on a hospital ward in daytime. Jim had felt comfortable enough to molest her without being caught, which also suggested it was some time in the wee small hours.

  Kelly had once spent a month on assignment on a mental health ward during her training. She’d hated every minute of it. But she recalled how a fellow student, Angela McKerney, had been right at home. This had been Angela’s calling in life. She had loved working with damaged minds, explaining to Kelly how there was no bigger satisfaction than seeing someone who is so ill they can’t walk or talk, return to the community as a functioning human being. Kelly could empathise with that – she knew for herself how fragile people’s mental health can be.

  She could still hear Angela’s words in her ears: ‘Sometimes folk just fall off the end of the Earth for a while.’ But Kelly knew she just didn’t have the patience. Angela had told her what the problem was: ‘You’re trying to apply your rational thinking to a brain that is broken.’

  Now here she was, trapped and overly medicated. Thankfully she could still think clearly, even if she couldn’t act on her thoughts. She would need to attempt something. She just had no idea what. Kelly closed her eyes to think. This time she fell into the deep sleep she so desperately needed.

  49: The hunt

  ‘I’ve rung around every hospital in Scotland and not one of them has admitted a Kelly Carter,’ April complained as she slammed her pen onto her notepad and took off her reading glasses to rub where they pinched her nose. She had decided to check accident and emergency rooms in case Kelly had been injured in the firefight at Bannockburn. It was a long shot, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

  ‘Maybe she hasn’t been registered yet?’ Connor suggested helpfully.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘My aunt’s a district nurse. Has been for forty-odd years. She had to have patients’ doors booted in by the cops several times when she couldn’t get anyone to answer. That’s despite going through all the procedures by calling the patient’s GP to see if the patient was there. Then the hospital. When all that failed, the last resort would be two big polis kicking their way into some old dear’s flat. Never once were they lying dead behind the door. She said they usually had been admitted to hospital but hadn’t been registered yet. The admission system didn’t improve with computerisation. So my aunt’s missing patient was usually lying in a hospital bed or still in the back of an ambulance while she was having some unscheduled DIY done to their homes. The old dears probably died of shock when they came back to find the council had fitted a new steel door for them.’

  ‘Interesting. Moving a patient from hospital to hospital might also be a good way of keeping them off the system. Especially if you knew people were looking for them,’ April pondered.

  ‘Or, if they were totally out of it, you could give them a false name. Then you’d have no chance,’ Connor concluded.

  April stared at all the notes and numbers she’d scribbled down in her notepad and knew that if someone had changed her name, as Connor suggested, then her hunt for the missing Kelly Carter was futile.

  50: A guardian angel

  Kelly had no idea how long she had been on the ward. For all she knew, it could have been days or weeks. But she had got to know the routine. Every morning two members of the auxiliary staff would give her a bed bath. They would talk to her and ask her how she was feeling. When she could barely grunt a reply, they’d look dolefully at each other and mutter sentiments like, ‘That’s a shame.’ Kelly would be spoonfed while more medicine was then administered through a needle or by mouth. She dreaded the handover to the night staff, fearing that the pervert, Jim, would be on. He would fondle her breasts roughly until he was satisfied, but, fortunately, he did no more than that. Kelly loathed the man. He wasn’t just a disgrace to the profession she loved, he was a disgrace to the human race.

  But this morning, an auxiliary called Cathy told Kelly that the lawyer was coming onto the ward. Kelly didn’t even know lawyers visited mental health wards. But Cathy explained it was part of the procedure for a court-appointed lawyer to interview anyone who had been sectioned to ask if they believed t
hey were wrongly being detained against their will. If the patient said they were, the lawyer would take their case before a Mental Health Tribunal.

  Cathy whispered into her ear, ‘If the lawyer asks if you want help, try your best to make a noise. I know you’re no mental – it’s that medication they’ve got you on.’

  Kelly liked Cathy. She was looking out for her, like a good nurse should.

  ‘She’s coming now. Try your best, hen,’ Cathy said, offering some final words of encouragement.

  The lawyer looked like a lawyer, in her pencil skirt suit and briefcase. She was young and pretty but wore quite a severe look on her face, probably in an effort to be taken seriously. She was all business, like her clothing, requesting that the staff leave the room so she could talk to the patient alone. Cathy offered to stay to help, but the lawyer dismissed her out of hand.

  When they were alone, the lawyer tried what could have passed for a smile. ‘Hello Kirsty, I’m Fiona McDade. I’m a lawyer. As part of the free advocacy service under the Mental Health Act I am here to make sure patients are not being illegally held against their will. Kirsty Adams, do you feel you are being held against your will?’

  There was a long silence as Kelly tried her hardest to respond. Inside, she was screaming, ‘YES!’ but outwardly she was silent, her movements restricted to a widening of her eyes and flaring of her nostrils.

  The lawyer softened her tone slightly. ‘Are they over-medicating you? Is it the drugs that have left you like this?’

  Kelly’s eyes opened even wider, but yet again no noise would come.

  ‘Okay, I am going to leave you my card. You are well within your rights to call me at any time.’

  Call? Call? How could she call when she couldn’t even speak, never mind move.

  The lawyer looked pitifully at the figure in the bed. She instinctively knew the patient needed her help but, without the consent, there was nothing she could do.