A Mind to Kill

by Brian Freemantle

  ‘This can’t go on!’ protested Lloyd.

  ‘No,’ said Hall. It can’t. I’ve allowed more than I should have done. It has to stop now.’

  Bentley wheeled upon the lawyer, only just stopping himself from telling the man to go to hell. The bitch had got away with it by faking the collapse, like she was trying to get away with murder by faking insanity.

  ‘ Get up. Say something. ’

  Jennifer didn’t hear the words. Lloyd pushed through to Jennifer’s bedside, more fully opening the half-lidded eyes. ‘She’s not properly conscious. And she isn’t faking it…’ He became aware the tape was still operating. ‘I am formally warning you this woman’s health would be seriously endangered by attempting to continue this interview, which she isn’t mentally capable of responding to anyway.’

  Rodgers wasn’t quick enough stopping the tape to prevent it registering Bentley’s hand-slap of frustration against the table top.

  It didn’t, however, record Jeremy Hall saying to Humphrey Perry, ‘We made a mistake. A very bad mistake.’

  Chapter Nine

  It was a room of angry people and a lot of confusion, the ward sister’s office into which Lloyd herded them as nurses came running to his call. He had forbidden the re-entry of any policewomen – insisting they witnessed Jennifer’s recovery through the corridor window – adding to Bentley’s fury.

  ‘The doctor said it was a genuine collapse,’ said Hall. It had been a bad mistake to allow the interview: getting the doctor’s agreement wasn’t sufficient excuse. He should have insisted upon more time, properly to prepare the woman: protect her. And done that better – protected her better – before the police arrival. Someone with more experience wouldn’t have let any of it happen.

  ‘Rubbish!’ rejected Bentley. ‘The collapse is a fake, like hearing voices is a fake. I’ve got the motive, like I knew I would. It’s murder, pure and simple and premeditated. I won’t have any prosecution accepting diminished responsibility or an unfit-to-plead attempt.’

  ‘It’s not up to you what the prosecution will or will not accept,’ reminded Hall, refusing to be bullied. No-one was sitting. Instead they stood either side of the small room, like opposing combatants, which Hall supposed they were. Like David and Goliath. It was hardly a good analogy, he realized: Goliath lost.

  The detective’s face tightened at the correction. Formally – but with difficulty – Bentley said, ‘I’m going to conduct this investigation as a culpable homicide, with no extenuating circumstances like mental illness. And that will be how my report is submitted to the Crown Prosecution Service.’

  That’s what we’d expect you to do,’ said Humphrey Perry. The solicitor’s irritation was personal. It was virtually inevitable that what had occurred would leak back to Feltham and he’d promised the man he’d keep an eye on Jeremy Hall to make sure something precisely like this didn’t happen. It would be best if he actually told the man himself, to get his side of the story in first.

  ‘There’ll be no further interviews with my client,’ announced Hall.

  ‘ Is she your client?’ demanded Bentley, belligerently. ‘Sounded to me as if you were going to be fired.’

  ‘Until I am, properly, I represent Mrs Lomax,’ insisted Hall. ‘And while I do I won’t allow a repetition of what took place in there.’

  Cocky young bastard out to make a name for himself, judged Bentley. He was going to have his work cut out doing it with this case and Bentley decided he’d be buggered if he’d do anything to help. ‘You actually believe all her nonsense?’

  ‘From the beginning Mrs Lomax appeared genuinely unwell to me.’

  ‘You heard the voice?’ mocked Rodgers, who’d worked with Bentley long enough to gauge his superior’s mood and knew that at that moment Bentley was as furious as hell.

  ‘I got sufficient indication of a mentally distressed woman.’

  ‘Which you’ll get a lot of tame psychiatrists to swear to, in court.’

  ‘It’s Mrs Lomax’s own wish to be psychiatrically examined,’ said Hall.

  ‘And we’ll match you, trick-cyclist for trick-cyclist, to say that she’s sane,’ insisted Bentley.

  Hall allowed himself to become angry at his own mistakes but had a barrister’s control against letting it happen professionally at the attitudes of others. Bentley was the sort of overconfident person easy to handle in court, someone quickly coaxed into ill-considered response. ‘Perhaps it won’t be necessary. I thought you knew Mrs Lomax wants to be diagnosed sane.’

  ‘That’s the cleverest bloody part of what she’s doing, isn’t it?’ said Rodgers. ‘Playing mad but saying she doesn’t want to be.’

  Hall decided to experiment, to see how easy it would be to manipulate Bentley. ‘I’ve told you I won’t allow the interview to continue. There’s no real point in your staying here any longer, is there?’

  Who the fuck did this cocky little bugger just out of school think he was talking to? Red faced, Bentley said, ‘I’ll decide when and how to leave enquiries.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Hall, mildly. ‘I was just trying to save you wasting time.’

  ‘I’ll make up my own mind when I’m doing that, too.’ Bentley caught the smirk on Perry’s face and realized, too late, what was going on. They’d see who had the last laugh, he promised himself, vindictively. The bloody woman thought she was making a fool out of him and these two smarmy sods thought they were making a fool out of him – actually laughing! – but before it was all over they’d learn who the real fools were.

  ‘We’ll set up the examinations as soon as we get the go-ahead from the doctor,’ Hall said to Perry. ‘You have names?’

  ‘Several,’ assured the solicitor, aware of the renewed irritation from the two detectives at apparently being ignored. It might have been unintentional but if it wasn’t Jeremy Hall appeared to have mastered a useful courtroom technique.

  ‘We’ll use several,’ decided the younger man. ‘And I want each totally independent, not one responding to the opinion of another…’ Appearing to remember Bentley, Hall said, ‘How soon will you submit to the Crown Prosecution?’

  ‘When I’m ready,’ said Bentley, petulantly.

  Hall turned pointedly and dismissively from the man. To Perry again he said, ‘Officially inform them we’re acting. We’ll need the earliest evidence exchange of everything she said and did immediately after arrest, for the psychiatrists to assess as well.’

  Lloyd’s arrival added another angry man to the room. ‘I don’t consider Mrs Lomax sufficiently well to be interviewed further,’ he declared, looking challengingly between the police and the lawyers.

  ‘I’ve already decided it won’t be continued,’ said Hall.

  ‘When will it be possible?’ demanded Rodgers.

  ‘I don’t know. Several days,’ said Lloyd.

  ‘And only in our presence,’ added Hall. ‘In fact I think we’ll review whether or not it will be continued at all, in the light of medical evidence…’ To Lloyd he said, ‘Mrs Lomax’s collapse was genuine, not feigned?’

  The doctor appeared surprised at the question. ‘Unquestionably genuine. I don’t even understand the question.’

  ‘I’ve had a lot of people collapse on me when they didn’t have answers to the questions I was asking,’ exaggerated Bentley.

  Lloyd sighed, impatiently. ‘Mrs Lomax was medically unconscious. She remains extremely disorientated.’

  ‘We’ll require a statement from you to that effect,’ said Rodgers.

  ‘Which I’ll be pleased to provide, including the cause of the distress that preceded Mrs Lomax’s collapse,’ came back Lloyd, irritably. He was very aware he had given the medical permission for the questioning and he, too, now accepted it had been wrong. He’d been on duty for fifty-six hours and thought the British National Health Service and all hospital trusts were a total fucking disaster and wished he was allowed to tell someone.

  ‘I want to know the moment she’s well enough for me to see
her again,’ insisted Bentley, moving towards the door. It had been an absolute bloody shambles and he’d been made to look a prick, not once but several times. He wasn’t sure if Rodgers was loyal enough not to spread stories.

  He’d spoken to the doctor but it was Perry who replied, ‘We’ll let you know as soon as we are told. And decide, upon expert professional advice, whether it should be resumed at all.’

  In their car Perry said, ‘Why did you antagonize Bentley like that?’

  ‘To see how easy it’s going to be in court,’ admitted Hall. ‘And it’s going to be very easy indeed.’

  Perry nodded, impressed. Guardedly he said, ‘Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to have allowed the questioning?’

  ‘We had medical agreement,’ reminded the barrister. ‘The doctor who gave it is prepared to testify the collapse was genuine. And to criticize police aggression. Which a jury will be able to judge for themselves when they see how quickly Bentley loses his temper.’

  Perry gave another gesture of approval. ‘You thinking of going along the sympathy road: wronged wife temporarily driven beyond control by a cheating husband?’

  ‘I’m keeping an open mind but it’s a strong possibility,’ admitted Hall. ‘We’d need to get as many women as possible on the jury, during selection.’

  ‘I’d recommend that anyway,’ said Perry.

  ‘And let’s get started right away with psychiatrists. I really don’t want any committee decisions – that’s important – but I want them all singing to the same tune when it comes to giving their evidence in court. So we’ll discard any that don’t concur for one that does.’

  Perry didn’t think the younger man was going to need as much hand-holding as he had first thought.

  Jennifer’s first conscious impression was of fog, fog in her head so that she couldn’t think clearly, get her thoughts together. Or cotton wool: head stuffed with cotton wool, so that everything felt thick. At once there was noise, a lot of noise of a lot of people, enjoying themselves, laughing and shouting too loudly like people laugh and shout at a party after drinking too much. But the fog began to lift and it wasn’t a lot of people. Just one. One that she knew, just as she knew, abruptly, where she was and what she had been accused of doing and why the bored policewomen were slumped in their chairs, ignoring her for their newspapers and magazines. And knew, worst of all, most terrible of all, what the detective had said about Gerald and the woman she’d thought to be her friend. Wasn’t true: couldn’t be true. Gerald had…

  ‘ Of course it’s true! ’

  ‘No!’

  ‘ Gerald didn’t love you.’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘ Didn’t love anyone, except himself. And fucking. Fucking anything that moved.’

  ‘Not true.’

  ‘She’s back,’ said the woman police constable, looking over her newspaper to her sergeant. ‘Should we tell someone?’

  ‘Suppose we’d better.’

  The younger woman started to move towards the summons button but the sergeant said, ‘I’ll walk down to the nurse’s station. It’ll be something to do.’

  The sound in Jennifer’s head was of cackling, near hysterical laughter. ‘ This makes it all the better. Brilliant. Fucking your best friend. Think they planned to kill you, too? Murder you, like you murdered me? Might have been a problem, though. Couldn’t go on killing wives he didn’t want, could he? Might not have got away with it twice .’

  ‘Don’t want to listen.’

  ‘ Oh, you’re going to have to listen Jennifer. Listen to all of it. Hear what a shit he was. What a shit Rebecca was.’

  Emily! Who was going to see Emily for her? Tell Emily her mummy loved her…?

  ‘ Why not still ask Rebecca? She was fucking your husband so she might as well go on keeping it in the family. She’d have probably had the brat anyway, after Gerald had divorced you. Don’t forget how clever he was, getting whatever he wanted. All he wanted was a brat, not you. You were a breeding animal, like a sow.’

  ‘Stop!’

  ‘Mrs Lomax?’

  Jennifer became conscious of Lloyd beside her bed. Conscious, too, that there was something sticking to her ribs and that thick leads connected her to a machine on one side but that the drip, although the bottle still hung from its hook, wasn’t in her arm any more. But there was a fresh dressing on what had been her uninjured arm almost as large as the one on the other arm. It hurt.

  Seeing the frightened head swivel the doctor said, ‘You tore your arm rather badly, where the needle was inserted. I’m not sure you need it any more anyway…’

  ‘What’s the machine for?’

  ‘Heart monitor.’

  ‘ Broken-hearted Jennifer. See it on the machine! ’

  Jennifer fought against a response and won. ‘Have they gone?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have allowed it.’

  ‘You heard what the policeman said?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Wasn’t true.’

  ‘ Don’t be stupid.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about that,’ refused Lloyd, uncomfortably. He wished another doctor had been covering emergency when she’d been admitted.

  ‘He wouldn’t have done that. Not Gerald.’

  ‘Mrs Lomax, I can’t help you with any of that. I have to care for you medically.’

  ‘You don’t believe I’m mad, do you?’

  ‘That’s not my field. I’m concerned with your physical recovery.’ To cover himself he should have a hospital psychiatrist examine her: make a report. Should have done that before agreeing to the police interview.

  ‘ Course he thinks you’re mad.’

  ‘Mrs Lomax?’ intruded the woman police sergeant. ‘Do you feel well enough now to talk to my superiors again?’

  Jennifer flinched back on the bed and Lloyd wheeled towards the uniformed woman. ‘ I have spoken to your superiors and told them there won’t be any more interviews until I authorize it… if I authorize it. Nor are either of you to attempt to question her. If you do I shall insist upon your remaining outside of this room. Do you understand?’

  The grey-haired woman retreated to her chair, face blazing.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jennifer. ‘Are you my friend?’

  Lloyd blinked at the question. ‘I’m your doctor.’

  ‘ You haven’t got any friends, Jennifer. No-one. And I’m going to leave you, too. I don’t want anything to get in the way of your realizing how totally alone and helpless you are. ’

  She was alone, Jennifer accepted. Totally. Clever of Jane to leave her, to think herself deeper into abandoned despair: to make mistakes like it had been a mistake to forget the numbness of Jane’s presence… There was an abrupt contradiction. No it wasn’t! Not clever at all. Alone she was able to think clearly – even the fog had gone – like she’d thought clearly before. Made decisions. What decisions were there to make now? The most important: the one never to forget. Wouldn’t give up. Never had. Never would. And not just for herself. Because there was someone. Emily. If she gave up she would be giving up Emily. Which was unthinkable. By herself she had to fight – find a way out – and make a life with Emily. Just the two of them. The only thing that mattered now. Herself and Emily. She could do it. Had to do it. There was no alternative. What about the other decisions she’d made, earlier? Still the same. And in the same sequence. Couldn’t plan anything about herself and Emily until she’d proven herself innocent. More difficult, now. There had been a motive. A reason everyone would understand: oldest story in the book. Hadn’t Gerald loved her, ever? All lies? Not all. It couldn’t have been all lies. Just sex then with Rebecca? She’d never thought Rebecca sexy. The opposite, in fact. Icy. Couldn’t remember their ever discussing men, talking about men sexually. Only remembered one man, an American broker. Wesley or Weston. Something like that. Flown over a few times, after Rebecca’s transfer from New York. Spent one weekend with them in Hampshire. Never laughed and wanted to talk metal futures all the time
. What was wrong with the sex she and Gerald had? Nothing, she hadn’t thought. He’d liked sex, certainly. But so had she. Wanted it, whenever he had. Integral part of successful, ambitious people, a strong sex drive. Did whatever he wanted, like he’d done whatever she’d wanted. Maybe she should have known he’d need sex when they weren’t together. Why hadn’t he used hookers! It wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d done that. Could have understood it: accepted it even. It wouldn’t have meant anything. A business transaction. That was the pain, not that he’d slept with someone else but that it had been someone she knew, believed to be a friend. Humiliating. The office would have known. Inevitable that they would. Laughed at her: about her. Gerald not getting enough at home, has to look elsewhere. He wouldn’t have wanted a divorce. Wouldn’t have wrecked their perfect life. Wouldn’t have hurt and bewildered Emily: wouldn’t have hurt and bewildered her. Just sex, that’s all it had been. Her own fault, for not realizing the risk. For being too complacent. Too late now. Gerald – Gerald who’d loved her but had an affair – was dead. Her life with him was dead, too. Had to start again. Rationalize it, accept it had happened and move on. Move on to her and Emily. Needed to get a lot of obstacles out of the way first. Jane most of all. Big mistake for Jane to have left: to have given her time. Couldn’t let her realize it. Had to pretend to despair: to be devastated. Wouldn’t be difficult. She had been humiliated: cheated. Gerald was a bastard, even if it was a casual affair. Not a problem to despise Rebecca. Bastard and a bitch. Easy enough to think like that. Had to be alert, for the tingling sensation: be even more alert for the gaps, when she could say things without Jane being able to interrupt.

  Why had Gerald done it? Why hadn’t she been enough for him?

  ‘She’s crying,’ said the police constable.

  ‘She’s got every reason to,’ said the sergeant. ‘They always do when they get caught out.’

  ‘Why’s Mummy had to go away?’