A Mind to Kill

by Brian Freemantle

  ‘Mummies have to, sometimes,’ said Annabelle.

  ‘When will she be back?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet. Eat up.’

  ‘I don’t want to eat up.’

  ‘And I don’t want you to be a rude girl.’

  ‘Don’t care.’

  ‘No story tonight then.’

  ‘Don’t want a story. Want my mummy.’

  Chapter Ten

  Jennifer timed the sedative demand with the care of the previous night and resisted Jane’s frenetic wake-up attempts even longer than before and felt better upon awakening than she had the previous day.

  ‘Told you I’d find a way.’ She didn’t care any more about the sighed reaction from the attendant policewomen.

  ‘ It won’t help you.’

  ‘You can’t control me all the time, can you?’

  ‘ Whenever I want.’ Without her being able to stop it happening both of Jennifer’s arms rose and in unison fell heavily back upon the bed. The police sergeant moved towards the door.

  ‘I’ll stop that happening, too.’

  ‘ You’re my puppet, Jennifer. Jump, puppet: jump puppet. ’ Jennifer managed to stop her arms jerking to the chant that time.

  ‘I can resist,’ insisted Jennifer, excited by the discovery.

  ‘ Not enough to stop me doing exactly what I want with you. And whenever I want to do it.’

  ‘Mistake, Jane! You’ve just admitted I’m right.’

  For several moments Jennifer’s head cleared. Then, from a long way off, there began a distant sound that grew louder by the second, like an onrushing, siren-wailing train. Except it wasn’t a siren but a manic scream that rose and rose until Jennifer thought her head would explode, the pain so bad she screamed aloud herself. With her arm no longer tethered she tried to clamp both hands against her head, to close out the mind-splitting cacophony but couldn’t because it wasn’t coming from outside and her whole body convulsed with the vibration of the noise. The agony was so bad it was a long time before she became aware of restraining hands – an arm even encompassing her – and only then when the pain at last receded, as the sound passed. It was Peter Lloyd with his arm around her, a placating nurse on her other side. Both policewomen were at the foot of the bed, eyes bulged.

  ‘ Pissed yourself, Jennifer. Dirty girl! ’

  She had. She was, in fact, soaked, sweat glueing the hospital smock to her, hair lank rats’ tails. ‘She screamed. I thought my head was going to burst. I’ve made a mess.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter: we can clean you up,’ assured Lloyd. Still with an arm around her, he squeezed her shoulder in added reassurance. He wouldn’t argue against the hospital board’s decision about the psychiatric examination. He hoped to Christ her lawyers agreed. The board’s problem, not his: his was avoiding any fall-out from what had happened yesterday. The Social Services business was her lawyer’s, too. Make sure the wounds didn’t become infected: that’s all he had to do. Then pass the problem on. It was still difficult to believe she could have done what she did. But then he’d never before treated – even seen – a murderer.

  ‘She wants to prove how helpless I am.’

  ‘ And I did, didn’t I! ’

  ‘We’re going to do some tests today,’ said Lloyd, pressing on, refusing any diversion.

  ‘ What tests? Ask him what tests? ’

  Jennifer managed to prevent herself, seizing a victory. ‘To prove I’m sane?’

  ‘Part of it.’

  ‘I want to do that right away.’ At the nurse’s pressure she held out her least bandaged arm for a blood pressure cuff to be attached.

  ‘ What tests? ’ repeated Jane’s voice, insistently.

  ‘We must be medically sure you’re recovered enough for a psychiatric examination,’ explained Lloyd, unwittingly answering the question. ‘Your heart monitor has been stable throughout the night. That’s why we disconnected it.’

  Until that moment Jennifer had been unaware the adhesive pads and their attaching leads had gone.

  ‘ You’re not…’ started Jane but the nurse was already releasing the cuff.

  ‘Fine,’ guaranteed the woman to Lloyd.

  ‘Because of the…’ started the doctor, then stopped. Determinedly he started again. ‘Because you’re officially facing a criminal charge, we’ve approached your lawyers. Invited them to participate…’

  ‘With a psychiatrist?’

  ‘Not from the hospital: our tests are to be strictly medical. Neurological. We’ll take blood, faeces and urine samples and I also want to do a spinal tap now.’

  Jennifer curled herself up in a ball, as the man instructed, but continued talking over her shoulder. ‘Are they bringing a psychiatrist?’ She’d intended dismissing Perry and Hall without the concrete assurance of a QC, she remembered. Not important, this early. The absolute essential – the essential upon which everything hinged – was to be declared sane. The insistence upon a senior barrister could wait.

  ‘ The Lord Chief Justice himself can’t save you! You’re lost. Can’t prevent yourself being lost.’

  ‘Call them,’ ordered Jennifer, straightening herself as she was told and lying flat, without a pillow, to prevent any headache or nausea after the lumbar puncture. ‘Tell them I want a psychiatrist, as well: that I won’t have a neurological examination unless I have a psychiatric one.’

  Precisely what the hospital board wanted, accepted Lloyd: the responsibility – and any unforeseen repercussions – that of the woman’s advisors, the hospital’s accountability tightly limited to scientifically provable and universally acknowledged medical criteria. ‘That’s your definite wish?’

  ‘That’s my positive instruction. Tell them that I demand it. And that I want it today.’ There was a sudden rush of confidence, a feeling of being in charge. She had other feelings – other impressions – but refused to let herself think of them.

  ‘ What? ’

  ‘Not things for you to know,’ refused Jennifer, embarking on another experiment.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ frowned the doctor.

  ‘I wasn’t talking to you,’ smiled Jennifer, apologetically.

  Lloyd gestured for the nurse to leave with him. ‘I’ll call your solicitor.’

  ‘ Think it! ’

  ‘Make me!’

  The numbness worsened, into a burn, but Jennifer easily resisted. ‘I’m finding weaknesses about you all the time, aren’t I, Jane? My mind was always better than other people’s. I’m going to prove it.’

  ‘ And I’m going to enjoy taking that arrogance from you, like I’m going to take everything else from you.’

  ***

  It wasn’t Jennifer’s demand but Julian Mason’s insistence that a neurological screening was necessary that persuaded Jeremy Hall to change his mind about a joint examination. It wasn’t, explained Mason, a shared discipline but a complimentary one. Hall was as impressed by the man as he was by the argument. Julian Mason was a past President of the Royal College of Psychiatrists, a senior lecturer at Essex University and the author of two acknowledged reference books on forensic psychiatry. Hall also liked that the man didn’t look an absent-minded, long-haired psychiatrist, baggy jacketed, shapelessly trousered and meerschaum-piped. Mason wore a crew cut, jeans and an Essex university T-shirt under an unzipped cotton blouson: Hall hoped he had a different outfit for court. What Hall appreciated most of all was the absence of any condescension at their meeting in his cramped rooms overlooking the car park at the rear of the chambers, identifying him as the most junior member of the practice.

  Mason listened intently to the facts of the murder, not interrupting until Hall linked schizophrenia with the voice in Jennifer’s head. At once the man raised a halting hand, ‘You’re the lawyer. I’m the psychiatrist. I’ll make the diagnosis.’

  ‘Bentley thinks she’s faking.’

  ‘People try.’

  ‘How difficult is it for you to tell?’

  ‘Sometimes impossible. Sometimes easy
.’ Seeing the reaction on Hall’s face the other man grinned and said, ‘It’s very difficult to fake genuine mental illness. People who try usually make lots of mistakes.’

  ‘Her husband was having an affair,’ reminded Hall. ‘Could she have gone temporarily insane at discovering it?’

  ‘There’s no insanity as temporary as that. You’re talking of enormous, hostile rage.’

  ‘But she would have known what she was doing, no matter how enraged?’

  ‘In my opinion, yes. You’ll probably find others who disagree, if that’s the way you want to go.’

  ‘I want to defend her, to the best of my ability.’

  ‘That’s refreshing,’ said Mason, in what could have been the first reference to Hall’s inexperience.

  ‘Let’s hope I can do it.’

  ‘I’m sure Mrs Lomax hopes the same.’

  They rose at the announcement of Humphrey Perry’s arrival with the car. Perry and Mason greeted each other with the familiarity of long association and Hall remained silent for most of the journey while the other two men brought each other up to date with personal happenings. Mason, it emerged, was a bachelor but Perry had six children, all boys but none in law. Both the youngest two had dropped out of university, one ironically from Essex. Mason said he didn’t know the boy but that Perry wasn’t to worry unduly: a lot of kids rebelled at the educational grind at university level and most returned after a year out.

  From the greeting Mason also appeared to know the neurologist waiting for them at the hospital. George Fosdyke was a fussy, quick-speaking man with a wet handshake who made a specific point of quoting a psychology as well as a medical degree when he was introduced to Hall. The man’s stiff white coat glistened from starch and his baldness was practically identical to that of Humphrey Perry, who stood slightly apart during the initial meeting. Hall thought the solicitor and the neurologist looked as if they had come off the same assembly line.

  ‘How is she?’ he asked Lloyd.

  ‘Had quite a trauma this morning,’ said the doctor. ‘She became very distressed at what she described as a terrible noise she thought was going to make her head burst. But no collapse, like yesterday. Heart and blood pressure are quite normal.’

  ‘All the other tests done?’ interrupted Fosdyke.

  ‘I did the spinal tap myself.’

  As they walked towards the elevators Mason said, ‘Is she mobile?’

  ‘She hasn’t been, so far,’ said Lloyd. ‘But she’s not on any intravenous treatment any longer and she’s off the heart monitor, so there’s no reason why she couldn’t be.’

  ‘You’re going to do a brain scan?’ Mason asked the neurologist, expectantly.

  ‘Of course,’ said Fosdyke.

  ‘You any objection to her walking to the scanner?’

  ‘Good idea,’ agreed Fosdyke.

  It was Fosdyke who slowed first, bringing the group to a halt at the sight of Bentley and Rodgers outside the guarded ward: the woman police sergeant was with them. Lloyd said, ‘I didn’t know they were here. I gave no permission to resume the interview.’

  Hall eased his way through the group to confront the detectives. ‘This is a medical and psychiatric examination.’

  ‘So she’s well enough to be interviewed.’

  ‘Not by you. My client declines to talk to you.’

  ‘This is obstruction.’ Bentley felt his temper slipping and made a conscious effort to stop it happening.

  ‘It’s her right. And my advice…’ It needed Hall’s professional control to avoid his annoyance at Bentley’s presence becoming obvious and abruptly he determined to end the interference. Careless of the effect he knew it would have upon the other man he said, ‘We’d appreciate no more irritations like this. There will be no further police interviews with my client…’ He indicated the uncertain policewoman who had obviously warned Bentley of the examination from overhearing the arrangements being made. ‘… Nor will I accept the introduction in any later court hearing of anything my client says or does…’

  Bentley moved to speak but Hall refused the objection, anticipating it. ‘… Your initial caution does not extend to remarks or actions overheard by police escorts, which you well know. Or should know. If you didn’t, you’ve been officially told now. I want your policewomen outside my client’s ward from this moment. If you ignore what I have just said… any of it… I shall complain through a judge in chambers to your Commander. Is there anything about which I’ve left you unsure, Superintendent Bentley?’

  It was possible to gauge the detective’s heartbeat from the throbbing of the protruding vein in his red-mottled forehead and for several moments the man was beyond speech. At last he managed, ‘I will report this to my superiors.’

  Hall didn’t have to force the smile at the ludicrously ineffective response. ‘I’d strongly urge you to do that.’ He gestured through the window to the constable still inside the room. ‘Please call her out.’

  Rodgers did so, at a nod from the senior detective. As she emerged Hall said, ‘Please make it clear they are to remain outside from now on.’

  Rodgers did that, too. As Bentley stumped off down the corridor, trailed by his inspector, Julian Mason said, ‘What was that all about?’

  ‘An over-inflated sense of importance,’ said Hall, hoping Bentley was still close enough to hear.

  Inside the ward Jane said, ‘ Look, they’re here. Let’s really see how stupid we can make you, shall we? ’

  Jennifer tried to clench the sheet on either side of her, wanting something physically to hold on to, but totally against her will her fingers wouldn’t grip, splaying out helplessly instead.

  ‘ It’s no good, Jennifer. No good at all. ’

  It wasn’t. As the group entered her arms flapped up and down, in unison again but slapping harder against the bed, and Jane said, ‘ Now you’re not a puppet, you’re a penguin. Tell them you’re a penguin.’

  Jennifer bit her lips between her teeth to prevent the words, holding her breath, but she couldn’t stop a meaningless sound growling in her throat.

  ‘What’s the voice tell you to say?’ asked Mason, conversationally. ‘Let’s hear it.’

  Jennifer’s breath came out in a rush. ‘That I’m a penguin. Oh dear God, this is ridiculous!’

  ‘I’m the one who’s got to decide if it’s ridiculous or not. That’s why I’m here.’ Mason pulled up the chairs abandoned by the police sergeant. Fosdyke took the other. Both ignored the lawyers, who pulled back against the wall furthest from the bed. Peter Lloyd remained at the foot of the bed. Hall was conscious of the two policewomen side by side looking through the window from the corridor.

  ‘You’re the psychiatrist,’ smiled Jennifer. ‘God, am I glad to see you! What’s your name?’

  Mason told her and introduced Fosdyke as well. Jennifer extended her hand, but as Mason went to accept the gesture her hand began rotating, as if challenging him to catch it. Mason laughed, although not nervously. So did the neurologist. He didn’t sound nervous either.

  ‘It’s not funny!’ protested Jennifer.

  ‘You could laugh at her.’

  ‘ No, you fucking well can’t! ’

  ‘Does it hurt, in your head, when you hear the voice?’ demanded Fosdyke.

  ‘Only when she screams. She did that this morning.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I said I could resist her.’

  ‘Can you?’ came in Mason.

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘She’ll know, if I tell you.’

  ‘Don’t tell me then,’ agreed Mason.

  ‘ Tell him! ’

  ‘No!’

  ‘What’s she saying?’ prompted the psychiatrist.

  ‘She wants me to tell you how I do it.’

  ‘Don’t. Let’s resist her.’

  The screaming started, not as loud as before but still agonizing. Jennifer said, ‘Oh no,’ and felt herself begin to shake. She tried to get her hands up
to her ears but couldn’t move her arms. It stopped more quickly than before and she hadn’t wet herself.

  ‘She screamed again?’ said Fosdyke.

  Jennifer nodded, not immediately able to talk. When she could she said, ‘Stop it!’

  ‘You talking to Jane?’ demanded Mason.

  ‘You! Both of you. You’re patronizing me. Pretending you believe me but you don’t, do you? Because it’s not possible to be possessed, is it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ admitted Mason. ‘I’ve never heard of a proven case.’

  ‘So why are you pretending to believe me?’

  ‘Don’t you want me to?’

  ‘ I haven’t really got to try, have I? They’ve made their minds up already. ’

  ‘Jane says you’ve already made your minds up that I’m mad.’

  ‘I haven’t,’ denied Mason.

  ‘Neither have I,’ said Fosdyke.

  ‘ They’re liars.’

  ‘Help me!’ pleaded Jennifer, looking between the two men. ‘For God’s sake, help me!’

  ‘How do you want to be helped?’ asked Mason.

  ‘Get her out of my head! Find a way to prove that I am sane and didn’t kill Gerald.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can do that,’ admitted the psychiatrist. ‘But I’ll try. And for me to do that you’ll have to help me.’

  ‘Anything. Whatever.’

  ‘ Why not open your legs? You’re good at that.’

  ‘Tell me everything she says.’

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘ Fuck him. Don’t! ’

  ‘She says fuck you. And that I should help you by opening my legs.’

  Mason showed no reaction. Neither did the neurologist. Mason said, ‘She tried to stop you repeating everything?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you defied her?’

  ‘ He’s a cunt.’

  ‘She says you’re a cunt.’

  Again neither Mason nor Fosdyke gave any reaction to the obscenities. Instead, suddenly, Mason said, ‘You were having an affair with Gerald Lomax when his wife was still alive, weren’t you?’

  ‘ Whore, whore, whore.’

  Jennifer didn’t reply at once. ‘She’s calling me a whore.’ Then, ‘Yes, we were having an affair.’