A Mind to Kill

by Brian Freemantle

  ‘No, not so loud now.’

  ‘Hardly hear her at all?’

  ‘ Listen to me! ’ There was a vague leg movement.

  ‘Hardly hear her.’

  That’s good: that’s very good. Easy to ignore her now. We’ve shut her out. Do you want her shut out?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Gone completely?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘ Never get rid of me! ’ The sound started.

  ‘She’s talking, but not loudly.’

  ‘Is she real? Is Jane real in your head, Jennifer?’

  ‘Yes. She’s trying to scream but it doesn’t hurt.’

  ‘So we can talk now, without her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s that going to be like?’

  ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘Do you hate Jane?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Just want her to go away.’

  ‘ Won’t go away. Ever! You’ve got to wake up, in a minute. You’ll be mine again then.’

  ‘Tell me how much you loved Gerald?’

  ‘Totally.’

  ‘And he loved you?’

  ‘Totally.’

  ‘Who’s Rebecca?’

  ‘Rebecca Nicholls. Works with Gerald.’

  ‘Is she your friend?’

  ‘ Fucked Gerald. Fucked Gerald.’

  ‘Not now.’

  ‘You thought she was?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why isn’t she your friend any more?’

  ‘Had an affair, with Gerald.’

  ‘Did you know they were having an affair?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Never suspected it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The police think you did.’

  ‘Not true.’

  ‘Is Jane true? Or did you make her up?’

  ‘She’s true. Here, now.’

  ‘But in another room?’

  ‘Still hear her.’

  ‘Do you know what a Cyclothymic Personality Disorder is, Jennifer?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’d really like you to tell me. I want to know.’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘What’s a Paranoid Personality Disorder?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘You sure you don’t know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you tell me what an Anankastic Personality Disorder is?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You sure you can’t. I’d really like you to, if you can.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘ Trying to trick you. Don’t answer him.’

  Without turning to the men ranged behind him Mason raised his hand in a don’t-interrupt, warding-off gesture. He continued it to take a pen from the inside from his shirt pocket. ‘Can you see this pen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s very hot. Very hot indeed. Do you believe me?’ It was a cheap ballpoint, plastic cased.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m going to put it against your arm…’

  Lloyd started forward but Fosdyke snatched out, stopping the protest. It was difficult for Hall to hold back. He was sweating, his back clammy, his hands wet. Jennifer winced, jerking away. Almost at once a perfectly round red burn mark formed on the arm in which the drip had been, before she tore it out.

  ‘Does your arm hurt?’

  ‘It burns.’

  ‘I want to do some tests. Is that OK?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m going to ask you some questions again. And every time I do, before you answer, I’m going to put the hot pen on your arm. If you tell a lie, it will burn. But if you tell the truth, it won’t. Do you agree to that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Define a Cyclothymic Personality Disorder?’ asked Mason, putting the harmless pen to Jennifer’s arm.

  ‘I can’t.’

  Hall tensed forward. No mark appeared.

  ‘ Trick! Music-hall trick! ’

  ‘Define a Paranoid Personality Disorder.’ The pen casing went down.

  ‘I can’t.’

  No blister formed.

  ‘Define an Anankastic Personality Disorder.’ The pen descended.

  ‘I can’t.’

  Jennifer’s skin remained unmarked.

  ‘Does it still hurt where I first put the pen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m going to put it there again. It’s going to take all the pain away. And the mark will go.’

  Hall felt an unnerved sensation at the back of his neck as he saw Mason place the pen on the angry mark. Almost at once the red began to fade.

  ‘There won’t be a mark,’ promised Mason. ‘All the pain’s gone, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Hall was conscious of a relaxation from the two doctors alongside him. He didn’t look at them and they didn’t look at him.

  In front of him Mason was asking Jennifer, ‘Do you like the cinema?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you go, with Gerald?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Did you ever see a film called The Three Faces of Eve? ’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s a Multiple Personality Disorder?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  Mason learned forward with the pen again, putting it against Jennifer’s arm, and repeated the question. The skin remained smooth and even.

  ‘You’re aware people are trying to help you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So it’s very important to tell them the truth.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So I want you to tell me the truth. Remember, it’s very important.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you kill Gerald because he was having an affair with Rebecca?’

  ‘Didn’t kill Gerald. Jane killed Gerald.’

  ‘Would you have killed him, if you’d known?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Why not? You’d have been humiliated, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, but I couldn’t have killed him. That’s not right.’

  ‘ Killed me, you bitch! ’

  ‘What would you have done?’

  ‘Asked him to stop. Asked him what was wrong.’

  ‘You’d have wanted your marriage to go on?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you love Gerald?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Even though he was having an affair with Rebecca?’

  ‘Just sex.’

  ‘Was it just sex with you and Gerald, when your affair began?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You didn’t love him at first?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did he love you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who fell in love with whom first?’

  ‘Me with Gerald, I suppose.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Said I wanted it to end.’

  ‘ Liar! Let me in, Jennifer. I want to talk to you. Let me in to talk to you.’

  ‘She wants to talk to me.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk to her. I want to talk just to you. Why did you want to end your affair, if you loved him? I don’t understand.’

  ‘He was married to Jane.’

  ‘ Let me in! ’

  ‘Why was that important?’

  ‘Didn’t want the marriage to break up.’

  ‘Why did you sleep with him in the first place?’

  ‘He was attractive. I wanted to.’

  From where he stood Hall could see sweat glueing Mason’s shirt to his back. The man held a handkerchief to wipe his face. Jennifer appeared quite relaxed, eyes half closed, legs still crossed at the ankles. He couldn’t make out any discolouration on her arm where the burn had been, minutes earlier.

  ‘It wasn’t wrong then?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Only when it became serious?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘ Liar, liar, liar! ’


  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it was serious. A threat.’

  ‘Not to you.’

  ‘Jane wasn’t well.’

  ‘ Spare me, do! ’

  ‘Her dying made it easy, though?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you think that might happen?’

  ‘How could I?’

  ‘By killing her.’

  ‘We didn’t kill her.’

  ‘ You did! You fixed the dose.’

  ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s ridiculous. Ghost’s don’t exist.’

  ‘Jane’s in your head: possessing you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ghosts must exist, if Jane’s possessing you.’

  ‘I know. But they can’t. I won’t accept it. I’m frightened.’

  ‘ I’ve scarcely begun yet.’

  ‘What are you most frightened of?’

  ‘People not believing me.’

  ‘Would it send you mad, if they didn’t?’

  ‘She won’t send me mad. She says she will but she won’t. I’ll beat her. Beat everyone as a trader.’

  ‘ Oh, yes, I will! ’

  ‘How are you going to beat her?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Tears began slowly to make a path down Jennifer’s cheeks, although there was no sound. She scrubbed a bandaged hand across her face.

  Fosdyke moved, at last, reaching forward and patting Mason’s shoulder. The psychiatrist nodded, again without turning.

  ‘I want to go backwards now, back to when you were young. A baby even.’

  All Hall’s voyeuristic discomfort went, forgotten, to frowned disbelief. Jennifer relived Emily’s birth (‘No pain, She’s coming. Beautiful: so beautiful.’) and Jane’s death (‘Sorry. I’m so very sorry.’) and her first day arrival at Enco-Corps (‘I’m going to be the best here. Top the trading commissions. Make a million.’) and the sadness of the Randolph celebration meal after her Oxford graduation (‘I know Mummy would be as proud as you are, Daddy.’) The voice change, from adult gradually to baby talk, was imperceptible and it wasn’t until they went through teenage into puberty into childhood that Hall became conscious of it. It took him almost as long to realize the purpose of the regression, when the frequent medical questions registered and he realized the exercise was not for the psychiatrist’s benefit but for Fosdyke’s, a search for pathological causes for whatever it was Jennifer was suffering. None emerged.

  It was late into the afternoon and Mason’s shirt was black with perspiration before he finally stretched up from the bed and for the first time Jeremy Hall became conscious of the odour of too many people being for too long in a small room. He became conscious, too, that he was contributing to it.

  ‘When I clap my hands you’ll become aware not just of me but of other people,’ said Mason. ‘And from now on you’re to help your barrister, Jeremy Hall, as much as you’ve helped me. Will you do that?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jennifer.

  ‘And I want you to help everyone else like me: doctors like me. There will be a lot who want to talk to you. Is that all right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And if I want to talk to you again like this, we’ll count the numbers on the watch. Will you do that for me, whenever I ask you?’

  ‘Yes,’ promised Jennifer. She blinked, opening her eyes more fully, at the sound of Mason’s hands coming together. ‘Did I help?’ she demanded at once.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Mason. ‘Thank you.’

  Minutes later, back in the neurologist’s convenient rooms, Mason helped himself to the ever-ready coffee, looked around the assembled men and said, ‘She hasn’t learned how to fake her condition from text books. I’ve no doubt whatsoever that Jennifer Lomax is as sane as any of us in this room. Maybe more so. Just as I’ve no doubt whatsoever that Jennifer Lomax isn’t inventing the voice in her head. It’s there!’

  ‘So I’ve got the first case of ghostly possession in British criminal history?’ demanded Hall.

  ‘I don’t know what you’ve got,’ replied Mason, ignoring the intended cynicism. ‘But I’ve got a Paper that’s going to turn psychiatry on its head, worldwide.’

  ‘You sure?’ demanded John Bentley, in frustrated disappointment.

  ‘I’ve gone through every line of the inquest evidence and talked not just to the investigating officer but the coroner’s officer as well,’ assured Rodgers. ‘Jane Lomax died from an accidental overdose of insulin. There’s nothing we could use to reopen the case.’

  ‘Fuck,’ said Bentley, viciously. ‘I would have just loved sticking Jennifer bloody Lomax with a second murder. Can you imagine the bombshell that would have been?’

  ‘Easily,’ said Rodgers, who feared the other detective was endangering professional objectivity through personal pique. ‘But we’ll have to make do with what we’ve got.’

  ‘And what have we got?’

  ‘Everything wrapped up and tied in ribbon,’ said the inspector. ‘We’re ready to go. Fastest case ever.’

  ‘Don’t rush the submission to the Crown Prosecution. Let them go around in a few more circles.’

  ‘Until we submit the evidence they won’t be able to brief psychiatrists,’ reminded Rodgers. ‘They’ll need to do that.’

  ‘A week,’ decided Bentley. ‘We’ll wait a week.’

  ‘We’re going to see Mummy in hospital?’

  ‘Would you like that?’

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘Her head hurts. The doctors are making her better.’

  ‘Is she going to die?’

  ‘No, darling. Of course not.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Until Perry’s hurried call Jeremy Hall had not intended being at the hospital for Emily’s visit. It had nothing to do with the eventual trial and although that trial, his first murder, was of great professional importance he’d already recognized, objectively, that he was spending too much time personally involved in situations with Jennifer Lomax which more properly should have been handled by the solicitor at that moment talking far too quickly to him on the telephone. Quite apart from offending the man himself, trickled into the gossip mill that filled to overflowing the Inns of Court trough it could – and, he was sure, would – be represented as his nervous inability to delegate anything through fear of failure. Which, even further apart, would be compounded by his having – apparently – willingly accepted a totally indefensible brief the outcome of which could only be failure anyway. So why was he bothering?

  Perry’s call abruptly changed the intention. According to Geoffrey Johnson’s mobile phone alarm from the car bringing an excited Emily and the nanny to London, he’d been seen entering the tradesmen’s entrance to the mansion to collect them and emerged to confront at least three, maybe more, media cars. He was now heading a cavalcade towards London: one vehicle had already drawn level at a traffic light and attempted photographs, through the window.

  Perry confirmed, indignant at the question, that he’d filed the Press Commission complaint at their own ambush and individually warned the editors of every journalist whose card had been thrust through their window not just of that protest but also of the intention to complain to a trial judge, once one was appointed.

  ‘Add this to the Commission complaint, by fax, today,’ instructed Hall, coolly. ‘Also fax all the editors you wrote to yesterday that we intend raising with a judge in chambers, today, the danger of their representatives perverting the course of justice…’

  ‘… How the hell…?’ Perry tried to argue.

  ‘… Annabelle Parkes will be called as a witness for the defence,’ said Hall, patiently. ‘She’s received letters, which we have and can produce before a judge, offering her money to talk to the press in advance of giving evidence in court. Financial inducement could influence the veracity of anything she might give. The fact that we know it wouldn’t doesn’t affect my submission, agreed?’
<
br />   ‘Agreed,’ conceded the solicitor, at once. ‘Don’t forget we haven’t been appointed a trial judge yet.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten that,’ said Hall. ‘Make a point of it. Repeat the warning to the editors whose names and media organizations we have to the Press Association, ensuring its distribution to every media outlet. In the individual letters and the news agency release, also say we are applying for a chambers judge to extend the precincts of any court in which Mrs Lomax might eventually appear to the house in Hampshire, Emily’s kindergarten and St Thomas’s Hospital and every residence or place of work of witnesses – particularly medical and professional witnesses – likely to be called by the defence. Therefore any media intrusion would constitute contempt of court-’

  Perry’s intake of breath was sufficiently loud to interrupt the instructions. ‘You’ll never get all that,’ the man insisted. ‘It’s unheard of.’

  ‘I don’t expect to get all of it,’ admitted Hall. ‘And I know it’s unheard of. Which is why it’ll frighten the bastards off. And I will get the house and Emily’s school and maybe St Thomas’s, which is all I really want.’ He hesitated. ‘Did Johnson tell you where he was, when he called?’

  ‘Guildford.’

  ‘Call him on another line – I’ll hold – and tell him I don’t want him to get to the hospital for at least another hour.’

  Perry put down the phone unquestioningly. Hall heard a mumble of conversation but not what was said. The solicitor returned very quickly. ‘He doesn’t think he can do it under that time anyway. The traffic’s bad.’

  ‘Good,’ said Hall, briskly. ‘Separately fax the police station local to the hospital. Warn of a serious risk of a potential murder trial being endangered by an attempt to pervert the course of justice. Ask for a police presence to prevent that happening, to be in place at the hospital within the next hour. Make sure a copy of that request goes to every editor and to the judge in chambers.’ He paused again. ‘Anything I’ve overlooked?’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘Any thought?’

  ‘You’re going to alienate every newspaper you’ve ever heard of.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘A lot, if you’re thinking about your career.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m thinking of a client and her four-year-old daughter.’

  There was a moment’s silence, ‘In whose name are these letters to be sent.’

  Hall matched the length of the silence. ‘Mine.’ He allowed another gap. ‘You want me to tell Feltham or do you want to do it?’