Dangerous Minds

by Priscilla Masters

  ‘I was so pleased,’ she said softly.

  Claire struggled to see what could possibly please her in this situation. She raised her eyebrows and the sister continued, still speaking in that soft voice.

  ‘His ex-wife came in with Stan’s little girl, Stacey,’ she said. ‘The little girl was so sweet. They sat with him for a while and Stan was more lucid than I’ve seen him since he was admitted. The little girl kissed him and he knew what was happening. He smiled and later on that day he said to me, “I’ll die happy, you know.”’ She looked down at his wan face. ‘Sometimes,’ she said, confiding in Claire now, ‘I feel I can’t do this job any longer. I feel so emotionally drained by the whole thing. Every day some new heartache, some new tragedy. Death—’ she wafted her hand – ‘all around. And then …’ her hand moved down towards the bedclothes, ‘someone like Stan is admitted and I think I can do it just that little bit longer.’

  Claire nodded. ‘I know just how you feel,’ she said. ‘Right down to that little bit longer bit.’

  FORTY

  Friday, 28 November, 6 p.m.

  But she felt as though doom was moving inexorably forwards. Barclay’s plans were heading towards fruition and there was no way she could put a stop to them. The letter discharging him would have arrived by this morning and she expected some response. But from Barclay, unpredictable as ever, there was nothing. She was just leaving the unit when her phone pinged with a text.

  Are you very busy over the weekend? I’m off duty. If you fancy an evening out, give me a call.

  Anytime.

  Zed X

  She was just about to reply when she had a crisis of conscience. She wanted to see Grant. It wasn’t fair to play this game. She’d thought Zed had realized. Clearly she’d been wrong to initiate that last meeting. She had told herself it was purely business, but had it really been?

  She liked Zed. He just wasn’t for her. It is when you prepare to take on even a man’s faults and baggage that you know you are truly in love. She wanted Grant lock, stock and two smoking barrels. She texted back:

  I’m sorry. I’m a bit tied up this weekend. See you soon, Claire.

  She put her finger on the Send button, but stopped and added, X.

  Monday, 1 December, 12 midday

  The Triggs were wary of her from the first and sat down on the edge of their seats, patently uncomfortable. She reassessed them.

  Today both were smartly dressed, Mandy in a pair of well-fitting black trousers and a sweater and Kenneth in chinos, a shirt and jacket. No tie. They’d adjusted to having money, were learning how to spend it.

  She greeted them and they waited for her to open the interview. She was the one who had summoned them. Something in their manner surprised her. They seemed more dignified, more in control. She looked closer. Had she initially misjudged them? Underestimated them?

  ‘I feel I should warn you about Jerome. He isn’t quite what—’

  Kenneth interrupted. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said, ‘how you can discuss our son-in-law like this when he isn’t present.’

  Claire stopped in her tracks. ‘I wanted to warn you,’ she said. ‘Jerome can be unpredictable.’

  Mandy Trigg burst out laughing. ‘We know that,’ she said indulgently. ‘He’s fun. You don’t always know where you are with him. He likes to tease.’ A swift, merry glance at her husband. ‘We understand Jerome,’ she said, a note of steel in her voice, ‘perfectly well. And we will protect our daughter and our grandchild from harm. Understand?’

  Claire was silent. She was crossing a boundary and she knew it.

  ‘Be careful,’ she said. ‘Jerome is a very intelligent and devious person.’

  She suddenly noticed that Kenneth Trigg had gone very quiet and was pressing his lips together. The classic sign of suppression. Something seemed to pass between the couple. Maybe since they’d won all that money they had become cannier, more suspicious and more wary. ‘We are …’ Kenneth said, deliberation in his words. ‘We are very careful. We know Jerome has had …’ he grappled for the word, ‘issues. We know that events have occurred in his family. He’s told us his version. Don’t you worry about us, Claire. We’ll be fine.’ It was a verbal pat on the head.

  They glanced at each other again, something unreadable but determined passing between them. Then they stood up as one and Mandy spoke, held out her hand and smiled. ‘Our grandchild will be perfectly safe.’

  And with that they left. Claire was bemused. She had orchestrated the interview but it had been they who had had the upper hand, and if she wasn’t mistaken there had been a hidden message in their exchanges. She sat for a while, recalling all that had been said, the emphases on various words. Yet again she was missing something.

  But she felt happier. She could wash her hands of Barclay. The Triggs had assured her that they could look after themselves.

  And it was time to move on in more than one way.

  The news came through that Stan had died, his ex-wife and daughter by his side. The news gave Claire a feeling of peace. One should die with one’s family at one’s side. And on the wings of that thought came an unexpected feeling of guilt. That was where Grant had been, at his sister’s side, when he’d thought she was dying. His sin had been to exclude her from this scenario.

  She had a pleasant three weeks, looking forward to Christmas in the newly decorated home. Paul Mudd was working wonders and had practically finished. On the Monday before Christmas, she met up with Grant, and they talked as they’d not talked when they were a couple. She was blunt and honest with him, telling him that his family, mother, sister, had obviously taken precedent over her and that that was a situation she would find hard to live with. She smiled at him. ‘But … You’re a great bloke, Grant,’ she said.

  He gave her a dark look. ‘That sounds like a pre-dump line.’

  She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said steadily. ‘It’s the line I draw before I meet the other two women in your life.’

  He nodded.

  ‘I should have met them before,’ she said gently.

  He nodded again. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ve played the whole thing wrong. Made a bit of an idiot of myself.’

  She just smiled.

  ‘I just thought …’ he frowned. ‘I just thought it was all too much for you.’ He paused, frowning that dark, piratical scowl. ‘You’re right. I should have told you about Maisie before.’

  She nodded, reached out for his hand. ‘And now I need space,’ she said. ‘Some thinking time.’

  His eyes were on her. ‘Again, it sounds like the dump cliché.’

  ‘I just need that time,’ she said.

  He shrugged. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Whatever. Not a lot I can do about it.’ He’d finished on a grumpy note.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to be cut out of the loop again?’

  ‘I promise.’

  She continued. ‘I’ve decided, now the decorating is almost finished, that I’m going to stay in the house. I’ve grown fond of it.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So let’s just see what happens. Eh?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  He seemed to have more to say and reached across to take her hand. He pressed her fingers to his lips and met her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, Claire. I’m really sorry I put you through all that. I did the wrong thing, listened to the wrong voices, and I feel terrible. But I don’t want to be without you.’ His hand reached out for her. ‘At first I thought Maisie was going to die. I couldn’t really deal with that. I was just distraught. I’ve always been the big brother, always there for her, you know? And then when she got a bit better, the weeks had gone by and I realized what I’d done.’ He stopped. ‘She just wanted me to stay with her all the time. She was frightened. Every day it became harder to get in touch with you and explain, Claire.’ His face was contorted. ‘I know I’ve been a shit,’ he said. ‘And a coward. You must think …’

  She drew in a long, dragging sigh. ‘Never mind what I think,’ she said. ‘T
o be honest, I’m not even sure I know.’ Suddenly all the fight and denial and strength had leached out of her. She wanted him back. But she couldn’t do it right now.

  She wafted her hand and Grant got the message and stood up. ‘I’ll leave now,’ he said, ‘but promise me.’ His voice became impassioned. ‘Please, Claire, promise me you’ll …’ And then his merry pirate look was back. He gave a cheeky grin. ‘Ring me tomorrow?’ She nodded. He bent and kissed her cheek. ‘Goodnight, darling,’ he said.

  She watched him go, uncertain.

  Was that what life was really all about? Uncertainty?

  Christmas came and went. She didn’t go home but Adam, Adele, Julia and Gina came round on Boxing Day. They played riotous charades and she cooked a duck with plum sauce and an actual on-fire Christmas pudding, which she produced to a flourish of applause. They watched a film companionably and left in the early hours.

  She spent New Year’s Eve again with Adam and Adele, having dinner at a local restaurant, which was offering an eight-course meal with entertainment. The entertainment proved to be a rather plump Elvis lookalike in a skintight white onesie, which only added to the jollity. They toasted the New Year in and made a solemn pledge to meet up at least once a month. From Grant she heard nothing, and tactfully neither Adam nor Adele asked any questions.

  To try and find out what it was she really wanted, she met up with Zed a couple of times in January. They had a few dates – went to the theatre, the cinema, for walks, for dinner. She liked him. He was uncomplicated, honest, with a keen intelligence and sense of humour. And yet, although she was happy with him, it wasn’t reaching the heights she had experienced with Grant and she believed it never would. Grant was proving a hard act to follow. He was quite a person. Much more Bohemian and unpredictable than the dependable and predictable Zed Willard.

  Question: Why did the word dependable come up on the radar as enemy aircraft?

  Zed was dependable. He was also predictable. Was that it? Were there to be no surprises with him? She wasn’t sure. They had not even become close to being lovers. She had to admit it. The spark was missing.

  Her house had been completed by the energetic Paul Mudd. She had had an estate agent round and he had valued the house at well over cost so, if that was the way forward, she could split the money evenly with Grant. But although she could now put a figure on it and knew he would agree to whatever she suggested, she didn’t write out the cheque. She kept in touch with him and they met up a couple of times, each time gently tiptoeing back towards their previous relationship. But it wasn’t the same, and Claire suspected it never would be. The relationship had changed. One thing she did know was that she had found some sort of settlement. She had renewed vigour in her work, socialized more with her colleagues and had written an article on narcissism and its consequences, which had been accepted for publication in the British Journal of Psychiatry. It felt like a little feather wafting proudly in her cap. She’d even built bridges with Astrid. They weren’t exactly best friends and never would be. The girl was too hard. But they had reached a decent working relationship.

  She thought life was settling down, forgetting that life itself is turbulence.

  Thursday, 29 January, 7 a.m.

  The first she was aware of it was a phone call from Zed. She was still yawning, sleepy-eyed, just about to make herself some coffee and wake herself up. She hadn’t even cleaned her teeth. She looked at the number, surprised at the hour, then answered.

  ‘Claire,’ he said, and his tone alerted her, ‘have you seen the news yet?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve only just woken up. I haven’t even had my first coffee of the morning.’

  ‘Put the news channel on,’ he said seriously. ‘I’m coming over.’

  Alarmed now, she put the news channel on and there it was, in the ticker-tape along the bottom. Her nightmare. Sea tragedy.

  Then the newscaster moved on to the story and Claire was confused.

  This was not how she had imagined it.

  She sat on the sofa, put her head in her hands and watched the news channel leak out more sparse facts until there was a knock on the door. She opened it to Zed. ‘I’ve failed,’ she said.

  He wrapped her in his arms. ‘No you haven’t,’ he said. ‘You haven’t. You couldn’t have prevented this. Look at the facts, Claire.’ He sat opposite her, his eyes full of sympathy. ‘What could you have done? Roxanne came to you as his emissary. He sent her.’

  That was when she began to see a fuller, clearer picture. ‘She knew,’ she said. ‘They knew. They’ve played me like a fish on the line. I feel such a fool.’

  ‘Look at it this way,’ he said. ‘What else could you have done?’

  ‘I don’t know. I only know I was wrong.’

  ‘We’re never going to be able to prove anything. There’s going to be no evidence. I’m just a DS,’ he said. ‘I’m not in a great position to initiate an inquiry. My relationship with you might compromise my position anyway, and this all happened offshore. Out of our jurisdiction.’ He gave a weak smile. ‘Not exactly Stoke-on-Trent.’

  Her eyes moved back to the TV. The newscaster gave more detail on the main story. But Claire hardly needed it. She thought she could have written the text herself. A boat tragedy, wife (heavily pregnant), in-laws. Missing bodies. The shipmate, Nic Benedetti, had, apparently, miraculously, survived and told a story of a giant wave capsizing the boat. In the Caribbean? Surviving hero had done all he could to save the family before somehow inflating a life raft and eventually being picked up by a passing ship. Brief news footage of Barclay, shivering, wrapped up in a blanket looking pale, pathetic and heartbroken as he spilled out to the world that he and his wife had not been married for very long and that she had been expecting their first child.

  But that wasn’t the story at all. It had been Barclay who had gone overboard. Barclay who was dead, and Roxanne and her parents, together with Nic Benedetti, were the survivors. Claire had to recast villain and victims in this story. For the moment she was too stunned to think clearly.

  It was Zed now who spoke. ‘The family will close ranks.’

  ‘Unless …’ she said.

  He read her mind. ‘Independent witness,’ he said.

  ‘The crew?’

  ‘Nic Benedetti. He’s our only hope.’ He quickly translated thought into action. ‘I wonder if there’s any chance we could speak to him?’

  She waited. Zed was silent for a minute or two and she didn’t interrupt his train of thought. Finally he spoke. ‘I think I might be able to do something.’

  She hardly let herself be hopeful.

  ‘I can probably gain access to something about Benedetti, keep an eye on his phone calls, bank accounts and stuff. There had to be a payoff. I think I can find out a few things.’

  She couldn’t believe this. What was she doing? Recasting Barclay as victim? Barclay dead? It was an about-turn. She was almost dizzy, as though watching the world while standing on her head. Zed was looking at her, concerned. ‘Claire,’ he said, ‘what will you do if the Triggs contact you?’

  ‘See them.’

  ‘Will you contact them?’

  Slowly she shook her head.

  The television was still dancing out colour in the background but she could feel Zed Willard was uneasy. ‘Uumm,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  He looked really uncomfortable and she felt anxious. ‘Zed,’ she said, alarmed, her hand on his arm, ‘what is it?’

  ‘Dexter,’ he said. ‘He’s appealed. He’s denying that he meant Sheridan any harm.’

  ‘He was carrying a knife. He almost murdered a police officer.’

  ‘He says he meant her no harm and the officer just got in his way, that he had the knife because he was paranoid.’

  She almost snorted her derision.

  ‘And things got out of hand.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘He says it was in the heat of the moment, under pressure. He was frightened.’


  ‘You don’t believe that?’

  ‘It isn’t about what I believe.’

  ‘But it’s rubbish. He’s a liability. He’s dangerous.’

  ‘He insists he just went to wish her well.’

  ‘With a knife in his pocket?’

  Zed Willard didn’t even attempt to respond to this, and she felt herself cave in. ‘Will I need to testify again?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

  ‘Are you holding him?’

  ‘He’s still at Broadmoor.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ she said drily, ‘as it appears my judgement is not quite sound.’

  Even the news channel had moved on to other items.

  Over the next couple of days more facts leaked out. The boat had been taken into port, where it was being examined by forensic experts.

  Look the other way, Claire wanted to say to herself. This isn’t your problem. You do not police the world. This happened thousands of miles from here. Someone else’s responsibility. And yet, as though she had been a passenger on the boat herself, she could see what must have happened. And in one way she was to blame. She had alerted – or confirmed to – the Trigg family as to what Jerome was like. And they had acted to protect their daughter and their unborn grandchild. When they had assured her that the child would be safe, they had already been formulating their plan. Jerome, alive, an unprovable villain, would have rights over his offspring whether he and Roxanne were together or not. And that they couldn’t allow.

  And so when Claire watched the footage of the boat being winched into a dry dock in Bridgetown, she wanted to shout to the authorities: Look the other way. Not at the boat. Or a bloody big wave. The problem was in passenger and crew. Then she rose and switched off. What was the point? She felt defeated.