by S J Bolton
Bryony was just as I’d left her two days earlier, staring up at the roof of the tent that kept her free from infection. She heard the door and her head turned slowly in my direction.
Her resemblance to an animated corpse was strengthening. The skin covering her face looked waxier than it had, and there were patches of discoloration. It looked as though the process of rejection by Bryony’s body was beginning.
‘Hi,’ I said.
She watched me approach the bed.
‘Same rules,’ I said. ‘The minute you want me to go, just blink a few times and I’m out of here.’
I waited for the blinking to start. It didn’t. I pulled the chair forward and sat down.
‘Had a bit of an adventure after I saw you the other day,’ I said. ‘Got attacked by a buzzard.’ I told her the story of disturbing the bird, of it swooping down on me and how I’d run for cover in the adjoining woods. There were things I wanted to ask her but I didn’t want to agitate her too soon and, besides, I had a feeling she had very little company. I was just about to tell her about the woods and the scary farmer when a nurse came in to check her blood pressure and oxygen levels.
By the time the nurse had gone it was getting late and I knew I had to be back at Evi’s before the end of the afternoon. The spooky woods story would wait another day.
‘Bryony,’ I said as the door closed. ‘There’s something I want to ask you. It won’t be easy for you, but it’s important. Is that OK?’
I waited for Bryony to incline her head down towards her chin and then lift it again. Oh, Lord, I’d been half hoping she’d say no, because what I was about to ask seemed horribly cruel, but Evi’s comment earlier about two hundred people seeing Bryony set fire to herself had struck home. Because they hadn’t. Two hundred people had seen her in flames.
Someone else had been present when Nicole had decapitated herself. Danielle hadn’t been alone when she’d hung from that tree. Maybe Bryony hadn’t acted alone either.
‘Bryony, what I need to ask is whether anyone was with you when you set fire to yourself.’
Maybe all three of them had had help.
‘What I need to know, Bryony, is whether someone was helping you.’
Maybe these weren’t suicides at all.
‘Whether anyone else did that to you?’
Bryony’s hand was moving across the bed, had taken hold of the pen. She was moving it slowly across the pad. At that moment, the door opened and an orderly came in. He nodded at me and walked to the waste bin.
‘So there I am, half naked, soaking wet, chained by my ankle and with a video camera pushed into my face,’ I said, in as cheerful a voice as I could muster. ‘Talaith said they did it a lot last term.’
As I’d been talking, I’d leaned over the bed to see what Bryony was writing. The orderly was emptying the bin into a large plastic sack he’d brought with him.
ME, she’d written. I DID IT
I gave her a little nod, to show I understood, and a half smile to thank her. Giving me a dark look, the orderly left the room.
‘I’m going to leave you in peace now,’ I went on. ‘To be honest, I’m pretty whacked myself. Had some weird dreams last night. Must be something to do with that room.’
Bryony’s eyes had opened wide with alarm.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s just that Talaith happened to mention that when you and she were sharing a room, you had bad dreams too.’
She started writing again. NO, she wrote, and then NOT DREAMS.
Not dreams? What did that mean?
Her pen was still moving across the pad. BELL, she wrote again.
‘I know, you said,’ I told her. ‘Bryony, do you mean Nick Bell, your GP?’
Instant agitation. She started tapping the pen on the plastic. First above the word Bell then above Not dreams. The pencil slipped from her fingers but she carried on as though it was terribly important that I understood. Bell. And Not dreams.
Behind me, the door opened and a nurse stood in the doorway.
‘I think she needs some sleep now,’ she told me in a voice that brooked no argument.
Evi looked down. Toxicology screens were carried out on suicides as a matter of course and any unusual substances found in blood, saliva or urine would be noted on the post-mortem report. Warrener had lifted the toxicology reports from each of the eleven victims. Nina Hatton, the zoology student who’d died five years earlier after cutting open her femoral artery, had temazepam, a reasonably common sedative, and psilocybin, a hallucinogen, in her system. Jayne Pearson, the French student who’d stolen a family gun and shot herself seven months later, showed traces of another sedative called flunitrazepam. Its trade name was Rohypnol. That same academic year, the post-mortems of Kate George and Donna Leather showed traces of LSD and mescaline respectively. Both had also used the sedative drugs benzodiazepines. The following year, Bella Hardy and Freya Robin had died after taking ibogaine and DMT. Evi made her way down the list until she found the results of the post-mortem on Nicole Holt. She’d taken LSD before she died.
‘Other than the combination of hallucinogens and sedatives, there’s no real pattern here,’ Evi said, looking up at the coroner.
‘There isn’t,’ agreed Francis. ‘And there is nothing unusual in finding traces of drugs in the body of a suicide.’
‘No,’ said Evi. Claire McGann, fourteen months earlier, had taken mandrake, a rare herbal-derived hallucinogenic drug. Shortly afterwards, Miranda Harman had died after taking Benadryl.
‘I’m referring this to the chief constable,’ continued Francis, ‘and, against my better judgement, showing it to you, for two reasons.’
‘Some of these drugs are very unusual,’ said Evi.
‘They are,’ he agreed. ‘Not at all what you would expect the average university student to get hold of by themselves. My other concern is that by far the most common drug we would normally find in the system of a suicide is alcohol.’
Evi glanced down at the list again.
‘None of them,’ she said. ‘Traces in Kate and Freya but only what would be consistent with a single glass of wine some time earlier. None of them had drunk to excess.’
‘Exactly. And it may just be me being fanciful,’ Francis said, ‘but it strikes me that, of all the incapacitating drugs, substantial quantities of alcohol would be the hardest to administer to someone else.’
Evi looked down at the list again. ‘It strikes me,’ she said, ‘that if there’s foul play going on, someone really knows his drugs.’
‘Are we done now, Evi?’ asked Warrener, and from the look on his face there was little doubt what he wanted her answer to be.
‘Not quite,’ Evi replied.
‘SO THEY ARE acting alone,’ said Evi. ‘Whatever might be leading up to it, in the end the decision to die is theirs.’
‘That would appear to be the case with Bryony,’ I agreed. ‘Danielle was very hazy about details but I’m sure she’d remember being lynched. Difficult to ask the others, of course.’
‘And not dreams?’ said Evi. ‘You’re sure that’s what she meant?’
‘Not completely, but it fits,’ I said. ‘Bryony herself never talked about bad dreams, remember, she talked about someone coming into her room at night and touching her. It was her room-mate, Talaith, who mentioned that Bryony used to scream in her sleep.’
‘Jessica was very clear,’ said Evi. ‘She was having very bad dreams. Although she was vague about the detail.’
‘With Nicole, it was her friends again,’ I said. ‘They heard her yelling at night.’
We were sitting in Evi’s kitchen, a lovely large room at the back of the house that overlooked the garden. A huge cedar tree stood in the centre of the lawn, with other smaller trees and bushes around the outer beds. A low brick wall with a centrally placed iron gate formed the boundary at the lower edge. Beyond it, I could see heavily pollarded willows. The sky outside seemed to have fallen lower, and had taken on the colour of clotted cream.
‘If
these so-called dreams are actually vague memories of real abuse, why aren’t the girls waking up and screaming their heads off the minute the bedroom door opens?’
‘I’d guess they’re sedated,’ said Evi, indicating the coroner’s list. ‘Whoever’s doing this has a pretty good grasp of sedative drugs. We’ve got Rohypnol, ketamine. Get enough of either in your system and you’re going to be pretty submissive, with only the vaguest recollection or none at all the next day.’
‘Fits so far,’ I said. ‘But sometimes they do wake up screaming. Is whatever’s happening to them so bad it’s overriding the effect of the sedative?’
‘Unless there was actual pain involved, that’s unlikely,’ said Evi. ‘And these girls aren’t physically harmed, remember. I’d say there was something else going on as well.’
As if what we had already wasn’t enough. ‘Something else?’ I said.
‘There are a lot of hallucinogens on this list,’ she said. ‘Several of the victims had traces of psychedelic drugs in their systems.’
I must have looked blank because Evi gave a heavy sigh. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘You’re aware that hallucinogenic drugs induce experiences that are different from those of ordinary consciousness?’
‘You mean not real?’
She nodded her head. ‘Yes, you could say experiences that aren’t real. But under that umbrella there is a huge range of possibilities, depending upon the type of drug taken and the circumstances of the user.’
The dog had followed us from the sitting room but had transferred his allegiance completely to Evi. He was lying at her feet now, on the hard tiled floor, gazing up at her adoringly. Which says something about the loyalty of dogs, it seems to me. I’d rescued him from a bullet, fed him, offered him shelter and now he’d fallen in love with the prettier face.
‘Go on,’ I said.
‘Hallucinogenic drugs are grouped into three basic types,’ said Evi. ‘First of all you have the psychedelic drugs. These don’t induce hallucinations in the true sense, they just alter the user’s perception of reality. Someone under the influence might see unusually bright colours, or inanimate objects move in some way. Often senses get mixed up, people talk about hearing colours and seeing sounds.’
‘Far out,’ I said.
Evi didn’t smile. ‘Psychedelic isn’t a hippy term, by the way, it’s from the ancient Greek,’ she said. ‘Psyche meaning mind or soul and delos meaning reveal or manifest. LSD is a psychedelic drug, so are DMT and mescaline. And what they do is to bring some hidden part of you to the surface.’
‘Hidden but real?’ I said.
‘Exactly. There were medical experiments in the late 1960s, the theory being that use of psychedelic drugs could bring to the fore-front of a person’s mind whatever they were keeping hidden. Risky, of course, because when people are keeping memories tucked away it’s usually for a good reason. Artificially forcing them into the open could be very dangerous.’
‘If someone had a dark secret, psychedelics could root it out?’ I asked, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. I had a few secrets of my own that I wanted to keep firmly in the closet.
‘Yes. Then you have the dissociative drugs,’ Evi said. ‘They induce a perception of the outside world’s being dream-like or false. You’re aware of what’s going on around you but you feel detached. People have reported a sense of watching themselves from a distance, even of seeing the world like a giant cinema screen. Are you with me?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘And typical dissociative drugs might be?’
‘PCP, ketamine again. Both initially developed as anaesthetics for surgery. Both on this list.’
‘And the third group,’ I prompted.
‘Possibly the most dangerous, the deliriants,’ said Evi. ‘These can cause hallucinations in the true sense. Users have conversations with people who aren’t there, see things that have no basis in reality.’
‘And these things they see, are they likely to be scary?’ I asked.
‘Depends,’ said Evi. ‘Someone in a good frame of mind, in a situation in which they feel safe, would be likely to have a good trip.’
‘The converse being that someone depressed, anxious, in a situation where they feel vulnerable and scared, will have a bad one?’
‘Someone in that position should never take hallucinogens,’ said Evi. ‘The consequences would be dire.’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘So let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that you’re depressed, vulnerable and scared, you’re then sedated and abused and, just for good measure, you’re given a pretty powerful hallucinogenic. What would the effect be?’
I’d never seen Evi look so pale. ‘It really doesn’t bear thinking about,’ she said.
I looked at the list of drugs Evi had brought back from the coroner’s office. Some of them I didn’t recognize.
‘So are they taking this shit knowingly, or are they being slipped it without their knowledge?’ I asked.
‘Bryony insisted to her counsellor that she wasn’t taking anything,’ said Evi. ‘And she must have had Nick convinced as well for him to prescribe the antidepressant he did.’
‘Jessica’s friends thought she was using,’ I said. ‘Although from how they described her behaviour, I wouldn’t have said it was typical of an addict.’
‘I don’t think Jessica was a user,’ said Evi. ‘I would have noticed the signs. She wasn’t displaying them when she came to see me.’
‘What are the signs?’ I asked.
‘Pupil dilation, unusual pallor, rapid respiration, sweating, trembling of the extremities,’ said Evi. ‘Pretty much the state you were in this morning.’
OK, that was a bit unexpected.
‘And the other day,’ she went on, before I could think of what to say. ‘When you came to see me in college. I noticed then you didn’t look well.’
‘I’ve never taken a recreational drug in my life,’ I said truthfully. ‘I’m fighting off a cold, that’s all.’
‘Had any bad dreams?’ Evi asked me.
I stood and walked over to where the dog had fallen fast asleep on a rug in front of the cooker. Its legs stuck out at angles from its body, displaying its undercarriage to the world.
‘This dog’s a bitch,’ I said.
‘I think she’s quite sweet,’ Evi replied.
‘I’ve been referring to her as a he all day,’ I said. I turned back to look at Evi again. ‘Did you know?’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I just assumed biology wasn’t your strong point. And a dog’s gender-confusion is the least of our worries. So, want to tell me about these dreams you’ve been having?’
Evi thought I … I shook my head. ‘It’s not possible.’
She didn’t move, didn’t speak.
‘I dreamed that someone was trying to break into my room,’ I admitted. ‘That I heard them coming in and couldn’t move. It was pretty scary. When I woke up, I was in the main room, cuddling the dog. Door locked, window closed, no sign of a break-in, several pissed-off girls on the corridor.’
‘When you left the party last night, where did you go?’ asked Evi.
‘I drove to a burger bar to get Sniffy-Dog something to eat, then back to college,’ I told her. ‘My room-mate was out. I made a cup of tea, did some work and went to bed.’
‘It must have been at the party,’ said Evi. ‘Which, I agree, seems unlikely.’
‘It is,’ I said. ‘Don’t these things act pretty quickly?’
Evi shrugged. ‘Some do, some don’t,’ she said, not too helpfully.
‘I was fine driving home. I worked for about an hour when I got in. I felt absolutely normal when I went to bed.’
‘You made tea?’
‘Hallucinogenic drugs via a teabag?’ I said. ‘No really, my bad dreams and the state I was in this morning were down to a combination of stress, tiredness, a disturbing late-night conversation – with you – and the possible onset of flu. I’m feeling a lot better now, honestly
.’
Evi stared at me for a moment before getting up and fetching her medical bag from a closet in the hallway. ‘How about we send off some samples?’ she said, from the doorway. ‘Just to make sure.’
I opened my mouth to refuse and realized it couldn’t do any harm. I would know, surely, if I’d been drugged, but if it gave Evi peace of mind …
‘So just going with your theory for a minute,’ I said. ‘How can drugs be administered to people without them knowing about it?’ I watched her take needle, syringe, vials and a urine specimen jar from her bag. She ripped the packaging off the needle.
‘Left arm, roll up your sleeve,’ she told me, as she fitted the various pieces together. ‘Well, there’s a whole collection that can be slipped into drinks,’ she went on, as I did what I was told. ‘That’s how the date-rape drugs work. But students tend to be quite wise to that these days.’
‘Ouch,’ I contributed, helpfully, as Evi bagged and labelled my blood and put it to one side on the table. ‘It can be sent off first thing Monday morning,’ she said.
Evi hadn’t finished with me yet. When I got back from the loo and handed over my urine specimen, she dug into her bag again, then shone a light into my eyes, took my pulse and blood pressure and listened to my breathing with a stethoscope.
‘You’ll live,’ she told me, in the end.
‘Let’s hope Jessica does,’ I said. When she didn’t reply, I regretted being flippant. Evi cared about her patients. She was genuinely worried about Jessica. So was I, come to that.
‘Maybe you should sleep somewhere else for a few nights,’ she said. ‘There are several spare bedrooms here.’
I shook my head. ‘Without clearing it with my SO, I can’t make any major changes,’ I said. ‘And until those results come back, we don’t know anything for sure. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.’
Evi looked troubled but she didn’t argue. ‘The coroner is planning to send this list to the chief constable on Monday,’ she said, picking up the printed sheet Francis Warrener had given her. ‘What will he do, do you think?’
‘Nothing in a hurry,’ I said. ‘Which won’t help Jessica much. He’ll most likely send it down to CID, ask them to have another look at the various cases and report back to him. As the girls are all dead anyway, it’s unlikely to get a high priority. They’ll get round to it in the next few weeks.’