‘Look, I’ve gotta go,’ said Alex. ‘I’m in the middle of something.’
‘Oh, OK,’ said Jane, sounding disappointed. ‘Perhaps we can talk later? I feel a bit, you know—’
‘I’ve got to go, Jane,’ said Alex, pausing for a second before hanging up. He turned to Sophie and smiled.
‘Wife?’ said Sophie.
‘Girlfriend,’ said Alex. ‘I have an ex-wife, but we don’t see each other so much.’
Sophie laughed. ‘Sounds complicated.’
‘It is,’ said Alex, deciding he’d rather not start another line of questioning. ‘Can you show me the segregation wing and the cells? If I can’t speak to Dr Bradley, I may as well get familiar with the place.’
‘Sure,’ said Sophie, standing and throwing her bag on the chair. ‘I’ll need to alert our guard detail. We need an escort and you’ll have to leave your phone here.’
‘Not a problem,’ said Alex, placing it on the desk. ‘Lead the way.’
Sophie kept glancing at Alex as they descended the stairs to the guard station. He noticed it and wondered what was bothering her.
‘Will you be assessing him?’ she said, after several steps.
‘Him?’
‘Him. Thirteen. Victor Lazar.’
Alex slowed and turned to her. ‘Mr Lazar is why I’m here. Thirteen?’
Sophie’s eyes narrowed. ‘It’s what he called himself when he arrived. Thirteen. So that’s a yes?’
Alex was surprised at her reaction. ‘What do you know about him?’
Sophie bit her lip. ‘Not much,’ she said. ‘His case is sensitive. Robert has access to the full case file. I don’t.’ She shrugged and walked faster.
Alex hadn’t seen the full case file yet either. He’d had a summary history emailed to him by the CPS but was told the full information would be available once he was on site.
As well as the unusual circumstances surrounding Victor Lazar’s arrest, there was the headline mystery, which was that Victor’s previous psychologist had committed suicide while treating him. Dr Henry Farrell, an experienced clinician close to retirement, had interviewed Victor alone in his cell for an hour. He’d left the cell complaining of a headache and driven home to call his wife, who was out of town. He’d made various nonsense statements over the phone, which his wife couldn’t accurately recollect, then jumped out of a third-floor window, landing on the concrete driveway. He was pronounced dead by paramedics at the scene.
Alex could no doubt suggest several theories why a sane and intelligent man would take his own life, but the association with Victor was bizarre and curious. Victor appeared to be special – a potentially untreatable psychopath if the initial report was anything to go by. But that didn’t explain Dr Farrell’s behaviour. Connected or not, Alex intended to find out.
Alex didn’t push it, but Sophie’s demeanour had changed at the mention of Victor Lazar. She now looked sullen, a drastic contrast from her enthusiastic greeting of twenty minutes earlier. Alex wondered if her mood swings were typical. He guessed he’d find out soon enough.
‘He’s not your only patient,’ said Alex, steering the conversation away for the time being.
Sophie’s expression changed as if he’d flicked a switch. The nervousness faded and her shoulders straightened. ‘Indeed,’ she said. ‘There are several interesting new inmates here. One of them doesn’t speak any English, which makes everything a little difficult, but there are four others presenting with fascinating histories. They’ll be here a long while if Robert’s initial assessments are anything to go by. But I might have better luck with you helping me.’ She smiled again.
‘I’m not here for any other patients, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘I hope that’s not the expectation.’
‘Probably not.’ Sophie smiled. ‘But I thought it worth asking.’
Alex returned the smile and kept glancing at Sophie as they walked, struggling to keep his eyes off her as they trudged along the stale, green-painted corridors towards segregation. There was something a little furtive in the way she talked and carried herself. And she seemed far more mature than a post-doc on a training contract.
‘Here we are,’ she said, pressing a buzzer next to a metal door. It opened with a clang and a young guard appeared.
‘Hey, Sophie,’ he said. He looked a good deal friendlier than the guard at the gate, smiling at Sophie as if she was the highlight of his day. Alex didn’t doubt it was the case.
The guard gave Alex a quick up-and-down appraisal and his smile hardened. Alex’s wristwatch probably cost more than the guard earned in a month. He made a mental note to dress it down a little.
‘New friend, Sophie?’
‘New colleague. Simon, meet Alex – I mean Dr Madison. Dr Madison is with us as a consultant.’
The two men shook hands, Simon puffing his chest out and trying to squeeze the life out of Alex’s hand.
Alex smiled and said nothing.
‘Your partner not here?’ Sophie said, looking past Simon through the open door into the guardroom.
‘Damian? No, he’s sick today. Been a bit unreliable lately. I just can’t get the staff.’
‘Oh, OK. Well, I want to show Alex around the segregation wing,’ said Sophie. ‘Let him get a feel for the place.’
‘Not a problem,’ said Simon, letting go of Alex, ‘although it feels like most other prison wings – full of scum. Sophie, I keep telling you, you’re too nice to spend time with these monsters.’
Alex smiled at the jibe. It seemed to be the standard attitude towards medical staff in prison settings. Doctors were soft, wanting to care for and treat murderers and rapists. The guards, on the other hand, were tough, ready for action, protecting against the enemy. Alex knew to expect it and didn’t let it get to him. He wouldn’t be here long enough to worry about it. Getting the guard onside would be the better strategy.
‘Well, you may be right,’ he said, nodding. ‘These are dangerous people. I expect most of them belong here. Thanks for letting us through, by the way.’
Simon’s face softened. He’d scored an ally. ‘Told you,’ he said to Sophie. ‘Your boss agrees with me.’
Sophie raised her eyebrows at Alex.
‘I’m not Sophie’s boss. I’m only here for a few weeks. I’d still like to take a look around though,’ said Alex, ‘if that’s OK with you?’
‘Sure,’ said Simon, puffing his chest up again. He pulled the guardroom door shut and locked it with a heavy-looking key from the collection on his belt. ‘Follow me. It’s a small unit. Keep close and ignore the shouts. We’ve got six illegals here awaiting deportation, and they’re not leaving without a fight.’
‘Inmates, Simon,’ Sophie corrected him. ‘And they’re on remand.’
‘Whatever,’ said Simon, buzzing them through the next door and into the wing. ‘This is it,’ he said, ‘segregation. Temporary accommodation for the most part. Inmates find themselves here for breaking the rules – adjudications – anything from a fight to a murder. I know you medics frown at the idea of keeping prisoners in here for extended periods but sometimes we have no choice. A solitary cell away from any other human being is the only safe way to keep them.’
Alex was faced with a long grey corridor with brown doors set every three or so metres into the walls. The floor was damaged with black scuffs and grooves – the marks of trolleys and beds wheeled back and forth, sometimes with signs of a struggle. The smell of bleach was fainter here, mixed with stale body odour. The only natural light was filtered through a row of high, dirty windows. Fluorescent bulbs took over and cast a bright orange hue across everything, causing Alex to squint. At the end of the hallway a single door faced him. It was painted a dull red, chipped near the bottom and dirty around the viewing hatch.
‘That’s where Thirteen is,’ said Sophie. ‘Victor Lazar. The end cell.’
Alex nodded, noting that Sophie was biting her lip again. She appeared reluctant to continue.
‘May I?’ he said to
the guard, indicating the corridor.
‘Thirteen?’ said Simon. ‘Sure. You don’t need my permission at this point. Feel free to check through any hatch you like. Try not to upset anybody though; we don’t have enough staff today for too many sedations.’
‘Sedation?’ Standard practice, but Alex couldn’t help frowning. Tranquillisers in lieu of treatment was a standard response to underfunding and a lack of qualified staff.
‘Lorazepam, or whatever you guys cook up,’ said Simon. ‘Sedation is standard if they won’t calm down. Normally sends them off to sleep for eight hours or so. We do it a lot.’
Alex raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He wasn’t really interested in any of the inmates except Victor, and he felt drawn to the end cell. While he wouldn’t be attempting an assessment yet, there was no harm in checking out what his patient looked like.
He found himself creeping towards Victor Lazar’s cell, treading lightly on the concrete, as if making a noise would awaken the beasts lurking behind the locked doors.
A metallic clang startled him. He recoiled and wheeled around to the right. Two thumps, followed by a howl of laughter. It wasn’t Lazar’s cell. Another inmate coming to life, despite Alex’s careful footwork.
‘Fuck?’ said the voice, the inflection muffled by the thick door. It howled again, repeating the obscenity over and over. ‘Is that why you’re here?’ The voice grew fainter and Alex guessed the inmate was retreating further back into the cell.
‘I’ll fuck you,’ said the voice, high pitched, tapering to a wail. ‘I will.’ The voice cracked again into laughter, then abruptly ceased.
Alex shuddered, his hand straying to his jacket pocket, feeling for the small packet of Xanax anti-anxiety pills he always carried. They were there, tucked away for when he needed them. He shook himself off and continued walking, stopping short before the door of the end cell. The one that held Victor Lazar. He leaned in to listen.
‘They can’t bite you through the door,’ called Simon. Alex glanced back and saw the guard grinning. Sophie didn’t seem to share his amusement, and stood to one side, her expression unimpressed.
Alex unlocked the viewing hatch, letting it drop down in front of him. A thick pane of reinforced glass with a thin gap underneath for a food tray separated him from the dimly lit cell.
The smell of body odour seeped through the gap, pungent and bitter. Alex tried not to screw his nose up as he surveyed the small room. Twelve foot square, the once white walls were covered with years of graffiti, swastikas and gang tags etched deep into the plaster. A metal grille on the ceiling covered the single yellowed bulb, its light diminished by grime and dust. One wall housed a combined toilet and sink unit, the metal dull and scratched and encrusted with limescale. The other wall held the single metal bunk with a thin mattress and two sheets, folded at one end.
On this bunk sat a man, stiff, upright, staring at the opposite wall. Alex was surprised at how slight he was. Plump, but small, with narrow shoulders, his bald head reflecting the harsh light. Metal-rimmed glasses sat perched on the end of his nose.
The inmate, Victor Lazar, turned his head towards the door. Alex resisted the urge to recoil and managed to force a smile.
‘Who are you?’ said Victor, his voice muffled by the distance and the glass. Alex detected a foreign accent, eastern European.
‘Good morning, Mr Lazar,’ said Alex. ‘Just doing my rounds. I’m new, working with the medical team here.’
Victor smiled, causing a small shiver to creep down Alex’s back.
‘A new doctor,’ said Victor. His eyes narrowed and he frowned. ‘How nice.’ He opened his mouth and muttered something Alex couldn’t make out, then said, ‘You’re young.’
Alex’s unease deepened as Victor’s grin widened. The man turned away and muttered under his breath. He looked agitated, his head shaking. He paused every few moments to clasp his hands together, cracking his knuckles.
Alex instinctively began to diagnose, ticking off visible symptoms and positing what conditions might cause this behaviour. Victor appeared to be repeating himself, which could indicate a condition known as logorrhoea or a form of aphasia, both of which could be linked to schizophrenia. It was difficult, not to mention inappropriate, to do any sort of assessment through a glass hatch, but it was a curse of his profession. He couldn’t resist analysing people from the second he met them.
Victor stopped his muttering. ‘Pardon me. I must have drifted off there for a moment. Are you sure you’re my doctor?’
Alex was intrigued by Victor’s behaviour but decided he wasn’t prepared to interview the man without first meeting Dr Bradley to get a proper background. ‘One of them, yes.’
‘Will you come in?’
‘No, thank you, Mr Lazar,’ said Alex. ‘Maybe later in the week. I have to go now, but it was good to meet you.’
Victor fixed his smile. ‘You haven’t met me, Doctor.’ He spat out the last word. ‘Not if you stay the other side of that door.’
Alex tensed. He should have expected a certain amount of hostility, but it caught him off guard. Now wasn’t the right time to tackle it. ‘We’ll meet soon,’ he said, with more confidence than he felt. ‘Properly. I promise.’
Victor laughed, a soft hiss escaping his mouth. He dragged it out for several seconds before standing, then stretched, arching his lower back and rolling his shoulders. Approaching the door, he leaned forwards until his face was up against the hatch. Barely inches apart, Alex could almost feel the man’s breath as it fogged the glass.
‘Be careful with promises, Doctor,’ whispered Victor. The man gazed into Alex’s eyes, his face a mask. Alex could read nothing in the stare, and it increased his unease. He swallowed awkwardly and found himself nodding.
Victor muttered something further under his breath but then stopped. He tilted his head to one side. ‘Goodbye, Doctor.’
Before Alex could respond, Victor broke eye contact and turned away, shuffling back to his bunk. He lowered himself to the edge, sitting as before, staring fixedly at the opposite wall.
Alex watched Victor for a few moments longer before lifting the hatch back into place. As it locked Alex realised he’d been holding his breath. He let it out slowly and paused to regain his composure before heading back to Sophie and Simon. Sophie looked tense, her fists clenched by her sides.
Simon smirked. ‘Crazies, the lot of them,’ he said, shrugging, and grabbed his radio as it spluttered static into the corridor.
‘You’re joking,’ he said into the mouthpiece, staring at Alex. ‘OK, be right there.’
‘Sorry, folks,’ he said. ‘There’s trouble in B Wing. I need to head back.’
‘What, now?’ said Sophie. ‘I thought they were all in lockdown today.’
‘It’s a protest,’ said Simon. ‘They’ve changed the menu again and it’s being used as an excuse to kick off. Started peaceful but the first punch has just been thrown. Shouldn’t be a big deal, but I’ve gotta go.’
‘No problem,’ said Alex, following Simon out of segregation, glad to put a few locked doors between himself and his new patient. The experience had made him anxious and he found himself hurrying out.
As they left, he watched Sophie. She was staring towards the end cell, her eyes narrowed and her jaw clenched. She was scared, but there was something else too. Silent and deep in thought, she paused for a moment before catching his eye briefly, then turned away to lead him briskly back towards the office.
CHAPTER FOUR
Two women, mother and daughter, face down on the carpet of their home. A crime scene photo, the blood overexposed and the skin washed out. Dr Alex Madison, consulting psychologist. It wasn’t your fault, they had told him.
But it was his failure. His last case for the CPS.
The dream was subtly different this time. The bodies were in a corridor, cold and dark, with a single metal door at the end. As he approached the door he could smell decay and fear, but something stopped him going any further. The
door was a cell, and although he couldn’t see who was in it, he could hear a voice, calling to him. He couldn’t make out what it was saying.
Alex stared at his bedroom ceiling for a few moments before taking his pulse. He felt sluggish and he realised he’d woken before his alarm. It was only five fifteen. His shoulders ached and his neck was stiff again. There was a dull pain in his right wrist, as if he’d pulled a muscle. He hoped he wasn’t coming down with something.
He crept out of bed, leaving Jane asleep, showering and leaving the house early before she woke. Last night Jane had started asking questions about his failed marriage, his relationship with Grace, the bond they still shared as parents to Katie. Then she’d started asking about his parents. Perhaps she thought it would make him open up. Alex found it did the opposite. He couldn’t bring himself to talk about his past, particularly his father, and he’d snapped at her, more harshly than he’d meant to.
Jane was likeable. She had her own life and her own collection of friends. He considered her career to be superficial, but if he was honest he’d like to earn what she did in the two or three days a week she actually did any work. Her family connections gave her a collection of wealthy property clients who had a penchant for buying up chunks of London. Jane was an agent happy to oblige, and had no discernible morals about the gentrification of her home city. When she wasn’t earning a ludicrous commission on property, she spent her time networking. Alex often pointed out how long it had taken him to study to earn what he did. She always smiled, looking rather smug, but never arrogant. She let him claim the superior intellect.
But lately, her interest had started to feel probing, her attention possessive. He wouldn’t let her in, not where it counted. He kept her distant. Last night he’d fallen into a guilty sleep, promising himself that he’d end it before he damaged them both even further.
He checked his phone before getting in the car. There was another missed call from Grace. She’d called late last night. He must have been asleep. What had he forgotten this time? He’d paid for the trip, transferred the money. It was too early to call back now. He’d try to remember to call at lunch. He must remember.
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