by Tim Ellis
‘Just you and me again, Evie,’ he said to the partial female corpse in front of him. ‘Just you and me.’ Tears ran down his cheeks, and he sobbed uncontrollably.
***
‘Eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing it’s called,’ Dr Kumar Suresh said. ‘EMDR for short. What might have happened is that your two traumatic events have overwhelmed your coping mechanisms, and the memories of these events aren’t stored in your memory properly. What we need to do is to help you to process those distressing memories, and for you to adapt your coping mechanisms accordingly.’
‘If you say so, Doctor.’ She was lying on the Doctor’s couch. Her eyes were closed, and she wondered if she’d be able to stay awake for the whole session.
‘There are eight phases to the therapy process, and we’ll focus on a target each session. For this session, I’d like the initial focus to be on your maladaptive belief that...’
She felt someone shaking her.
‘Constable Richards?’
‘Oh sorry, Doctor. I must have drifted off for a moment. You were saying there were eight phases... See, I was listening.’
‘I’m afraid the session is over.’
She sat up wide-eyed and swung her legs over the side of the couch. ‘Over?’
‘You’ve been asleep for the whole hour.’
‘Oh dear. You should have woken me up.’
‘It seemed that you needed the sleep more than you needed the therapy, but I’d like you to bring your nose clip with you next time.'
‘Was it bad?’
‘I’m afraid so. I don’t mind you sleeping, but I’d like to be able to work in my own office during the time that you are asleep. Instead, I had to find another room to work in.’
She felt as though her head was on fire with the shame. ‘Maybe I should bring my bed into your office, Doctor. I seem to sleep better here than I do at home.’
‘You changed the time of your appointment with my secretary, and I specifically arranged it for earlier in the day, so that you wouldn’t fall asleep on me again.’
‘It’s Inspector Parish’s fault. He wanted me to change it so that we didn’t have to make two trips to the hospital and then wait for each other to finish.’
‘Well, I’ll speak to Dr Rafferty, and arrange for you both to have simultaneous appointments earlier in the day.’
‘Just before lunch would be good.’
‘I’ll see what I can do. Last time I asked you to do a number of things for me, do you remember what those were Mary?’
‘Each night before I went to sleep I had to tell myself Ruben was dead and couldn’t hurt me anymore. I had to use a night-light, and leave my door open. I wasn’t to read any scary books or watch any scary movies, and I had to sleep with a soft blanket.’
‘And do you do all those things?’
‘Well yes, but... I still watch the Crime Channel, especially programmes about murderers and serial killers.’
‘But that’s exactly the type of programme you shouldn’t be watching.’
‘But...’
‘You’re not to watch the Crime Channel anymore.’
Her eyes opened wide. ‘Never?’
‘Not while you’re undergoing therapy.’
She looked down at her hands. ‘If you say so, Doctor.’
‘I do say so, and I’ll know if you watch it again.’
She wondered how he could possibly know if she watched just one tiny programme. Did he have spies in her bedroom? Was the Inspector being paid to rat her out? Did he have a wireless link to her television set, so that he could see at a moment’s notice her choice of channel?
‘Promise me.’
‘I suppose.’
‘You suppose what?’
‘That I promise you... Inspector Parish hasn’t paid you to make me do this, has he?’
‘I see, another maladaptive belief. We have a lot of work to do Mary, and it would help if you stayed awake during the next session.’
She stood up. ‘I will, Doctor.’
‘Goodbye, Mary.’
‘Goodbye, Doctor.’
‘Have you seen the time?’ Parish said when she came out of the Doctor’s office.
‘Why?’
‘It’s twenty-five to six. Your session was meant to end at quarter past five.’
He opened the door of the clinic and let her walk through first into the corridor.
‘I fell asleep.’
‘Again? Didn’t you fall asleep last time?’
‘His couch is so comfortable.’
‘Maybe you should sleep here.’
‘I said that.’
They went through into the stairwell and started down the stairs.
‘You’re still having the nightmares?’
‘I suppose. Anyway, he said he’ll arrange it so that our appointments are earlier in the day – I suggested just before lunch – and at the same time, so that we don’t have to wait around for each other.’
‘Good.’
‘He said I have to stop watching the Crime Channel.’
‘I like your doctor already.’
‘You haven’t been speaking to him, have you?’
‘How long have you had this persecution complex?’
‘Well... He sounded just like you.’
‘That’s because I talk a lot of sense.’
‘Huh.’
***
By the time they reached home it was ten to seven and Angie had gone to work. She’d left a note on the kitchen table saying that dinner was in the fridge.
Richards opened the door of the fridge and pulled out two cheese salads.
‘I’ll take Digby for his walk while you cook me an all-day breakfast,’ he said.
‘And when mum comes home and finds you’ve had a heart attack on the kitchen floor, she’ll look at me with tears in her eyes and say, “What did you do, Mary?” What answer will I give her?’
Digby dragged him up the hallway. ‘You’re a right drama queen, Richards,’ he said over his shoulder.
‘Don’t be long, I can’t wait to get stuck into this lovely cheese salad.’
If they were going to be up at half past four in the morning they’d have to go to bed soon, although Richards had already had an hour in the doctor’s office.
He’d never heard of Northey Island, and never been to a Nature Reserve. Besides searching for twenty-nine missing people, he was actually looking forward to the trip. Twenty-nine! That was a lot of teenagers. Surely they couldn’t all be dead. Lola’s idea of a human clock was a bit ridiculous. It was a giant leap from eight train ticket dates between one and twelve and two sticks with ancient markings on them, to a druid creating a human clock with dead bodies. And was there such a person as a druid today anyway? Yes, he’d heard about the crazy people congregating at Stonehenge at the summer solstice. But human sacrifice and reincarnation was stretching reality a bit too far, although, as he knew all too well, there were a lot of people with loose nuts and bolts out there. Hadn’t he spent the last eight years hunting them down? No, he couldn’t dismiss Lola’s idea completely.
Then there was Ed and his family. He was finding it difficult to wrap his head around a whole family of five dying that he knew? And could what Dr Rafferty said be true? Why was Ed depressed? He had a good job, a beautiful wife, and three great kids. It just proves that you didn’t really know anybody. In a sense, Kowalski had been the buffer between him and Ed. If it hadn’t been for the fact that Ed had been Kowalski’s partner, he doubted whether they would even have known each other. Certainly, Ed wasn’t his type of guy. He didn’t know why, couldn’t pin the reason down, or point to it. All he knew was that there was something a bit odd about Ed. In fact, thinking about it now, he realised it was the first time he had allowed the thought to surface.
Kowalski would have to get a new partner, and he knew how difficult that process was. As far as he was concerned, there were three types of partners – good, mediocre, and bad. He thought Ed ha
d been a mediocre partner, but Kowalski probably thought differently. Each to his own – one man’s mediocre was another man’s good or bad. Richards on the other hand was a good partner, although he didn’t want to spoil her by telling her that. Six months she’d been his partner, but it felt like at least ten years.
Then, of course, there was P2. Had he done the right thing giving Catherine all of Rowan Grieg’s research? As Richards had said, she was following up the story anyway. She would be safe for the moment anyway – nobody knew that she had taken over where Rowan Grieg had left off.
All he’d wanted was to find out who his parents were, not get dozens of people killed. That was the end of it now. His life was just how he liked it. Knowing who his parents were and who he was just wasn’t important in the scheme of things anymore. Maybe in the future, but he had the feeling that even if he did find out it would probably give birth to a million other questions. No, best left well alone.
‘We’re just fine as we are, aren’t we, Digby?’
Digby glanced back at him, but was far too interested in peeing up a lamppost to reply.
Back at home, Richards had changed into her Tigger pyjamas and dressing gown, and was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him.
He gave Digby a Dentistix as a treat. ‘You could have the cheese salad if you want, Digby, and I’ll have the Dentistix?’
Digby was strangely quiet.
He sat down at the table and began eating. ‘See, even Digby doesn’t want the cheese salad.’
‘Do you think they have a moaning category at the Olympics?’
‘Are you incinerating something?’
They both laughed.
‘One of these days you’ll make someone a half-decent partner.’
‘Someone?’
‘Well all right, me.’
‘One of these days?’
‘When we correct your many faults, and you’re a qualified detective.’
‘Faults? Half-decent?’ She swivelled her head left and right. ‘Is there someone else in here you’re talking to?’
‘Do you want me to make a list?’
‘They don’t make pieces of paper that small.’
‘A toilet roll, when it’s rolled out, is not small.’
‘As if. And if we’re being brutally honest, you have a host of faults I need to iron out before I can say truthfully that you’re a half-decent partner.’
‘Faults? Moi? You’re confusing me with someone you met in a pub.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Okay, name one fault.’
‘Only one? I would be hard pressed to choose just one. What about ten?’
‘I’d love to pander to your fantasies, but I’m going to bed now. Remember, we have to be up at half past four and out of the house by half-five.’
‘We? Are you sure you want a partner with so many faults to accompany you?’
‘Beggars can’t be choosers apparently.’
‘Sometimes...’
‘...You wish you could meet a man just like me?’
‘Not even close.’
***
Saturday, 16th July
‘You said you’d drive and I could sleep on the back seat.’
Richards was driving the Saab, which they’d kept out of the garage for three days when they were really meant to take it back on a daily basis – something else for John Knight to moan about, he thought. They didn’t set off until twenty to six. There had been a few cars on the M11, a few more on the M25, and now they were embroiled in a steady stream of slow-moving traffic on the A12, but they were not far from the A414 turnoff to Maldon.
‘I lied, and anyway you had an hour’s sleep in the Doctor’s office. Watch where you’re going, I don’t want to end up as minced beef on the motorway.’
‘Beef? More like fat globules.’
‘Stop gnashing your teeth, I’m trying to sleep here.’
When they reached Maldon they followed Mundon Road until they were directed left past South House Farm and the site of the 991 Battle of Maldon against the Vikings. The causeway should have appeared before them like a secret path into a magical land, but there was only a vast amount of water.
Parish’s eyes narrowed. He could just make out Northey Island in the half-light. He turned his head slightly to stare at Richards. ‘Where’s the causeway?’
‘It should be here.’
‘Do you think somebody stole it during the night?’
‘That could explain its absence.’
‘Or you’ve brought us to the wrong place.’
‘No... It’s definitely here.’
‘It’s definitely not here.’
‘There’s someone over there, I’ll go and ask.’ She climbed out of the car and went to speak to a man and a woman in matching anoraks taking pictures of the sun peeking over the island.
He was starving. Richards had made up a snack of some of Angie’s homemade crusty bread, with pickled onions, Stilton and other types of cheeses, Branston pickle, lettuce, and cooked ham, but it was hardly food you’d eat at seven in the morning. What he needed was a good fry-up.
‘They should make these things clear.’
‘What?’
‘Well, you have to wait two hours until the road is completely clear.’
‘Two hours?’
‘Low tide should mean low tide.’
‘It does.’
‘Well, I don’t know. And don’t think you’re going to blame me. Someone at the meteorological office is to blame. I just need to find out who, and then I’ll go over there and give them a fat lip.’
‘We can go and have breakfast then.’
‘You’re not going to shout at me?’
‘When was the last time I shouted at you?’
‘Well... never, so you’re not angry?’
‘When was the last time I was angry with you?’
‘Ah, there was...’
‘I’m hungry, and I think there must be research somewhere that demonstrates a direct correlation between an empty belly and a person’s level of anger.’
She switched the engine back on, turned the car round, and drove back the way they’d come. ‘You’re going to have a fry-up, aren’t you?’
‘Do you think your second sight is inherited from your mother?’
‘I don’t need second sight to know exactly what’s on your mind.’
It didn’t take them long to find a cafe called The Lock at Heybridge Basin, which provided a full English breakfast.
Richards had two slices of brown toast, while Parish ordered two eggs, sausages, tomatoes, baked beans, mushrooms, toast, and a large pot of tea for both of them.
He was just about to take his first mouthful when his mobile began playing the William Tell overture.
‘I’m just about to eat my breakfast, Toadstone.’
‘You wanted to know if I was thinking of going fishing.’
‘I did, but now I don’t. Have a good trip and I’ll see you on Monday.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure, have a good weekend.’
‘And you, Sir.’
‘He had the results of Rowan Grieg’s blood analysis and her telephone records, didn’t he?’
‘I don’t know what he had. I’m not interested anymore. In fact, we’re not interested anymore.’
‘I know. Are you going to give what he’s found to Catherine?’
‘If I did, I would lose my job, and you’d have to find another partner without so many faults. Now, do you mind if I devour my breakfast without you subjecting me to a thousand and one questions?’
‘Huh.’
When they arrived at the sea wall, he was surprised to see the causeway snaking to Northey Island. The sea had receded, but there was still water on the road. Along both sides were small grass verges and a wooden fence with barbed wire strung between the posts
‘Drive slowly,’ he said.
‘You think I’m going to race along it?’
> ‘I’m just saying, and what time do we have to be back by?’
‘Well, that couple said that the causeway is covered by the sea two hours either side of high and low tide, so if high tide is at eight minutes to two then we need to start back at probably half past eleven.’
‘So what started as a seven-hour window has now been cut down to two and a half hours?’
‘It would have been that amount of time whether we’d known about the two hours either side of the tides or not. Are you ready?’
‘Have we got any life jackets in the boot?’
‘I think there’s a dinghy with a month’s supply of baked beans.’
‘You’re not taking this seriously, are you?’
Chapter Nineteen
Northey Island was flat, not very big, and triangular in shape.
They crossed the causeway and drove along the beach road until they turned right up the drive to the Caretaker’s house and the Tower house.
Some people waved at them from outside the Tower house as Parish knocked on the door of the Caretaker’s accommodation. Richards waved back and shouted ‘Yoo-hoo.’
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Just being friendly.’
‘We’re not here to be friendly.’
‘Huh.’
The door opened. A man somewhere is his sixties with ruddy cheeks, a white beard, and a pipe gripped between his teeth stood before them.
Parish showed the old man his warrant card.
He scratched his white hair through a green woolly hat and took a draw on his pipe. ‘You got permission to be on the island?’
‘I’m a policeman, I don’t need permission.’
‘Everyone needs permission. This is a National Trust Nature Reserve. You need permission to come onto the island, and that’s an end to it.’
‘Well, we’re here now.’
‘And you can bugger off as well.’ He went to shut the door.
Parish put his foot in the crack. ‘Or, we could arrest you, take you to Maldon police station, and charge you with obstructing an ongoing police investigation.’