Dr Samantha Willerby Box Set

by A J Waines

  She paced off, on her own, her hand over her mouth, kicking aside piles of old leaves on the grass verge. Then she came to a halt.

  ‘You remember I told you I saw a number plate in the bushes?’ She was pointing into the undergrowth. ‘I must have seen it afterwards…when I’d got out…’

  I recalled Rosie mentioning this memory in one of our earlier sessions. I also remembered that this was as far as we’d got.

  ‘It was L…E…’

  She was remembering it!

  I stayed perfectly still.

  She screwed up her eyes against the sun. ‘Then…54, I think,’ she added.

  This was all new. I could hear my pulse picking up speed; it was roaring in my ears. ‘LE54…anything else?’

  ‘That was the top line…but, I’d lost my glasses by then, so I can’t be certain.’

  ‘The top line?’ I wasn’t sure what she meant.

  ‘Yeah, it must have been a motorbike. A square number plate.’ She cast her eyes down. ‘I can’t see any more.’

  ‘Okay. You’re doing really well.’

  The one lonely cloud in the sky found the sun and the temperature dropped. We clambered over the new fence and down the grassy slope that led to a stretch of pebbles at the water’s edge. The ripples were lapping at the shore, almost touching our feet.

  ‘Take your time, just let it all unfold slowly,’ I instructed.

  She took a juddering breath and looked out across the lake.

  ‘It looks so tranquil,’ she whispered. ‘So harmless. Richard might still be out there…’

  I gazed out at the flat sheet of water and tried to picture the man Rosie had described to me. The only one left. She snatched a breath and for one moment I thought she was going to call out for him. Instead, she covered her mouth with both her gloved hands and shook her head slowly.

  ‘The van must have gone in over there, that would match the police photos I’ve seen.’ She waved at a spot around five metres from the edge. The water looked deep and murky. I shuddered, imagining how cold it must have been. ‘I want to get to the spot where I came out of the water… it must be back this way…’

  She turned and began pacing along the edge of the lake. I took my gaze back to the water; so calm and restful, yet deadly and unstoppable once it finds a way in.

  When Rosie squatted down, I thought she was buckling under the emotional pressure, but she was looking up and back to the water, trying to judge the view, the distances.

  ‘I think it was about here where I came out,’ she said. ‘I must have put my viola down somewhere around there.’ She pointed to a clump of rocks forming a small ledge under the shrubbery. She bent down to stroke the spot, transported into a private reverie.

  The hedge was denser along this stretch, the gravel shoreline petering out as the lake claimed the land. She kicked at the tufts of grass, cleared away twigs, bent branches aside in a desperate and futile search for the missing instrument. Then she climbed back up to the road and turned to wait for me to do the same.

  She shook her head and shrugged with a loud sigh.

  It was over.

  That was as much as her memory could dredge up for now. She turned away as I joined her, but I saw tears glistening on her face. Distraught, frustrated, angry tears because she’d found nothing conclusive.

  We headed back along the road. Since we’d arrived, more clouds had come from the distant hills and cluttered up the sky, so the sun didn’t come out again.

  ‘You can tell the police about the motorbike number plate,’ I said, trying to inject some enthusiasm.

  ‘It probably belonged to Teddy Spense,’ she said dismissively. ‘And it seems like he was just an opportunist thief.’

  ‘But the police haven’t picked him up, yet?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  ‘So the number plate could help.’

  She sounded dispirited. ‘But I can’t remember the rest of the number… No one can track him down from half the registration. Besides, Dawn said Teddy Spense isn’t even his real name.’

  ‘The rest might come back later…it could take a while to remember what Richard was saying…but if you think he knew the person who was behind him…that’s a breakthrough, it might jog something.’

  ‘It’s not enough.’ She shoved her hands roughly into her pockets.

  To be honest, I agreed with her, but I didn’t want to admit it.

  Neither of us spoke again until we reached her B&B.

  ‘By the way,’ I said, as I was about to leave her for lunch. ‘Did you ever meet Cameron Hinds’ brother?’

  She pulled a face. ‘I didn’t know he had one. No one mentioned him. What’s his first name?’

  ‘I don’t know. It might be nothing, but the woman who runs my B&B says he was in prison a while ago for money laundering.’

  ‘That’s interesting.’ She pointed towards the guest house. ‘I brought the disc of the original party. I know we’ve watched it plenty of times already, but I thought it could be useful if anything new came up. He might be on there.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ I said. ‘Let’s take another look at it after we’ve had something to eat. I’ll come back here at two.’ She nodded, her energy climbing back up to all-is-not-lost levels again. She waved and watched me go.

  After a round of corned-beef and pickle sandwiches, care of Mrs Waterman, I joined Rosie in the sitting room of her guest house to watch the DVD again. The dying fire smouldered in the grate and there was no one else about at first, then a cleaner came in and asked what we were watching.

  ‘I’m really sorry, it’s personal,’ Rosie said, before I could open my mouth. She turned to me. ‘Let’s go to my room instead.’

  I couldn’t think of an alternative so I followed her up the narrow twisty staircase to the single door at the top.

  ‘It’s a bit small,’ she said, ushering me inside.

  She wasn’t kidding; the room was tiny. A rickety bed stood opposite a single chest of drawers with a TV and DVD player underneath. ‘Apparently the bigger rooms were being decorated,’ she said.

  I perched awkwardly on the narrow bed as Rosie reached forward to slip in the disc. As she picked up the controls, I noticed an opened book facedown beside me on the lumpy pillow. It was called Soulmates and Blood Sisters and looked like a self-help book about finding meaningful relationships. I glanced at the leaflet she was using as a bookmark. It was a menu for a takeaway pizza chain in London, with a black scribbled shape filling in the logo. Rosie caught me looking.

  ‘It’s a good book,’ she said. ‘You can borrow it if you like.’

  ‘It’s okay, I’ll pass, thanks.’

  I nodded at the screen, keen to carry on where we’d left off so we could get this over with. She started the footage. ‘Can you see anyone who could be Cameron’s brother?’ I said.

  She stopped the recording, pointing at various men in dark suits. ‘There are a few guys who could be him,’ she said. ‘I don’t remember anyone talking about him, or ever being introduced.’

  I took the remote and pressed pause on a scene that included the whole party.

  ‘Who’s that?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s one of the security guys.’

  ‘And this guy, here?’

  ‘I think he was an Earl or Lord from the local estate.’

  I watched her eyes zigzag across the screen. ‘Perhaps he wasn’t there.’

  She stood up purposefully. ‘Shall we look at it again, later?’ She didn’t wait for me to answer. ‘I want to get to some of the bridges this afternoon,’ she said. ‘It’s okay, I don’t expect you to come. I found a “Chandler” Bridge south of here. It’s the nearest one. There are others too that might be worth a look…’

  ‘Sure, but be careful, and make sure you’re back before it starts to get dark,’ I said, pulling on my coat.

  ‘I’ve got a map and a torch,’ she said, looking pleased with herself. ‘It’s nice of you to worry about me.’

&nb
sp; I pulled on my gloves. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning at 10am for another session, before we go back to London.’

  After I left Rosie, I went along to the Post Office to see if I could get a Wi-Fi connection. I wanted to take a look at the files Professor Dean had sent through.

  Sure enough, there was an email from him telling me three files were attached, but when I opened it there was only one document I could download. The other two required a password.

  Damn

  As I read the professor’s email, I realised that even if I could access all three, we still had a problem:

  I’m ashamed to say there are still a number of gaps. Erica’s husband said he was only able to find a few stray sheets from the notes she kept at home. I’ll try to get my hands on the rest for when you return. Attached is Erica’s last report summary and notes covering the first twelve months or so. Apparently, Rosie Chandler was Erica’s only patient just before she died. Hope it’s helpful in the meantime.

  I left the Post Office, reading the first few lines of the single document I could open – the summary – as I strolled out onto the lane:

  Rosie is a quiet girl – sad and secretive. Tragic and difficult upbringing. No real friends.

  I wanted to read more, but it had begun to spit a sleety rain, so I pressed my phone against my coat and hurried back to my B&B. The radiator was switched off when I got to my room, so I turned on the fan heater and huddled over it until I could move my fingers again.

  I read the rest of the report without taking off my coat.

  Rosie had attended seventy sessions at Guy’s Hospital, but for the final five Erica had been on crutches after a bunion operation, so they’d met at her house in Chelsea:

  I told Rosie I would be taking time off from Guy’s, but she was adamant that our sessions shouldn’t end. I was worried about her state of mind and, given her history of abandonment and the fact that I had only just sprung this on her, I offered her sessions at my home.

  Rosie was unforthcoming during those weeks. She claimed I’d tried to use the operation as an excuse to end our arrangement. She seemed angry with me; aggressive in her tone at times. With hindsight, I think it’s been a mistake to see her at my house; she’s the sort of patient who needs distance.

  Eighteen months is a solid stretch of time and Rosie hasn’t made any real breakthroughs in our work together. She doesn’t seem to be moving on and I’m not sure I’m the best therapist for her in the long run.

  I’d conclude that Rosie is ‘deeply disturbed’ by her past losses and has not dealt with any of it. I also believe Rosie is suffering from extreme emotional isolation. Throughout our sessions she talks about her parents and childhood in a detached way, but never reveals her feelings about what happened. She is well-practised at bottling everything up and putting on a brave face. In spite of her reticence, Rosie claims that, with me, for the first time, she has found someone who genuinely understands her, listens and gives her validation. She claims this is the only time in her life when anyone has connected to her in this way. Nevertheless, I think a new approach would shake things up for Rosie and do her good. I think we’ve done all we can together. I’m going to suggest she sees someone else and we end our sessions.

  That was Erica’s last sentence, written exactly a week before she died. Lights danced before my eyes. I could have written almost every word of it myself.

  Chapter 37

  Sam

  The phone by the bed rang and I was jolted out of my trance.

  ‘I know our next session isn’t until tomorrow, but something occurred to me.’

  ‘Rosie…’

  ‘It was round about now when it actually happened. Late afternoon. I know the light was probably a bit different in October, but this is the closest I can get to actually replicating the situation. Can we go back? Have tomorrow’s session now, instead?’

  ‘But, it’ll be dark soon. We won’t be able to—’

  ‘The torch I’ve got is really bright, if we need it.’

  ‘You want to go back to the same spot?’

  ‘Yes. I can’t bear the thought of going back to London without finding out something new. I’ve been over to Chandler Bridge. There’s nothing there. It’s just a small packhorse bridge over a brook. I climbed down, but there are only rocks and ferns underneath. I must have got it wrong. I need to know I’ve tried everything…’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, switching off the fan heater with my foot. ‘I’ll come over to you again.’

  I’d already looked up Cameron Hinds’ brother while I had a Wi-Fi connection at the Post Office and I’d found several reports about his conviction for money laundering, but they were several years ago. There were more recent references to him, but the dates didn’t fit. He couldn’t be a suspect for the van crash – he was in prison right through October. Back to square one.

  It was rapidly heading towards dusk by the time I met Rosie. The torch I’d borrowed from Mrs Waterman had felt satisfyingly solid as I dropped it into my rucksack. Flecks of snow were speckling the ground and getting denser by the minute. I really wasn’t convinced this was a good idea, but I wanted to give it my all; one last chance, then we really were going to call it a day.

  As we turned into the lane, I kept trying to think of a way to remind Rosie that once we got back to London our association would end. I’d explained this already, of course, but I wasn’t convinced it had sunk in. I wanted to say something there and then, but she was full of hope again as we made our final visit to the crash scene. I couldn’t spoil that.

  She stopped at a break in the hedge and pointed to a sign that said public footpath.

  ‘I know a shortcut through the woods, it’ll save time,’ she said, tugging at my sleeve. ‘The snow won’t be so bad through here.’

  She strode on and I followed close behind. It looked straightforward enough.

  ‘I came this way once with Richard, did I tell you?’ she called out.

  A prickly branch sprung back in my face as she forged on ahead and I remembered how Erica had reported Rosie’s reaction once she’d told her their sessions were finishing. Angry…aggressive. I’d speak to Rosie on the way back, perhaps.

  My mobile was on silent in my pocket and I was surprised when I felt it vibrate, indicating that there was a signal. Knowing it was likely to be work, however, I let the call go to my voicemail. I didn’t imagine it was anything that couldn’t wait half an hour, or so. A few seconds later it buzzed again letting me know a text had come through. I slowed down to read it as Rosie carried on. There was just enough light, but it was rapidly closing in; the path had quickly narrowed and the undergrowth on either side had risen, swallowing us up.

  ‘You all right?’ Rosie had stopped and turned around.

  I glanced down and read the words again:

  Just left a message. Call me. Found out Erica’s death wasn’t straightforward. Minette.

  ‘We’re nearly there.’ She was getting impatient.

  ‘I need to stop for a moment,’ I said, fumbling with the phone, trying to access Minette’s voice message with my gloves on. ‘It’s the hospital. I might need to make a call.’

  ‘What’s it about?’ She came right up to my shoulder, peering over to get a look at my phone. I dropped my hand.

  ‘It’s a work thing, probably not important, but I should check, just in case.’ My words sounded forced.

  Rosie looked put out, her top lip stiffened, her eyes narrowed – this was her time. She shrugged, folded her arms and watched me, offering no privacy.

  As I pressed to access the message, I noticed the network connection was low and flickering. We were, after all, in the middle of nowhere.

  ‘Sam, I don’t want to worry you,’ came Minette Heron’s recorded voice. ‘But the police have been making further enquiries into Erica’s death. On the surface it looked as if she’d suffered a heart attack before she fell down the stairs, but it seems new evidence has come to light suggesting it might have been the oth
er way around.’ Her words melted away into nothing.

  There was a pause and I thought she’d been cut off. Then her voice came back. She spoke slowly and distinctly. ‘It’s not certain yet, it might never be, but it’s possible that Erica was pushed. The police are looking at the case again. I thought you should know. It’s obviously very upsetting for everyone.’

  My immediate impulse was to call her straight back to find out more. What exactly had the police found? What made them think Erica might have been pushed?

  Rosie, however, was standing so close that our coat sleeves made a shushing sound with every tiny movement. She exhaled noisily and waited.

  I slipped the phone into my pocket. I had no option. I couldn’t call Minette back. There was no way I could have that kind of conversation with Rosie hanging on my every word.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said breezily, without looking at her. ‘I don’t need to ring anyone.’

  ‘Let’s get going then,’ Rosie said, striding ahead. ‘I’ve got a good feeling about this.’

  Chapter 38

  Sam

  I should have been looking where I was going. I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off the path. I was so busy thinking about what Minette had said, that my heel slipped on an icy patch and the next moment I was face down in the crusty mud.

  Rosie rushed to my aid. ‘Oh, shit, are you hurt?’

  ‘My ankle,’ I said.

  I wasn’t sure whether the snap I’d heard was a tree root or a bone in my foot. I felt a sharp pain, like my leg had been walloped with a baseball bat.

  Rosie took my weight, lifting me under my armpits. She shuffled me a foot or so to the edge of the path, so I could lean against a tree.

  I was convinced my left ankle had already doubled in size. ‘I’m not sure I can walk,’ I said, with a wince.

  ‘We’ll call for help,’ she said confidently. She pulled out her phone, looked at it and waited. She left me hugging the trunk of the tree and wandered into a clearing, holding up the phone. She went a little further. ‘No signal,’ she called back. ‘Don’t worry. We’re nearly at the lake. We can flag someone down on the road.’