‘No, thank you,’ Megan replied, locking the phone and returning it to her bag. Releasing the brake she rolled forwards. The young officer opened the secure door for her and held it open while she wheeled through. And then he led her to a corridor so long that she couldn’t quite see the end.
‘Just in here,’ he said, stopping abruptly and opening a door to their right.
It was larger than Megan had expected, and didn’t look like the sort of interview room she was used to seeing on the television. She’d pictured a room with a steel table in the middle and four chairs around it, with a large recording device on one end. But this didn’t look all that different to the waiting area. The soft chairs were pressed against the walls in an L-shape, but there were no windows to the outside world like in the waiting area, which just added to the claustrophobia.
‘Do you need any help with...?’ the officer asked, nodding at the chair.
Megan shook her head, and waited for him to leave and close the door before lining up her chair at one end, and transitioning herself to the soft cushion. A small grate overhead pumped cool air into the room, but it was the only disturbance to the quiet.
A knock at the door was followed by PC Durridge entering, removing his jacket and then fiddling with the thermostat near the door.
‘Miss Hopkirk,’ he finally said when he sat down on the opposite end of the row of chairs. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I understand you had some further information about last night’s suicide?’
‘Is that what it was then?’ Megan asked. The news report hadn’t confirmed suicide, but had said the victim had fallen.
‘We’re treating it as a suicide at the moment. I can’t really discuss an open investigation with you, but it seems the most likely scenario. You saw the damage caused, and the way the body landed is consistent with someone falling forwards, rather than backwards.’
His white collar was pressing in to the heavy skin around his jaw, leaving a dent. He didn’t look comfortable and the bulk of his chest looked about ready to break through the restraint of the shirt buttons. He wasn’t in the best of shape, and in a race she wasn’t sure how useful he would be chasing a suspect. His hair was greyer than she remembered. Last night he’d been wearing a hat, but today the hat was gone, and it made him look older.
‘What was it you wanted to say?’ Durridge asked opening his notebook and finding a fresh page.
Megan stared at him briefly, before taking a deep breath. ‘Last night you asked me if I knew the victim and I said I didn’t, but now...I think maybe I did.’
Durridge’s eyes narrowed. ‘We have yet to confirm the victim’s identity. What makes you now believe you knew her? You were fairly adamant you didn’t know her last night.’
The warm and empathetic demeanour he’d worn last night was suddenly gone, replaced by suspicion and curiosity. She knew this had been a bad idea, but it was too late to turn back now.
‘I overheard you talking with a colleague after we’d finished chatting. One of you said the victim was called Rita, and that she was the wife of a recently incarcerated sex offender.’
Durridge blushed slightly, ashamed that he had allowed that private conversation to be overheard. ‘We are still awaiting definitive confirmation of identity from the pathologist.’
‘But you suspect it was Rita Enfield?’
He didn’t answer, scratching the side of his head, the room suddenly feeling so much warmer. ‘How do you know Rita?’
‘I don’t...what I mean is, I don’t know her know her, but I met her yesterday lunchtime. At a meeting.’
‘What kind of meeting?’
‘It was something organised by my psychiatrist. Like a bereavement-support group thing.’
‘I see,’ he said slowly, scribbling into his notebook. ‘And this was yesterday lunchtime you say?’
‘That’s right. Around one o’clock.’
‘Where was this meeting?’
‘At the old church hall in Freemantle.’
‘Sure, I know the place. And you say yesterday was the first time Rita had attended the meeting?’
‘I think so. It was my first time as well.’
‘I see,’ he said again, drawing out every vowel. ‘Did you speak with Rita?’
‘Not directly. I didn’t really want to be at the meeting, but I remember she stood and spoke about her recent issues.’
‘Can you be more specific?’
‘I don’t remember the exact detail, but she said her partner had been imprisoned and her children taken into care.’
‘Did she seem...upset?’
Megan thought back to that dusty and oppressively-warm hall. ‘I’d say she was in mourning, but not for her partner’s imprisonment, but for the life she’d lost. She seemed quite down.’
Durridge scribbled something again. ‘Did she say anything about wanting to take her own life?’
‘No, not that I can remember, but I didn’t stay until the end, so I don’t know if she said anything more. I was only there for about ten minutes.’
This statement seemed to capture his attention. ‘How come you left so early?’
‘It wasn’t for me. I’m not a fan of airing my laundry in public.’
‘So why did you attend the meeting in the first place?’
‘My psychiatrist encouraged me to do so.’
‘What’s your psychiatrist’s name?’
‘Dr Vijay Patel. His office is in Bursledon.’
‘And was Rita one of his patients too?’
Megan really had no idea. She hadn’t recognised anyone else in the meeting, save for Patel, but it was possible they were all his patients. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.
‘Why were you at the meeting, Megan?’
‘I told you: Dr Patel suggested I attend.’
He studied her closer. ‘That’s not what I meant. Your doctor must have had reason to suggest you attend. You said it was a bereavement-support group?’
He was missing the point. This wasn’t about her or Rob’s demise. This was about Rita and the nightmare.
‘I had a dream,’ she suddenly blurted before she changed her mind. ‘That’s why I was down at the station yesterday afternoon. I lied about meeting a friend for a drink. I’m sorry.’
Durridge suddenly sat straighter, the pen keenly poised between his fingers. ‘Go on.’
‘I’ve been having these weird dreams; nightmares really. So intense, so real, like being somewhere else. And I saw what was going to happen. That someone would go to the roof and jump from it. I saw the lift walls, and they were just like in the nightmare.’
The confusion in Durridge’s eyes confirmed this wasn’t going well. She knew what she wanted to say, but not in a coherent manner. She should have rehearsed the speech before coming out, but had thought it would just flow.
‘I’m not explaining this well,’ she continued. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘That’s okay, Megan,’ he said, ‘take your time.’
In the dream I saw inside the building. The lift: they showed the lift on the news this morning, well it was exactly as I’d seen it in my dream. And going to the roof, that happened in the dream too, and then the falling. I saw it all before it happened. And that’s why I went to the station.’
Durridge had stopped writing notes, and his eyes were so narrow that she could barely see them anymore. ‘You dreamt Rita committed suicide?’
‘Yes, well, no, in the nightmare it was me who jumped, but it felt so real, so intense.’
‘You jumped?’
‘Well, yes, but I wasn’t in control of my body.’
Durridge was blinking rapidly, as he tried to process the garbled message she’d shared. Even now it didn’t make sense in her own mind, so what chance did he have of deciphering it? What she would give for the chance to start again and tell him what she’d seen.
‘This is all coming out wrong. In the dream, I am the one inside the building. I am the one who gets in the lift and goes all th
e way to the top. I’m the one on the roof, who climbs up onto the ledge and looks over the top, before falling. But it wasn’t me, if you know what I mean? I mean I’m there, but someone was controlling my movements and actions. Although I rolled out of the lift, it was like someone was pushing me out.’
She stopped herself before mentioning the apparition of Rob as that wouldn’t help her cause.
‘Have you ever been inside Norwich House? That’s the name of the tallest of the three buildings.’
Megan shook her head.
‘You never worked there? Or had a friend who worked there? You’ve never been inside?’
‘Never! Yet what I saw in my dream, it was like being there, and then when I saw the video they showed on the news – the promotional one that showed the interior – I just knew it was as I’d seen in my dream.’
He chewed the end of his pen as he thought. ‘Was Rita in the dream too?’
‘No. I was alone.’
‘But you said you felt someone pushing you?’
Megan screwed up her face. ‘Yes, but I didn’t see anyone else.’
Durridge closed his notebook. ‘Are you okay, Megan?’
‘Yes, I’m fine, but this isn’t about me. It’s about Rita.’
‘I appreciate you coming in today and telling me about Rita being at that meeting. And if it’s okay with you I’ll reach out to Dr Patel and ask how it came about that Rita was at that meeting.’ He paused and flattened his hands on his thighs. ‘Can I be blunt?’ But he didn’t wait for her to respond, before saying, ‘I’d like to give Dr Patel a call about you too, Megan. I’m worried about you.’
‘You don’t need to. I’m fine.’
‘Are you on any medication at the moment, Megan?’
‘No!’
‘Have you taken ay noxious substance in the past 24-hours? Marijuana? Cocaine? Any kind of hallucinogen?’
She scowled. ‘No! Absolutely not! I’m not a drug user!’
‘And have you had any alcohol in the last twelve hours?’
‘What is wrong with you? No. I’m not drunk or high. I’m just trying to tell you what I saw!’ Megan caught her raised tone and took a deep breath to try and calm herself. ‘I’m not crazy. I know what I saw and I feel bad for not realising what it was I’d seen.’
Durridge continued to watch her, but when she refused to comment further, he stood and straightened his shirt. ‘Would you like me to arrange for someone to give you a ride home?’
The meeting was over. Megan dragged herself into the wheelchair. ‘I’ll make my own way.’
Durridge held open the door as she pushed herself out, turning towards the security door.
‘Please give Dr Patel a call,’ he said, leaning down. ‘Will you do that for me? I think you need to speak to him. Today.’
Megan didn’t respond, pushing on through the door, not turning back as she headed for the automatic doors and then proceeded down the ramp to the street. Maybe they were right: maybe she was crazy. How else could she have seen inside a building she’d never been to?
TWENTY-NINE
The car’s engine whirred in the background, as Jake sat and waited for the air conditioning to kick in. It seemed such a waste of fuel, but with the sun now high in the sky, and very little breeze, he’d cook without it on. And opening the windows wasn’t an option as the call had to be made in private.
DCI Toshack answered on the third ring. ‘Jake? What’s going on?’
‘Hi Tosh, did you see my email?’
‘I did. What do you need?’
‘At this point, anything you can give me. The local Inspector has availed her uniformed staff, but I need at least one other experienced detective who can lend a hand with some of the paperwork.’
‘What are you thinking?’
Jake proceeded to explain the discovery at the lake that morning. Not only had a car been retrieved, but a body, presumed to be the driver had also surfaced. Jake had taken a brief glance at the victim before the ambulance crew had transported the body to the mortuary for forensic analysis. A gash in the victim’s temple was consistent with blood found on the steering wheel, and given the body had presumably floated out through one of the open windows beneath the surface, it was safe to assume the driver hadn’t been belted in. Hitting the water at some force, would have thrown the weight of his body forward, and Jake doubted the bump to the head wouldn’t be the only impact injury identified by the pathologist over the course of the day.
‘I swear, Tosh, I’ve never seen anything like it. It was as if they had the Incredible Hulk in the body bag. Not that he was muscular, but because his skin was so green.’
‘Any name on the victim yet?’
Jake pulled the notepad out of his back pocket and flicked through. ‘Charles Xavier. A wallet in his trousers had driving licence, organ donation, and credit cards in that name. Photo on the driving licence is old, but looks like it’s probably him.’
‘His car?’
‘Uh, yeah, Charles Xavier was the registered owner according to the PNC database. Two uniforms went to his property this morning and confirmed nobody was home.’
Jake turned up the dial on the air conditioning, which seemed to be doing little to chill the heavy and stale air in the car. ‘Pathologist will run the usual tests to confirm identification. There was no sign of a next-of-kin at the property. I’m planning to head over there later and see if I can have a look around. There are house keys on the ring with those extracted from the car’s ignition, so with a bit of luck I should get in.’
‘Suicide?’ The question was delivered with no emotion or loading, which was Tosh’s way.
Jake could picture the DCI in his office, probably reading something on his screen as they conducted the phone conversation. Tosh was a rare breed in that he could adequately multitask.
‘Too early to say, Tosh. Pathologist is going to call me if she finds any narcotics in his system. I don’t think it was an accident. I mean, it’s one thing to lose control of a vehicle, but he had to have purposefully driven to the lake and crashed through the wooden gate at the entrance. But then to leave the main route, drive through undergrowth and then onto the pontoon, destroying the safety barriers before hitting the water? It doesn’t feel like the vehicle was out of control. There would have been ample opportunity for him to turn off, turn round, or brake. The vehicle will be examined to check the brakes hadn’t failed, but I think – for whatever reason – he wanted to drive into the lake. Whether his intention was to kill himself, I’m not so sure.’
Tosh was humming to himself. ‘You think someone else was in the vehicle with him?’
‘Again, too early to say. I just don’t think anyone in their right mind would attempt to kill himself by driving into a lake. It is hard to deliberately drown, because the human spirit wants to fight on, no matter how fed up or depressed the person is. If he wanted to die, why not take an overdose? Or jump off a bridge? Why drive into a lake where there is no guarantee of success?’
‘But he did succeed.’
‘Well, yeah, or at least, maybe. Death could have been as a result of the injuries sustained when the vehicle hit the water, and maybe drowning was a consequence, rather than an intention.’
‘Did you hear about the other suicide in the city last night? Rita Enfield nosedived from the roof of a fourteen storey office block, crushing the roof of a van parked on the street. Not a pretty sight from all accounts.’
‘I heard about the incident, but hadn’t realised who it was. Has anyone informed her partner?’
‘The Chief Super has uniform dealing with it. Cut and dried as far as they can tell. They have her on CCTV entering the building from the basement, then exiting on the top floor, before proceeding up a flight of stairs and breaking through the door to the roof. She walked out, climbed onto the ledge and jumped. She was all alone, and according to the footage there was no moment of hesitation or second thought before she went over. Between the two of us, it only underlines wha
t we already suspected: she knew exactly what Trevor was up to, and now that the shit has hit the fan, she’s taken the easy way out.’
Jake had played a small role in building the case against Trevor, but hadn’t shared the DCI’s view that she had been in on what he was doing, but it sounded like she had maybe known more than she’d let on.
‘We had a witness come in this morning,’ Tosh continued, ‘who all but confirmed Enfield was having suicidal thoughts apparently. She was seen at a bereavement-support group or something yesterday afternoon, only hours before it happened.’
Jake bit his lip, uncertain he wanted to know the answer to his question. ‘How’s the case-building going against McGregor, or are you not allowed to tell me.’
‘It’s...coming together. Hopefully, by the end of the week we’ll have submitted everything to the CPS, and then you’ll be able to return to the office. In the meantime, I’ll assign you a contact to the team for working through your investigation into this Charles Xavier. Funny you mentioning the Incredible Hulk, Charles Xavier was the name of an X-men character.’
‘Born in Mexico according to his driving licence, and yeah I know the character you mean. But our victim had a thick mop of brown curls, unlike his comic book namesake. Though he was starting to thin on top. Early sixties according to the date of birth on the licence.’
‘Okay. Keep me posted on your progress and I’ll have Waverley give you a call about whatever else you need.’
Jake’s eyes widened. DS Ian Waverley was the very last person he wanted to work with on something like this.
‘I know what you’re going to say,’ Tosh added, as if reading Jake’s mind, ‘and I know that the two of you don’t exactly see eye-to-eye, but I think this would be a good opportunity for the two of you to build bridges.’
Jake still hadn’t forgiven Waverley for his comments about Annie on Tuesday night, and if Tosh hadn’t intervened, Jake wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t have lashed out at his colleague.
‘Please, Tosh, anyone but him. He’s got a permanent stick up his arse!’
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