‘Only just got here,’ Jake said, frustrated by the news and likely wasted journey. ‘I’m waiting to speak to an administrator to get access to their systems. Did she send through their pictures? I want to be sure that Mariela hasn’t managed to abscond under the radar.’
Jake pulled the phone from his ear and opened the email Harry had just sent through, the images appearing at the bottom of three disgruntled people looking slightly worse for wear, none of whom resembled Dr Marshall, or anyone else he’d come into contact with. He cursed under his breath.
‘That’s not her, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t working with them or connected in some way. What else did you find on Dr Samantha Marshall?’
‘Graduated from Kings College London in 2014, before deciding to specialise in psychiatry. According to her social media posts, she’s single, lives in Bournemouth and has two cats. To be honest, most of her posts are pictures of the cats. You didn’t tell me just how attractive she is. If it turns out she’s nothing to do with the investigation, do you think it would be okay if I asked her out?’
Jake ignored the question. ‘Nothing to connect her with Xavier, Enfield, Walker or the witness Megan Hopkirk?’
‘Nothing that I can find. You want me to get authorisation to access her bank records?’
Jake wrinkled his nose. To access a suspect’s bank records required authorisation from the DCI, and he still didn’t have anything concrete to persuade Tosh.
‘Hold on that for now,’ Jake cautioned, and let me see what I can dig up here first. Did you manage to trace Carlos’s ex-wife yet?’
‘No, I was focused on Marshall. I can’t find any trace of Iris Xavier on social media or in local council tax records. I’d say it’s highly likely she left the county. I asked Kate what she could remember of her, and she said the woman was in pieces after the abduction. Blamed her husband and things were never right between them after all the affair business came out. They divorced, and from what Kate remembers, Iris was preparing to leave the country after Andres’ suicide. Can’t blame her. Your friend at Interpol is going to check for passport activity and that should shed some light on whether she did emigrate.’
‘We need to find her, Harry; she could be the next victim, remember?’
‘I have a photograph of her I thought we could try and run through facial recognition.’
If the investigation was being coordinated by the DCI then that probably wouldn’t be too big an issue, but they didn’t have the resources to order such a mammoth task.
‘I’ve just sent it through to you,’ Harry continued. ‘This was her at the funeral of Andres. You can see the notable divide between her and Carlos; the body language speaks volumes.’
Jake switched the phone to speaker mode and opened the new email, almost dropping the phone as he did. ‘This is Iris Xavier? In the black hat stood to the left of the image? You’re certain?’
‘Yeah, that’s her. That was the most recent image Kate had, but I have some earlier shots if you want.’
Jake’s eyes shot to the interconnecting office door as his blood ran cold. His mind raced to connect the remaining dots, and the largest piece of the jigsaw slotted in to place. How could he have missed the signs? Someone with access to patient files, with the freedom to move from one practice to another with nobody questioning her activities. Someone with a motive to want Carlos and Janice Walker dead. But why go after Rita Enfield?
‘You still there, Jake?’ Harry said, breaking the silence.
Jake moved the phone closer to his mouth, whispering, ‘She’s here. Get backup to my location now. But stay on the line.’
SIXTY-SEVEN
Slipping the phone into the pocket of his shirt, Jake climbed unsteadily to his feet, the strains of the song growing louder as he neared the interconnecting door. Gripping the door handle, he slowly lowered it, being careful to remain stealth. Pulling the door slowly towards him, he could see Helen facing the blind, her back to him.
‘Now, Megan,’ Helen’s almost rhythmic voice echoed, ‘I want you to locate the memory of those dreams. Can you see them? Like baubles hanging from a Christmas tree, each one holding the memory of what you saw. Select the first one and -’
Jake coughed, causing Helen to spin with a sharp intake of breath. The prone figure of Megan Hopkirk remained stretched out on the long couch, her eyes closed.
‘Detective Knight, you startled me,’ Helen said, eyeing him suspiciously. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Dr Patel sent me up,’ Jake replied coolly, eager not to give anything away. ‘He said you might be able to help me pull some information from the computer system.’
Helen scowled at the interruption, the same expression as the woman in black in the picture he’d just seen. It was definitely her.
‘We think we’ve found the person responsible for the deaths of Carlos Xavier and Rita Enfield,’ Jake continued, stepping closer into the room, and subtly trying to check for any kind of weapons. ‘I just need to view the access registry. Dr Patel said you should be able to print a copy for me?’
Helen moved away from the window, putting the large mahogany desk between them. ‘I thought you said the two of them committed suicide?’
Jake stepped closer. ‘I don’t remember telling you anything about how they died, Helen. Or should I call you, Iris?’
Her eyes widened at mention of her name, but it was only momentary. ‘So you know my real name. I changed it shortly after my son died; I didn’t want the media following me for the rest of my life.’
‘It was a horrible experience for you to go through. I can’t imagine what I would do if my daughter was abducted. I’m sorry for what happened.’
‘I heard that a lot: from the police investigating his abduction; from the journalists who wanted answers to their questions; from my ex-husband and that bitch who stole him from me. It loses sincerity after a while, particularly when strangers say it. That’s why I tried to start over. A new name, a new home, a new job, you try to put up walls to insulate yourself from the past, but it always finds a crack and comes back.’
She looked around the office like it would be the last time she would see it. ‘I thought I was over my grief, and then one evening, I was typing up patient notes and what do I come across but the results of a session with a man who was struggling to deal with the guilt of losing his son. The files I receive have a patient number rather than name, to protect their privacy, but it isn’t difficult to look up which patients are assigned to which numbers. Of all the psychiatrists in the county, and he happened to choose the one I worked for. I didn’t want to see him, or have anything to do with him, and I always made sure I wasn’t in the office when he had an appointment scheduled. But I read his session notes with great interest. I wanted to see that he was suffering as much as me.’
Jake shuffled forwards again, as she took a step to the side. ‘It was you who called him on Sunday night, right? What did you say to him?’
She smiled briefly at the memory. ‘It really isn’t all that difficult to learn how to induce a hypnotic state. The patient has to be willing to submit, but once they are, it’s just a matter of repeating specific commands and inducing a relaxed state of mind. The doctors here use different keywords for different patients, and sometimes music can act as an aid,’ she nodded at the stereo, as the final notes of the song played out. ‘I couldn’t be sure it had worked. I kept checking the news looking for the story, but then when you came in the other day and mentioned his name, I knew it must have been successful, but it didn’t bring the peace my heart craved.’
‘And Rita Enfield: why did you target her?’
‘Her husband was the one I wanted to see punished for his involvement in my son’s abduction, but you lot put paid to that. But then I read about how his wife had allowed him to continue the cycle of violence and abuse with his own children. My son killed himself because he couldn’t live with the shame of what had happened, and that breaks my heart every day. And she a
llowed her paedophile husband to continue what that monster had begun. How many more victims of abuse will it take before people like that receive the punishment they truly deserve? I just hope those poor kids finally get the treatment and support they’re going to need. And if my actions prevent another poor soul from suffering what Andres went through, then I am vindicated.’
‘Why stab Janice? It wasn’t her fault your son was taken.’
Helen snorted. ‘That harlot knew what she was doing when she went after my husband. Had it not been for her then maybe Carlos would have been watching our son, and none of this would have happened. And what did karma do for her? Gave her a loving husband and two children of her own. Have you seen where they live? It’s so unfair!’
Jake was now within touching distance of the desk, but Helen had stopped moving, resigned to her fate.
Jake nodded towards Megan. ‘And her: where does she fit in to all of this?’
Megan’s breathing was calm and relaxed, her eyes still closed, and oblivious to their conversation.
‘Megan, I want you to sit up,’ Helen said, her eyes fixed on Jake.
In his periphery, he saw Megan rise, facing them.
‘I really don’t know how she became aware of my plans,’ Helen continued. ‘It’s puzzled me since I read Dr Patel’s notes from Wednesday. I can only assume she must have subconsciously overheard something during one of her own sessions, and it manifested itself in her nightmares. She really has been through a lot and it’s a wonder she hasn’t experienced a nervous breakdown. But that won’t be a problem when she finishes discarding those memories. Nobody needs that pain in their life.’ She turned to face her. ‘Now, Megan, I want you to reach for the first of those dream baubles. Feel how smooth it is against your skin. It fills your palm, doesn’t it? I want you to imagine clasping it tightly in your hand and then throwing it as far from you as you can -’
‘Wait!’ Jake interrupted, shouting towards the sofa. ‘You can’t do this. I’m not going to let you. Megan, this is Detective Jake Knight. Do you remember me? I need you to wake up.’
Megan didn’t react; her eyes remained closed.
‘That felt good, didn’t it, Megan?’ Helen continued. ‘Like a weight lifted from your shoulders. Reach for the next one and throw it as far as you can manage. It will fly so far when you let it go. So far that you’ll never see it again.’
Jake rushed across the room, dropping to his knees by the couch. ‘Megan? I know you can hear me. It’s Detective Knight. Open your eyes if you can hear me.’
‘It’s no use, detective,’ Helen said, from behind the desk. ‘She will only respond to my voice commands. Don’t worry, I will wake her when we’re through. She won’t feel any pain or come to harm. You have nothing to worry about.’
Jake grabbed Megan’s upper arms and gently shook her. ‘Open your eyes, Megan. You need to listen to me.’ But although her body shook, her eyes remained firmly closed.
‘Gather the remaining baubles, Megan,’ Helen continued unabated. ‘You can see them, can’t you? Glistening in the light? They don’t feel as heavy now, do they? In fact you can hold all three in one hand. Now, it’s going to take all of your effort to throw them. Heave back and throw!’
Jake raced back to the desk. ‘You’ve proved your point. You can’t play with people’s minds like this. You have no right to be judge, jury and executioner, regardless of what you’ve been through. Release Megan now, and I’ll do whatever I can to help you at court. Okay? Three people have died at your hands already, don’t make it four. Megan doesn’t deserve this.’
Helen reached up and stroked his cheek with her hand. ‘You’re a good man, Detective Knight. There is a warmth and kindness in your eyes, and I don’t doubt what you’re saying. But I don’t have any intention of having my backstory played out in front of a courtroom and the media. I’ve lived through it once and that was more than enough.’
‘Iris Xavier, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Janice Walker, Carlos Xavier, and Rita Enfield. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
Jake reached for the handcuffs in his inside jacket pocket, but Helen was making no attempt to resist.
‘Megan,’ she said calmly, ‘reach into the handbag at your side, and remove the gun I asked you to put there. I want you to cock the hammer and point it towards me.’
Jake’s eyes widened, and he span around as Megan reached into the bag and slowly pulled her hand out, the overhead light reflecting in the dark grey barrel.
‘Oh Jesus, you can’t do this, Helen.’
‘I’m stood behind the desk, Megan, in front of the clock on the wall. You can picture that in your mind can’t you? Point the weapon at the number six of the clock...’
Jake dropped the handcuffs to the floor and dived back towards Megan, gripping her arms once more and shaking violently. ‘Megan, don’t listen to her. Listen to my voice!’
SIXTY-EIGHT
Floating on a cloud-like mattress, Megan had never felt so relaxed and free. Was this what it was like for a bird to soar through the air, untouched by gravity and the stresses of life? It didn’t matter that there was no feeling in her legs; she was weightless. And there was Rob, reaching an outstretched hand towards her, encouraging her to grasp it.
‘Listen to my voice,’ he called.
‘I will,’ she wanted to shout back, but she didn’t need to open her mouth to speak the words. It was like he understood. He smiled at her, and she could feel his hands on her cheeks, pulling her into him, and she was happy to submit. It felt so good to have him back.
Was this heaven? What other explanation could there be for it? There was no sound, no wind, like they were in a vacuum of silence and the rest of the world had simply fallen away and left them to it. There was no place she would rather be, or any person she’d rather be with.
‘Where have you been?’ she wanted to ask, and he pressed his hands to her chest, just above her heart, and she was certain she could feel his pulse touching her own beating rhythm. If this was heaven, she never wanted to leave.
‘Listen to my voice, Megan. I know you can hear me,’ Rob said again, more testily this time.
But she was listening to him. Couldn’t he see that? Couldn’t he hear the words she was transmitting?’
He moved his hands from her chest to her arms and began to gently shake her.
‘What are you doing?’ she wanted to ask, as the frown began to form on her temples.
‘Megan, can you hear me?’
‘Yes,’ she tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. She couldn’t nod either.
No! What was this cruelty, she could see, hear and feel him, but had no way of communicating her truest love for him. Was this some kind of punishment for what that taxi driver had done? Did he blame her?
And then he slapped her hard across the face, and in slow motion her head recoiled back as the sting of the action frightened her. Rob had never laid a finger on her. Even when they had argued that fateful night; it wasn’t in his nature. He wasn’t violent. So who was this imposter pretending to be her Rob?
Still she recoiled backwards as the memory of that last argument flooded her mind. How he had stormed from the flat, muttering something about getting some air. How she had wept non-stop, stirring at every car door that closed outside, every shout as some yob walked past. How she had spent more time twitching the curtains than worrying about eating. And how when she could no longer keep her eyes open, she had grabbed her phone from the kitchen counter, dropping the charger into the drawer, and the disappointment as she’d looked at the phone and see he hadn’t responded to any of her messages or calls.
Megan fell back against the couch, her eyes opening as her head bashed the arm. She was back in the office at Better Health, the ceiling fan still whirring overhead. Her cheek still burned from the slap, but as she
sat back up looking for Rob, she wasn’t prepared for what she saw.
The detective was there, hunched over a body lying prostate on the carpet near the desk. The purple trousers and Crocks identical to the ones Helen had been wearing when she’d dressed the wound on Megan’s leg. What was he doing to her?
She could see him leaning forwards, pressing something against Helen’s chest. Was he killing her?
On the carpet between Megan and the pair of them lay an old-fashioned looking gun, a thin trail of smoke emanating from the barrel. Where had that come from? Why was there a gun in the office? Why was the detective here, and why was Helen on the floor, making no sound.
‘What’s going on?’ she tried to say, her throat so dry.
He looked up at her, his face ashen and sweat covering his forehead. ‘I need something to stem the bleed. Paper towels, a scarf, anything. Please hurry, I don’t think she has long.’
But before Megan could react, the door to the office burst open with two paramedics carrying bags and firing questions at Jake. He did his best to answer, and Megan tried hard to keep up with what he was saying.
Someone had shot Helen, but that wasn’t her real name. He’d tried to stem the bleed, but he could no longer feel a pulse. It was like the scene at Janice’s all over again. Someone else’s life was now hanging in the balance. But how had she missed that Helen was the latest victim from her nightmares.
Megan froze.
The nightmares, the visions of horror that had terrorised her all week, where were they? She knew she’d woken in horror, but no matter how hard she tried to picture what had happened, she could not focus on them.
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