by John Mead
Early Monday morning Merry received a text from Swift telling him to meet him at the Royal London Hospital A&E, it was shortly followed by one from Lukula to say she was there and giving him details of where to go. Merry had barely left home himself, expecting to arrive early, and it made him wonder if either of the other two officers ever really slept or took any downtime. Lukula’s directions proved accurate and very useful in the sprawling hospital complex, as he got out of the lift he saw Lukula and Swift talking to a attractive woman with a light, coffee coloured complexion, long, black hair and dark eyes in an oval face, her thin lips smiling.
‘Matty!’ the woman spotted him first as the others had their backs to him, ‘What are you doing here? I’m sorry,’ she said to Swift, darting forward to greet Merry with a kiss on his cheek, ‘but this is a very old and dear acquaintance of mine.’
‘He is also the detective inspector I told you we were waiting on,’ Swift explained, amused at the warmth of the woman’s greeting and Matthew’s obvious confusion.
‘Doctor,’ Merry acknowledged Alima Hassan, who held his right arm, like some long lost relative she feared might run off again, ‘it has been a good few years. Not that you look a day older,’ he gallantly conceded, his initial confusion put to one side as he beamed down at her.
‘Twelve years nearly,’ then remembering herself, she stepped away. ‘Although you are a few pounds heavier, weren’t you intending to sit your sergeant exams once your Masters was complete?’
Julie smiled at the pair, as Swift interrupted them suggesting they could catch-up over a coffee after his business was concluded, trying to remember how long Merry had said he had been married for; twelve years sounded familiar.
‘Doctor Hassan is here with a patient, a woman in her mid-thirties who tried to commit suicide last night. A confusion over the woman’s real identity, and her attempting to assault the ambulance crew, resulted in the uniformed officers who attended having her fingerprints taken and it turns out they match the prints on the blood covered Tesco bag recovered at the scene of Lynsey Hensley’s murder.’
‘I have been trying to explain things to Malcom and Julie,’ Alima never stood on ceremony by using people’s titles and it didn’t surprise Merry that she already knew their first names. ‘It isn’t straightforward, but now you have arrived, I’m sure it will soon be cleared up.’
‘Perhaps we should find somewhere quiet to talk? Constable Porter is watching the patient, though given her state I can’t see her going anywhere,’ Swift explained, taking charge and leading the group back down in the lift and to a table in a busy cafeteria.
‘I’ve worked with Jenny, Leanne as I know her, as her therapist for a number of years, since she was twenty, following an attack that nearly killed her,’ Doctor Hassan began, smiling her thanks to Julie as the sergeant delivered four large to go cups of coffee to the table. Alima had taken the seat next to Merry and, from the way the pair continually glanced at each other, Julie would not have been surprised to discover they were holding hands under the table like lovelorn teenagers. ‘We diagnosed DID, Dissociative Identity Disorder or Multiple Personality Disorder in layman’s terms. Without digressing it is important you don’t start to think in terms of schizophrenia or bi-polar disorder, you should also dismiss pretty well everything you have seen in films about this. Suffice to say it remains a relatively rare diagnosis, more so in Europe than America, and is not without its controversy.’
‘Isn’t it brought on by trauma?’ Lukula stated, determined not to be lectured by the attractive doctor. ‘A bit like PTSD?’
‘Yes, although the trauma usually occurs at a very young age and is normally the result of physical abuse, in Jenny’s case this probably occurred when she was about four years old,’ Alima continued, acknowledging somewhat condescendingly the well meant, if not entirely relevant, comment. ‘A few years later Jenny Cowan and her older brother were put in foster care with a couple in Fort William. Jenny had her problems but, on the whole, was less difficult than her brother and her symptoms were not recognised until after the attack. I was part of a team, as part of my doctorate, working out of Edinburgh studying this particular mental disorder. Given the rarity of the disease we worked with patients from all over the UK and I was lucky in that Jenny was relatively local. Things went well for a while, then she decided to quit the study and therapy.’
‘How did that come about?’ Swift asked, still puzzling what this had to do with his case.
‘Her participation was purely voluntary,’ Alima explained, noticing Matthew’s rapt attention, while realising she still had to win over the other two. ‘Some sufferers of DID can live relatively normal lives unfortunately many cannot, Jenny was borderline and her symptoms were also somewhat atypical, which is why I don’t usually refer to her as Jenny.’
‘This is the point where you lost me before,’ Swift admitted, ‘you say Jenny has ceased to exist?’
‘Jenny Cowan, was known for her erratic behaviour, well into her teens, sometimes loving and dutiful at other times rebellious, she could have violent temper tantrums and could be devious and untrustworthy.’
‘Sounds like me as a teenager,’ Lukula pointed out, making the others laugh, even Doctor Hassan.
‘I’d happily look over your case notes,’ Alima conceded. ‘However, Jenny often insisted that she wasn’t Jenny Cowan but someone else entirely, behaviour dismissed by her foster parents and school as play-acting done for attention. Since the attack on her, Jenny Cowan, who would be thirty-six, has never acknowledged that name, and the most dominant personality has been Leanne, who claims to be aged thirty-two. Leanne has an entirely different history to Jenny, though on paper some key aspects of it can’t be evidenced. However, to her it is completely real and she is totally sincere when she relates this to anyone. This is also true of John, a Glaswegian in his fifties, also of Jacqueline, thirty and born in Ireland. As well as a scary and violent woman who emerges at times of extreme stress, such as in the ambulance. Then there are the two children, one six and the other eight: Lilly and Meg.’
‘These are all made up?’ Lukula asked, not at all certain what Doctor Hassan meant by all this.
‘No, not in the sense of her knowingly making up stories. Early studies showed these to be distinct personalities, totally different people with different ways of thinking and outlooks on life. Leanne is the most stable in that she is able to cope better with everyday life, though not as you might expect.’
‘How is that?’ Matthew asked, breaking his silence, his curiosity finally exceeding the surprise, confusion and embarrassment at Alima’s sudden reappearance in his life.
‘She has little self-confidence, is shy and doesn’t interact much with people,’ Doctor Hassan explained, ‘she has a very limited job and, by keeping all stressors at bay, she tends to maintain a happy medium. However, the status quo she strives for is finely balanced and inevitably one of the other personalities will emerge for a time.’
‘So when stressed a different personality takes over and then Leanne comes back,’ Swift concluded.
‘That is how Leanne would see things,’ Alima agreed, then confused them by saying, ‘but so would John, Jacqueline and the others.
‘How can she be a man?’ Lukula asked. ‘Surely she must realise that isn’t physically possible, so by definition it must be a pretence.’
‘When you look in a mirror what or who do you see?’
‘I see an attractive woman, a lesbian of mixed heritage, who is dynamic and good at her job.’ Lukula stated confidently if tongue in cheek.
‘Really, because I just see me,’ Alima pointed out. ‘I don’t see a gender, not even a person. It’s just me staring back at me.’
‘If we can avoid the philosophical debate,’ Swift stated politely though with the complete self-awareness that he was incharge and thought the conversation well off track.
‘I apologi
se,’ Alima acknowledged, her tone somewhat pompous, ‘I’ll have to treat Julie to dinner sometime, as these are questions about the human condition close to my heart and I love to debate them.’
‘In a nutshell,’ Merry decided to summarise, ‘you are telling us we are dealing with someone who has a number of distinct personalities, each unlikely to know what the other has done or said.’
‘Yes,’ Alima acknowledged, refraining from patting him on the head as much as she would have liked to have done so.
‘So when we are interviewing her we may not know exactly who we are speaking to or whether it is the one who can actually give us the answer we seek,’ Merry went on, grasping the situation and the problems it would cause them. ‘Worse still we have no way of predicting when the right person we need to interview will emerge.’
‘Yes, exactly,’ Alima agreed, pleased that Matthew had worked things out so quickly.
‘Shit,’ Swift muttered, exasperated and leaning back in his chair.
‘However, I might be able to help,’ Doctor Hassan offered. ‘Act as a sort of guide through the maze, help unlock her mind for you.’
11
It had started to rain again, a light but persistent rain that, with the overcast sky and cold wind, made the May day feel as if winter had returned. They had parked at the rear of a row of shops, above which was a number of small flats, including Leanne’s, and dashed up the concrete steps and along the open landing. Lukula, trudged along in her thin jacket watching as Merry ushered and fussed over Doctor Hassan, concerned she might slip or get wet despite her expensive, figure hugging rain mac and hood. Anderson, his round, black face still wet and glistening from the rain, waited with a two person forensic team for Doctor Hassan to let them in.
‘I have her door keys,’ Alima had told them as Swift had outlined the various courses of action he wanted to happen, as they sat in the hospital cafeteria.
‘The nurse tells me that Leanne or Jenny…’ Swift paused realising the confusion that would occur over names. ‘I think we will refer to her as Jenny Cowan, until we have a clearer picture. Jenny is under sedation and not likely to be able to answer questions until much later today or early tomorrow. Given Jenny’s mental health issues I intend for Doctor Hassan to be present when we interview her.’
‘Please, I really would prefer to be called Alima,’ the doctor informed them with a modest and becoming smile. ‘And, if I may suggest, I think the person to lead on the questioning should be female, it will be less of a threat, but I can brief you all on what to look out for and how to approach her. There will be no telling which personality you will be confronted with first and the trauma of the attempted suicide, that they might interpret as an attack, will be distressing to them. So don’t expect any coherent responses at first.’
‘If it’s empathy you want you might do better with Matthew,’ Swift informed her, smiling as he remembered Julie’s words at the end of Turner’s interrogation.
Lukula shrugged, taking the govenor’s comment in good stead, but Alima confirmed she thought Julie would be better. ‘Matthew has many talents and skills, as I remember well,’ Alima said, thinking back to the two nights they had spent together at a conference so many years ago, ‘but empathy wasn’t one of them.’ Matthew looked as if he was going to say something but didn’t, waiting for Swift to continue.
‘In the meantime, you,’ Swift nodded to Merry, ‘and Julie should search her flat, you can take Doctor… Alima with you as she is helping us with inquiries.’
‘What does that mean?’ Alima asked, her brow furrowing.
‘Just what it says,’ Lukula told her, ‘you are a witness rather than a suspect.’
‘I have a meeting with the chief about this and another case,’ Swift explained, ‘I’ll bring her up to date on Turner and how things stand. He’s still my favourite for the killings but we need to figure out how Jenny Cowan fits into the picture, how her prints ended up on the bag and the motive behind her attempted suicide but for now she has to be a person of interest. Alima, I know you have already gone over your part in this but I’m sure Inspector Merry will have additional questions,’ Swift told Alima, who was wondering how the cosy chat over coffee had become so formal and business like. ‘We’ll see what the search turns up, before deciding how to proceed.’ Swift stood up not expecting to get any questions, adding, ‘I’ll have Ray dig up Jenny Cowan’s old case file, she was a minor when attacked in Fort William but I shouldn’t think anyone would object to our seeing it, given the circumstances. Our priority is to work out how her prints were on that bag.’
‘Leanne’s surname isn’t Cowan, is it?’ Julie asked, the realisation hitting her, as she answered her own question, ‘You said she had a completely different history and that includes her surname, doesn’t it.’
‘Yes, it’s Leanne Solbury,’ Doctor Hassan responded, surprised at Julie’s sudden animation.
‘I’ve already spoken to her as she is one of Lynsey’s and Jody’s co-workers.’ None of the three officers said anything more, each knowing this was the key they had been searching for.
‘Is it always like this?’ Alima had asked as they sat in the car, Lukula was driving and Merry had opened the passenger side door for her, his rather old fashioned manners held an appeal.
‘Like what?’ Julie asked, she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the doctor being present, despite Swift’s thinking, Alima’s role didn’t seem clear to her.
‘It all seems so restrained, orderly and matter of fact. I expected more rushing about and flashing lights.’
‘I leave the high speed car chases and jumping over fences until after lunch,’ Julie informed her straight-faced.
‘What about Matthew, does he simply crash through the fences?’ Alima beamed her most winning smile back at Julie and was rewarded with a beguiling smirk.
‘No, he does all the shouting,’ the two women shared a joke, as Merry sat in the back of the car deep in thought, his mind still on on Jackie, but also adding Alima into the mix and how his meeting her had nearly scuppered his putative marriage.
The flat was tiny, virtually a bedsit. The entrance door led straight into a small kitchen-diner which also contained a battered armchair and TV, to the rear was a small bedroom, which overlooked the front of the shops, and a shower room and toilet combined. The six people crowded into the restricted space and Merry sent Anderson to canvas the neighbours to see what they knew of the woman who lived here.
‘How did you get to find her, when she attempted suicide?’ Merry asked, the three stood cramped together in the open doorway as the two SOCOs got to work. ‘It was late wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, I almost didn’t come,’ Alima explained, watching as the SOCOs donned protective overalls before starting their search. Seeing Merry and Lukula pull on overshoes and gloves, she wondered if she would be asked to do the same but wasn’t, being told instead not to move from the spot where she stood just inside the doorway. ‘I had given her a pay-as-you-go phone, she didn’t own one before, so she could contact me. It had rung a couple of times but went off before I could answer and no message was left. It wasn’t characteristic so I decided to come round.’
‘There are only four numbers in it,’ Lukula told them, wearing latex gloves she had picked up the phone off the kitchen table to examine it.
‘That would be mine, her place of work and her case worker,’ Alima knowledgeably informed them, ‘the fourth could be anything, a local take-away perhaps.’
‘She worked at the supermarket with Lynsey Hensley and Jody Grahame,’ Lukula informed the doctor as she dialled one of the numbers on her work phone. ‘Did she mention either of them or Madeline Turner?’
‘She spoke of Lynsey and Jody and of their deaths,’ Alima explained as her Pulp Fiction ringtone burst into life, Lukula rang off and tried another number, ‘but only over the last couple of days. It was the police questio
ning that disturbed her most, it would have made her feel she had a link to the girls, which she would not have fully understood. As for the Turner girl she never mentioned her.’
Lukula had tried a second number and rang off just as quickly as she had with the doctor, getting the supermarket answering machine, but for the third call, the case worker, she struck up a conversation and went out in the light rain to talk more privately.
‘She kept a detailed journal, a diary of sorts, detailing all that she did and felt,’ Alima explained, as one of the SOCOs pulled a large notebook out of a kitchen draw, ‘it was part of her therapy.’
‘When you arrived, you got in using your key?’ Merry asked, starting on the list of questions he had mentally prepared in the car.
‘No, the door was open, her keys were on the hook over the table,’ I took them and her purse when we left in the ambulance. Perhaps I should have turned them over,’ but Merry shook his head, indicating she should carry on with her story. ‘She was in the middle of the room, where the blood stain is, a kitchen knife on the floor beside her. Her left wrist was cut and bleeding out. I bound the wound and called an ambulance and did my best to comfort her until they arrived.’
‘Did she say why she had done it?’
‘No, it was the elder of the two children, Meg, who was with me. She complained of the pain and the cloth I’d used to bind her wrist, she wanted aspirin and a plaster. I doubt if she understood what was going on, it must have been terrifying, like waking up to find your wrist slashed,’ Alima spoke matter of factly, but she scowled at the recollection. ‘In the ambulance Mia came to the fore, she is the one I described as the scary woman. At best she rants at worst she is violent and abusive, I never got her to tell me her name or anything about her. I dubbed her Mia because she reminds me of a self-destructive character from a Tarantino film. The ambulance crew ended up sedating her.’