Outside Looking In

by Michael Wood

  ‘Will do,’ Scott looked genuinely upset.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ Matilda asked.

  ‘Yes. Honestly.’ The fake smile again.

  Matilda made a mental note to have a quiet word with Scott later. He may not have been physically injured but seeing a colleague assaulted was bound to have an effect, especially on a quiet, reserved person like Scott Andrews.

  They made their way back down the corridor. Matilda, thinking aloud, said. ‘I’ll need to inform the ACC. HR should be able to look after Glass and his family. I also want a search warrant to get into Lucas Branning’s house and give it a good going over and I want him arrested by the end of the day. Nobody hurts a member of my team and gets away with it.’

  Matilda’s hands were shaking. This time it wasn’t due to anxiety or stress. It was anger.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Nathaniel Glover didn’t relish being back in a police station after all this time. When he was convicted in 2000 he made a promise to himself that he would go straight upon his release. Only nineteen when he was sent to Doncaster Prison, he finished his education and by the time he came out he was twenty-four and had qualifications coming out of his ears. His probation officer had worked very hard for him and he was soon in gainful employment in the warehouse of a department store. It wasn’t what he wanted to do with his life, but it was all about gaining experience in a work place.

  Three years later, he left, and after a brief spell with British Gas, he set up his own business as an electrician.

  Sian Mills entered interview room two with a female uniformed officer behind her. She had hoped to interview Glover with Scott but he hadn’t returned from interviewing Lucas Branning yet.

  ‘Mr Glover, thank you for coming.’

  ‘I didn’t feel like I had much of an option,’ he replied. Nathaniel was a tall man in his late-thirties. He obviously worked out or played regular sports as he filled out his polo shirt nicely. His arms were covered in tattoos and his hair was neatly styled. ‘The way your PCs came round banging on my door. I’m surprised they didn’t spray me with that CS gas and handcuff me.’

  ‘I apologize for the heavy handedness of our officers. You’re more than welcome to make a complaint.’

  ‘Yeah, like that’ll get listened to.’

  ‘The reason I want to talk to you is regarding an incident which happened a couple of nights ago on Clough Lane at Ringinglow …’

  Nathaniel interrupted. ‘I know all about it. I read the news. I wondered how long it would be before you called me in. A bloke attacked a man and a woman in their car while they were parked up in a quiet place. So obviously I’m your main suspect.’

  ‘I didn’t say that. There are similarities between your case and this one and I’d like to rule you out of our enquiries.’

  ‘So rule me out then.’ He sat back, folding his arms.

  ‘Can you tell me your whereabouts between about seven o’clock and eleven o’clock on Tuesday night?’

  Nathaniel’s eyes widened. He didn’t move and remained in stony silence. He looked to the floor then up to the ceiling. He looked over to the female officer standing by the door, back to Sian, then down at the floor again.

  ‘I was out,’ he eventually replied.

  ‘I’m going to need more than that.’

  ‘With some mates.’

  ‘And their names?’

  Nathaniel remained silent, looking straight ahead, not blinking.

  ‘Come on Mr Glover, you know the score. I need names and where you were.’

  ‘Erm … you see … the thing is …’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’m married. I’ve got a kid.’

  ‘Mr Glover, I don’t care if you’re a bigamist with a string of wives and kids all over the country. I just want confirmation of where you were on Tuesday night and who you were with.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I can’t tell you,’ he said with defiance.

  ‘In that case I’m going to keep you here in the cells until you feel you can tell me.’

  ‘Wait. You can’t do that,’ he called out, jumping up.

  ‘I think you’ll find I can.’

  Dr Sheila Warminster stepped out of her office and stopped in her tracks. Of all her patients to make an unannounced visit, she didn’t expect Matilda to be one of them.

  ‘Oh, Matilda, hello,’ she was taken aback.

  ‘I’m sorry Dr Warminster,’ began the young receptionist. ‘I did tell her you were busy but she insisted on waiting.’

  ‘That’s fine Stephanie. Matilda, would you like to come through?’

  Matilda smiled, and with her head down, she passed the doctor and headed into the stifling office.

  She decided not to sit in her usual chair. When she looked at it she could picture herself sitting there, sobbing. That chair would forever be known as the chair of tears. She wondered how many people had sat there and rendered themselves speechless with their blubbering and wailing.

  She walked over to the window and looked out. Surprisingly, there was a good view of the city from here – if you enjoyed looking at soulless concrete shells.

  ‘I must say I’m surprised to see you here Matilda. Is everything all right?’ Dr Warminster asked, closing the door firmly behind her.

  ‘Yes. I’m sorry to turn up like this. I’m not here for myself. I’m here in a professional capacity.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sure you’ve heard on the news about the double shooting at Ringinglow.’

  ‘Yes I have.’

  ‘Well, I was hoping you’d be able to give me some advice on psychology.’

  ‘I’ll try but I’m more of a therapist. I’d have thought the police would have a criminal psychologist to consult with.’

  ‘We did have but we lost her in the first wave of budget cuts. I don’t want anything too deep. I’m trying to get my head around something and want some clarification.’

  ‘I’ll try. Would you like to take a seat?’

  Matilda looked at the brown leather armchair. ‘I’m fine here, thanks. Great view.’

  ‘Yes, I like it. So what do you want to know?’

  ‘OK. This is in strictest confidence, however.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘The woman who was attacked; she was badly beaten, raped, and shot three times. When the attacker finished he left her for dead. Before he left she was conscious of him walking around the crime scene and she played dead so that he would leave her alone. Is that normal after such a vicious attack? I’d have thought she’d be in too much shock.’

  ‘Not necessarily. From what I can gather from the newspapers, wasn’t there a man killed at the scene?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And I’m guessing the woman saw this happen?’

  ‘Yes she did.’

  ‘The thing is Matilda, and you know this better than most people, is that the mind is a powerful object. It’s also very unpredictable. This woman has been through the worst horror imaginable – she’s seen a man killed in front of her, she’s been beaten, raped, and shot, all within the space of a very short period of time. Her mind has had to take all of this horror on board and it’s been unable to cope, so it decided to shut down. This woman is protecting herself by switching off.’

  ‘So she’s not really playing dead, is she?’

  ‘No. Her mind is looking after her. By switching off it’s like it’s decided not to take in any more information until it has processed what happened.’

  Matilda frowned and returned to looking out of the window.

  ‘Has the woman regained consciousness yet?’

  ‘Yes she has.’

  ‘Does she remember everything of what happened?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m surprised.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Sometimes, when a person has been through a horrific ordeal, the mind blocks out some of what’s happened to protect the person. You’ll know this more than anyone else.
Maybe she’ll remember being beaten or raped but not necessarily the shooting or seeing the man get killed. It will only give her the amount of information it thinks she can cope with. The fact she remembers everything suggests she’s a very strong individual indeed.’

  ‘Well she did say she couldn’t feel being shot. She was very vague about that part.’

  ‘That’s probably the case then. Do you remember the terrorist attack in Tunisia with the gunman on the beach shooting at the tourists?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Many of the people there played dead in order to escape the gunman. Put yourself in their position: you’re relaxing on an idyllic beach, you’re in paradise, having the holiday of a lifetime and then all of a sudden you’re in the middle of hell. In the space of a second you’ve gone from one extreme to the other and the only way some people can make sense of it is by blocking it out. By closing your eyes and your mind to the event you’re not taking in what is happening.’

  Matilda thought back to the first few days when James died. She knew it was coming; she didn’t want to imagine a life without him. When he finally died, she should have been relieved he was no longer in pain, but she wasn’t. It was like he had been unexpectedly killed in a car crash. She was hit by a massive wall of shock and grief. The days between his death and his funeral were missing from her memory. She had no recollection of what occurred during those nine days; did she eat, sleep, take a bath, leave the house, go to work? Had she blocked out the torment because it was too much for her to process?

  ‘Did you think the woman had staged the attack?’ Dr Warminster asked.

  ‘I don’t know. No. Her attack is too severe. If she hadn’t been shot and raped, I’d probably be considering her as a suspect. I can’t conceive of anyone allowing themselves to be subjected to such a nightmare. It’s too risky. I just wanted to know how a person can play dead after such an appalling attack.’

  ‘The name is very misleading. We call it playing dead as if it’s school children at playtimes but it’s more deeply rooted. A lot of children who are abused block it out and genuinely believe it didn’t happen, but it is the mind protecting them.’ Dr Warminster let this sink in then turned her attention to Matilda.

  ‘While you’re here Matilda, I wanted to mention this at our session but didn’t get around to it. I know you’re no longer under restricted hours at work, but don’t spend all your time there. You still need to make time to be on your own, relax, read a book maybe.’

  Read a book? I’ve got plenty to choose from.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Matilda said, fearing more advice coming on. ‘I came here for your help professionally and I’ve turned it into a therapy session. I should go.’ She hurried to the door. ‘Look, thanks for the advice. Add it to my bill and I’ll pay at the next session.’ She closed the door firmly behind her before Dr Warminster could get another word in. It may have been a mistake including her therapist in her work: Matilda didn’t want her personal and professional issues overlapping, but who else did she have to ask? Bloody budget cuts.

  Sitting in her car she went over her conversation with Dr Warminster. She already knew how protective the mind was but she had no idea how it could hold a person hostage. If the mind hid certain pieces of information to protect the person from the horrors of reality, did that mean it could release them whenever it wanted to? If so, would the minutes between Kevin getting shot and Lois being raped come back to haunt her at some point in the future? Matilda shuddered at the thought.

  Dear God, I hope not.

  TWENTY-SIX

  With no replacement for DI Ben Hales and DC Faith Easter, and DC Scott Andrews keeping a vigil at the hospital, the Murder Room resembled a party at the end of the night; only the stragglers remained. In this case, the stragglers were a couple of civilian support staff and DS Aaron Connolly and DC Rory Fleming.

  Aaron sighed and pushed himself away from his desk. It had been a long day and he was feeling tired, yet the working day was far from over. ‘Rory, get your coat.’

  ‘Have I pulled?’ He smiled.

  ‘You wish. Come on, we’re going to see Alice Hardaker.’

  ‘Oh. Why?’

  ‘Nobody seems to know where Lucas Branning is. We’ve had surveillance at his flat all day and he hasn’t come back. If anyone knows where he hangs out, his sister will.’

  ‘I was supposed to go with Scott earlier but he hasn’t come back from the hospital yet.’

  ‘This can’t wait,’ he said, picking up his car keys.

  ‘Can I drive your car?’ Rory asked with all the enthusiasm of a five-year-old on Christmas morning.

  ‘There’s no way I’m letting you behind the wheel of my Audi. I don’t even want you in the front passenger seat. I’ve seen the mess you make of the pool cars.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘There’s a bus stop right outside the station,’ Aaron smiled to himself as he left the Murder Room with Rory following, close at his heels.

  It was dusk by the time Connolly and Fleming pulled up at Broad Elms Lane. It was as quiet as the night the police rolled up to inform Alice about her husband’s murder. No cars drove by, no children playing in the street, no dogs barking, nothing.

  ‘The town that dreaded sundown,’ Rory said as he climbed out of the Audi.

  The lights were all off in the Hardaker house. They slowly walked to the front door, both of them looking up at the house. There didn’t seem to be any sign of life behind the façade of gaudy faux leaded double glazing and neatly trimmed hanging baskets.

  Aaron rang the doorbell and leaned in to look for signs of movement behind the stained glass. He rang again.

  He lifted the letterbox and called out. ‘Mrs Hardaker, it’s the police. Can you open the door please?’

  Eventually, after a long minute, a blurred figure approached the door. It was opened by Alice who looked drawn, pale, tired, and hollow.

  ‘What do you want?’ she asked, poking her head out of the small gap she made in the doorway.

  ‘I’d like to talk to you about your brother.’

  ‘Lucas?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Now isn’t a good time.’

  ‘Mrs Hardaker, I know you’ve been through—’

  Her dramatic tears stopped Aaron in his tracks. She walked away from the door leaving it ajar. The two detectives looked at each other and followed her.

  The large hallway was a mess. The table under the mirror had been overturned. The items on it spilled on the plush carpet and left there. The mirror was askew and a potted palm in the corner had fallen.

  Alice headed for the living room but didn’t make it. She stopped in the doorway and turned to face Aaron and Rory who were gazing at the destruction.

  ‘I’ve been burgled.’

  ‘You wanted to talk to me?’

  Sian stood in the doorway to the cells and looked down at the tired and drawn-looking Nathaniel Glover. He had spent the whole day in a small space with only his mind and conscience to occupy him.

  ‘If I tell you something, do you promise me it won’t get back to my wife?’

  ‘It depends on what you tell me.’

  ‘It’s not a criminal matter or anything like that.’

  ‘In that case, yes, I promise.’

  ‘I was out on Tuesday night, like I said. I wasn’t with my mates though. I’m seeing someone …’

  ‘I’d worked that one out for myself,’ Sian said, a hint of sarcasm in her voice. ‘You’re going to need to give me a name though if you want to get out of here tonight.’

  Nathaniel sighed and shook his head. Whatever was weighing on his mind was obviously causing him some distress. It was clear to Sian he was dying to tell her but didn’t know how.

  ‘Ian Pritchard,’ Nathaniel said the name like he was spitting out something foul.

  ‘You’re seeing another man?’

  He nodded. ‘I didn’t mean for it to happen. I did some work for him a few months ago and we just hi
t it off—’

  ‘Mr Glover, I’m really not interested in your personal life. However, if you give me Mr Pritchard’s number, I can contact him, get your story verified and you can be home in time for your tea.’ He looked up at her, his eyes shining. He looked on the verge of tears. ‘I can be incredibly discreet. This will be between you and me. I promise you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Sian closed the cell door and went down the corridor to make the call to Ian Pritchard.

  ‘Any joy?’ the duty sergeant asked her.

  ‘Joy wouldn’t be the word I’d use. I’ll never understand people, Tony. They seem perfectly happy to lie to their loved ones yet tell the truth to a complete stranger.’

  ‘And that’s what keeps the beer industry in this country thriving,’ he replied with a smile.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Scott had been at the hospital all day. He hadn’t left the small oppressive room Joseph Glass was laid up in. He hadn’t eaten, had anything to drink, or been to the toilet. When Joseph’s parents arrived he filled them in on what had happened, what the doctors said was happening to their stricken son, and had spoken about their work. However, the conversation soon dried up and then there were three awkward people with nothing to do, nowhere to go, and nothing to say.

  It started to go dark early under the thick cloud and one of them stood up to turn on a light. Nurses came to check on Joseph’s condition and quickly left, moving on to the next patient. All the while, the three visitors waited patiently for something, anything, to happen. Time ticked by at an excruciatingly slow pace. Scott stole a glance at his watch and saw it was well past eleven o’clock. He made his excuses to leave and promised someone from the police station would be in touch. He said goodbye, taking one last look at his comatose colleague, before he left. It had been a hell of a day.

  ‘Boss, it’s me,’ he said sleepily into his phone as he made his way to the exit.

  ‘Scott, hello. How’s DC Glass?’

  ‘Still unconscious. His parents have been with him since lunchtime. I don’t think they’ve taken it in yet. They’re just sat there like zombies.’