by Liz Mistry
Dr Mara pressed a button and spoke into her phone. ‘Can we retrieve images taken for the ID lanyards, Bex?’
She listened for a moment then said, ‘Bex will check that for you. Now, I have another meeting, but I’d like Bernie to be in the vicinity when you chat with Jimmy. The two of them get on well.’
She gestured to a smiling nurse who approached. ‘These are the visitors I mentioned to you Bernie. Keep an eye on him, won’t you?’
‘Sure, Dr Mara.’ And with a smile she was off walking smartly back into the facility, her long dress flowing behind her.
Chapter 62
Bellbrax Psychiatric Facility, Scotland
Ihave to draw before the voices come again. Jimmy’s not happy. Something’s wrong. I can tell. His fists are in his pockets and I know the voices will come. He’s still missing his visitor.
I flick the paper over and start to draw. I don’t want to draw this, not really, but when I’m upset that’s what I draw. I start with her feet. I can never forget her feet. That day they were the nicest part of her. I didn’t kill her.
‘Yes, you did, Rory. You killed her. You killed both of them.’
‘Stop it!’ I say the words in my head, so the nurse doesn’t come over. They don’t like it when I draw this, but I just can’t help myself.
‘You’re weak Rory, that’s why. You draw her because you’re weak.’
‘I didn’t kill her.’ I look round. I’m not sure if I said the words out loud or not. Nobody’s looking at me so I must have said it in my head. Thank God. I don’t want them to see me drawing this.
My pencil flies across the page. I’ve drawn this same picture four thousand and thirty-three times. That makes me sad. The girl with the dark eyes and black hair stole some. I know it was her – who else could it be? Now I only have four thousand and twenty-two of these sketches. I was beginning to like her. She was kind.
‘You fancied her, you fancied her.’
‘Stop it! I don’t fancy her. I don’t!
‘You’ll kill her just like you did the others. Rory is a killer, Rory is a killer, Rory is a killer.’
‘Stop it! Stop it right now.’
‘Rory is a killer, Rory is a killer, Rory is a killer.’
‘Stop it, stop it, stop it.’ I get up. I’ll stand with Jimmy, that’s what I’ll do.
‘Rory is a killer, Rory is a killer, Rory is a killer.’
‘Stop it, stop it, stop it.’
Jimmy looks at me. ‘Voices again, Rory?’
I can’t speak. I nod.
‘It’s OK, Rory. Soon they’ll go away. Just hang in there.’
I turn and walk away, the voices are quieter, but I won’t draw that picture now. Instead I’ll draw one to make Jimmy happy. I don’t like Jimmy looking so sad.
Chapter 63
Bellbrax Psychiatric Facility Scotland
Jimmy Cameron held a marked similarity to some of the worst criminals Gus had ever interviewed. The ones who looked through you as if they were considering the necessity of your continued existence in the human race and opting to annihilate you. By most people’s standards, Professor Carlton – with his OTT tartan apparel and neon specs was by far more noteworthy in terms of appearance than Gus who wore a bog-standard T-shirt and jeans.
However, Jimmy’s dead eyes drifted over the ebullient professor, strayed to Gus, and remained there. Gus’s eyes narrowed. He loosened the tension in his body, prepared for any sort of onslaught that might occur and changed his stance, so his body widened and gave out a ‘don’t mess with me vibe’. Despite the fact the older man looked frail and hunched, Gus wasn’t prepared to take any chances. He’d been in too many fights to dismiss someone’s ability to cause physical damage purely on appearance and age alone. Although he kept his gaze on the older man’s face, Gus was well aware of Jimmy’s fists, with their battered knuckles, flexing and unflexing by his sides. If those fists could do the damage he saw in the older man’s face, then Gus was going to make sure he kept more than arm’s reach away from Cameron – he didn’t trust that devious bastard – not one bit.
Bernie, the psychiatric nurse, stood beside Jimmy, seemingly at ease, not sensing anything to be alarmed about so far and this reassured Gus a little. In ultra-professional mode, Carlton picked up on the tension between the two men and studied both for a few moments before inserting himself between them and addressing Jimmy. ‘Hello, Mr Cameron, I’m Professor Sebastian Carlton. I’m a forensic psychologist and my colleague and I would like to chat with you, if you don’t mind.’
Jimmy’s eyes moved to Carlton’s, seemingly dismissed him, and then turned back once more to Gus. His curt nod though told them he’d heard Carlton’s words. ‘I’m Jimmy. Not been Mr Cameron for a while.’
Jimmy’s well-modulated Scottish tones surprised Gus. He’d expected a rough and ready voice – gruff from years of smoking, with underlying anger through it. Talk about stereotyping. The man’s gaze hadn’t faltered and Gus, although he held it, was uncomfortable. What is he thinking? Carlton had specifically not introduced him by name and that suited Gus. He didn’t want anything to make Jimmy twig who he was – no matter how obscure the reference might be.
Nodding, as if confirming something to himself, Jimmy moved past them, to one of the wooden picnic tables that stood under a canopy jutting from the main building. ‘Might as well sit in the shade if you’re going to talk to me.’ He turned to Bernie. ‘I need the restraints, Bernie. If I’m going to talk, I don’t want to be sedated again.’
Bernie studied Jimmy for a few seconds, then his face broke into a smile. ‘Sure thing, big man. I’ve had the feeling for a while now, that you need to talk.’
Hearing the word ‘restraints’ had a double effect on Gus. As an image of Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest flashed into his mind, his body relaxed and relief surged through him – Jimmy Cameron in a straitjacket was much less threatening than Jimmy Cameron without. The second was that the last thing he wanted his mother to see, was her brother wrapped up like a Christmas turkey. He needn’t have worried, for the restraints Bernie’s colleague brought to them were made of some sort of fabric, with padded cuffs at the wrists. They attached from the arms of the wooden chair to Jimmy’s wrists, allowing him restricted movement of his arms. As if sensing Gus’s interest, Jimmy shook the manacles. ‘Specially designed so I can play card games or dominoes, but I can’t reach my head to punch myself.’
Gus nodded, but said nothing. Instead he pulled out a chair and sat down opposite Jimmy while Carlton followed suit and Bernie took another seat beside Jimmy.
‘Any chance of a drink for my visitors, Bernie?’
Bernie grinned as if this was the most natural thing in the world. ‘I’ll arrange it. Tea, coffee, soft drink?’ he asked Gus and Carlton.
While Carlton opted for tea, Gus, his eyes never leaving Cameron’s face, said, ‘Irn Bru if you’ve got it?’
Still unsure of how practical those restraints would be if Cameron decided to take a swing at him, Gus moved his chair backwards so he could get to his feet in a hurry if necessary. The older man was analysing him, yet Gus couldn’t get a handle on what to expect from this man who was also his uncle.
As they waited for their refreshments, Gus studied the other patients. No two were alike. Some seemed almost comatose in their limited interactions, while others laughed and joked. The workings of the human mind were beyond Gus, but the animated look in Carlton’s bespectacled eyes told him he was revelling in this rare opportunity to observe some of the most violent and mentally disturbed men in Scotland from his psychologist’s viewpoint.
Aware that Jimmy was still watching him and that his bottom lip was now curled up as if something amused him, Gus decided not to inflame him by returning his gaze. Instead he allowed himself to study various inhabitants of Bellbrax Psychiatric Unit while making sure he kept an eye on where Jimmy’s hands were at all times. He wondered if his colour had an effect on Jimmy. Was the man a racist as w
ell as a misogynist – it wouldn’t surprise him – ‘isms’ seemed to run on themes of hatred – well the ones he saw did anyway.
When their drinks arrived, delivered by a young woman in a pale blue uniform, Jimmy grinned, high fived her, well, as high a five as his restraints would allow and said, ‘Looking good today, Tania.’
Tania grinned, returned the high five, and laughed. ‘You too, Jimmy. Although, you’ve been bashing yourself again. You need to stop that, you know.’
Jimmy laughed. ‘Just trying to knock some sense into myself, hen.’
The interaction puzzled Gus. All he’d seen was genuine affection and easy conversation. No sign of the misogyny referenced by Dr Mara. His lips tightened. This meant that Jimmy Cameron was definitely not to be underestimated – the man was clearly an able actor. Carlton too seemed intrigued and he slipped a notepad and pen from his pocket. ‘Can I take notes of our meeting, Jimmy?’
‘Feel free, I’m used to it.’
Jimmy turned to Gus; his voice low. ‘You have your mother’s eyes.’
Gus swallowed hard, trying to read Jimmy’s expression, but it was impossible. A flash from one of the Harry Potter films broke his concentration. What the hell was wrong with him and all the film references today? Glancing at Carlton, Gus hoped for some guidance on what he should do, but Carlton looked far too fascinated in this turn of events to offer anything other than a reassuring smile.
Leaning back, Gus feigned nonchalance and took a swig from his plastic glass of Irn Bru and moulded a puzzled frown on his brow. ‘I’m not Harry Potter, you know.’
Jimmy’s laugh was low as he shook his head. ‘So, we’re playing games, are we? I thought you’d maybe credit me with a bit more sense than that, son.’
Gus shrugged and remained silent.
Jimmy lifted his plastic mug, the straw sticking out the top allowing it to reach his lips and made a ‘cheers’ gesture to Gus. ‘You’re Coco’s lad.’
Gus had hoped it was some deluded fantasy that Jimmy had concocted – even a racist one would have been better than him connecting Gus with his mum.
‘It’s the eyes. She has the exact same eyes as you. How is she? I’ve missed her.’
A low snort left Gus’s nose. There was no need for pretence anymore. ‘Really. Word around here is that you hate women – all women and my mum in particular.’
A long sigh escaped Jimmy’s lips and his shoulders slumped as he looked off into the distance at his flower beds, sipping his tea as if they were three old friends catching up.
Finally, Jimmy shook his head and looked at them. ‘I guess it’s time to fess up.’
Carlton frowned and leant forward resting his arms on the table. ‘Fess up to what?’
But Jimmy kept his eyes on Gus, ignoring Carlton. ‘I’ll tell you everything if I can just see Coco – one last time.’
Gus was already getting to his feet, shaking his head, his dreads bouncing around his ears. ‘No way. No way are you ever going to see my mum.’
Something faltered in Jimmy’s eyes. Sadness? Anger? Confusion?
Gus couldn’t be sure, but he shook off Carlton’s hand and made to stride through the open doors back inside, when Jimmy’s voice stopped him in his tracks. ‘Coco taught me above all else that you look after your family. She looked after me. She protected me all through my early years and, when I was old enough to think about finding her and making sure she was all right, she was with your dad.’
Jimmy’s voice cracked a little and Gus turned round. His head was bowed as he continued to speak. ‘You could see that they loved each other. That he’d look after her. I was happy with that. Didn’t want to drag her into my crap, so I didn’t even say hello to her.’
Wafting a hand in Carlton’s direction he said, ‘You best get your phone out. I’ve got a lot to tell you. You’ll want to record it.’
He sniffed and for a moment Gus wondered if he was crying, but when Jimmy looked up again, the eyes Gus had first thought of as cold and dead, were filled with determination. ‘I did with my own family what Coco tried to do. I worked hard to protect them and that’s why I ended up here. I was trying to be like her. She put me first, so I tried to always put my boys first. I suspect that was a mistake. I suspect that whatever has brought you here now, is because of what I did all those years ago to protect my sons.’
As he spoke, he pulled at the restraints, his fists clenched as he strained to hammer them into his face.
Bernie reached over. ‘Jimmy. You need to stop struggling. You know that.’
Yanking at the restraints a few more times before exhaling, Jimmy finally unclenched his fists. The scabs over his knuckles had cracked open again and when he turned over his hands to hide the wounds from his visitors, Gus noticed that Jimmy’s fingernails had penetrated his palms.
‘I’m fine, Bernie. I’ve got to do this. I’m OK.’
Gus couldn’t begin to guess what his uncle was going to say. He hoped it had some pertinence to the women who were being hanged in such a horrible way in Bradford, but was prepared to be disappointed. This man had been in a secure psychiatric facility for years, he was a murderer, and who knew what sort of toxic fantasies he could come up with. Although, he looked as rational as the next person, Gus was well aware that this could all be a façade. Carlton on the other hand, seemed overly excited. As if he was expecting a mega breakthrough. Gus wondered if he just had his eye on writing another paper for some forensic psychology journal or other.
Chapter 64
Bradford
Alice looked down at the pale face of the CSI. She lay at an awkward angle, one leg bent off to the side and her eyes were closed. A multitude of thoughts clamoured in Alice’s head – relief that Karen Smith’s body had already been removed and that most of the forensic evidence had been tagged and bagged, but mostly she was concerned that the woman lying in the stairwell wasn’t breathing.
‘Come on, come on, Jules. Come on, breathe. Breathe, breathe.’ Alice kneeled beside her, chanting the words in a low voice. Then Nancy shoved her out of the way and began alternating heart compressions with mouth to mouth resuscitation. One of the CSIs took over the mouth to mouth and Alice was led away from the fallen CSI to allow them more room to work.
Anger sparking through her, Alice spun round and confronted Sid, ignoring his pallor and the way his anxious gaze focussed on his prone colleague. ‘What the bloody hell were you thinking, Sid? You know better than to leave a ladder unattended. What was going through your stupid fucking mind?’
‘DCI Chalmers – she called me. She was having trouble getting into her suit – and the other CSIs were too busy recording her yanking her skirt up round her arse so she could pull the overall up.’ His words faded … ‘Look what I’ve done.’
Alice cast her mind back. She’d been annoyed that Nancy had wanted to come to the scene. This wasn’t her domain and Alice’s nose was put out of joint. When Nancy suggested she come along, Alice pretended she hadn’t heard and had moved upstairs to observe the scene. She’d heard Nancy calling to Sid but hadn’t realised Sid had left the ladder unattended. Not until one of the CSI photographers had backed into the ladder, sending it sliding to the side, leaving Jules dangling from the pulley. When Jules had landed, everyone rushed over at once, coughing in the dust from the plasterboard and trying to reach their colleague.
Alice rested her hand on Sid’s arm. ‘It was an accident, Sid.’
The ambulance sirens came closer followed by a screech of brakes and seconds later the thundering of the paramedics boots as they ran into the scene. Nancy, still only half suited-up, got to her feet with difficulty, her hair dishevelled, and her brow furrowed.
She turned to Sid. ‘She’s breathing, Sid, she’s alive.’
The unspoken words ‘for now’ hung in the air as they vacated Karen Smith’s house to allow the paramedics space to transport her to safety. Lining the path as the paramedics wheeled their unconscious colleague to the waiting ambulance, Alice tried to read
just her thoughts. Jules was in safe hands now, but they still had a job to do.
After the ambulance door slammed shut, Alice took off her suit, bagged it up, and got re-suited before moving back into the house of the last victim. Like the previous victims, Karen Smith had been pregnant. The same pulley system had been used, the same items displayed beneath her feet, the only difference being that the verse left behind to taunt them was verse three of the nursery rhyme. Thankfully, Sid’s team had been on the ball and most of the forensic evidence had been removed, before the ceiling caved in. Now, glaring up at the gaping hole in the ceiling, Alice saw a flash of sunlight shining through almost directly above the hole. That explained the reason the pulley system had come clattering down. Rain had clearly over time, softened the plaster on the ceiling and probably also the wood joist that the pulley had been drilled into.
Alice frowned. Joists? ‘Sid, I presume each of the previous two pulleys were screwed into the joists, yes?’
Clearly a little peeved with Alice’s earlier outburst, Sid reverted back to type. ‘Duh? The plaster alone wouldn’t have held the weight of the victims. Course the pulleys were screwed into the joists.’
Ignoring his sarcastic tone, Alice continued to look up at the hole in the ceiling. ‘Were there any hesitation marks – you know like the killer had to poke around a bit before he got the joist?’
Sid joined her, his voice showing no trace of sarcasm as he responded. ‘No. The holes were clean. Straight into the joist.’ He glanced at Alice. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
‘If you’re thinking that our killer went up to the attic to select the appropriate joist, then the answer is yes. Time to have a shifty in the attic, I think.’
‘Here’s hoping that he wasn’t quite as careful in the attic as he was in the house itself.’ Sid lifted the fallen ladder and headed towards the attic trap door a few feet along the hallway, but Alice grabbed his arm. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll get Nancy to hold the ladder this time.’