Bad Medicine- A Life for a Life; Bed of Nails; Going Viral

by Puckett, Andrew

  ‘Knowing John,’ she said that evening over her second drink, ‘and I do know John, he’s chosen something so obvious that we’ll kick ourselves when he tells us.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’

  ‘Oh, something that’s staring us in the face.’ She leaned on her elbows. ‘If it’s not an anagram of his name, it’ll be something egotistical, something he thinks reflects his own cleverness.’

  ‘Well, I’ve tried everything I could think of.’ I listed them.

  She shook her head. ‘Nowhere near. Let’s try some anagrams.’

  She pulled out a pad and we tried for an hour without much success.

  ‘I’ll get it eventually,’ she said, putting the pad away.

  *

  I awoke in the morning to find her tickling my stomach. Grey eyes watched mischievously through gold hair. Her hand moved.

  ‘You’ll be lucky,’ I growled sleepily.

  But she was. She was irresistible, and afterwards I fell back into a deep sleep.

  The telephone was ringing.

  ‘Answer it for God’s sake,’ I mumbled, reaching over.

  The other side of the bed was empty and I woke with a start.

  No sign of her. I leapt out of bed and snatched the ’phone.

  ‘Er — hello?’

  A chuckle. ‘Thought that would get you up.’ Sally.

  ‘Where are you? You had me worried.’

  ‘I’ve found it,’ she said softly.

  ‘Found what?’

  ‘The password, silly. Staring us in the face, like I said.’

  ‘Are you at the lab?’

  ‘No, John’s flat.’

  ‘What about Mr Thing?’

  ‘Singh. Still in bed, I expect.’

  ‘Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What is it?’

  ‘Come on over and I’ll show you.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, we’ll be caught. Come back here, and we’ll go to the lab and try it.’ She chuckled again. ‘No, you come over here.’ There was a clunk as she disconnected.

  With a sigh, I pulled on some clothes and set off. The streets were deserted, except for a few people in their Sunday best.

  The front door wasn’t locked. I gently pushed it open and peered into the gloom, then crept upstairs.

  John’s door was ajar. When is a door not a door? Chorus: When it’s a jar!

  She must have heard me coming because she was pretending to be asleep. John’s briefcase lay open beside her.

  I picked up a piece of Parc-Reed note-paper. ‘It’s Prince Charming,’ I said, leaning over her; then I saw the marks on her neck. Touched her shoulder. Pulled her over and her lifeless grey eyes stared past me.

  Don’t know how long I stood there, staring. I knew she was dead, which is why I didn’t try…A noise behind me, a crash…

  All I could see was the carpet, stretching away like a plain under the bed. It was dusty. There was a pair of shoes.

  I thought without thinking about it that I must have fainted, my cheeks seemed to be glued by saliva to the rough carpet, my neck hurt…

  Perhaps it wasn’t true! I dragged myself up — she was still there and —

  My eyes bolted and I turned and heaved on to the carpet.

  She was now naked from the waist down!

  I’m going mad, they said I would — No! No, I’m not…get out, find police.

  Drew a sleeve over my mouth and ran for the door.

  Weasel-face peering across the landing, eyes grotesque behind lenses…

  ‘Don’t go in there!’ I shouted, stumbled down the stairs, along the hall, pulled the door —

  A huge figure blotted out the light.

  ‘Oh my God!’ I clutched blue material. ‘Up there, she’s up there. Go and look if you don’t believe me.’

  He stared, then there was a cry from upstairs and he turned.

  ‘Cop hold of matey here, while I take a look.’

  He moved past me and another hand, gentle but firm, gripped my arm.

  Flies were buzzing round my face — no, specks of dust, going faster —

  Then I was sitting on the cold wall of the pathway, head between knees, someone’s hand on my neck.

  It hurt…

  ‘Go and radio a couple more cars, quick. I’ll look after sunshine here.’

  I was pulled to my feet. I said, ‘You’ve got to get after him,’ and started for the gate.

  ‘Oh no you don’t!’

  My arms were pinioned and cold steel clamped my wrists.

  I turned in amazement. ‘You don’t think it was me, do you?’

  He gazed impassively. ‘What I think doesn’t matter, but we’ll be wanting you to help us with our inquiries. Down at the station.’

  His companion came back. ‘They’re on their way.’ He looked at me curiously, then back to the other. ‘Dead?’

  ‘Strangled by the look of it. After sexual assault.’

  Weasel-face emerged, pointed at me. ‘’E dun it, Officer, I saw ’im.’E dun it all right.’

  A knot of people gathered by the gate.

  ‘Better get sunshine into the car.’

  ‘Move along there, please.’

  Part of me was thinking: I never thought they really said that.

  My thoughts were cut off by the hee-hawing of police cars.

  More police, emerging from nowhere.

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Up there.’

  ‘Anyone told Forensic yet?’

  ‘’E dun it, I saw ’im!’

  ‘Get a statement from that man.’

  ‘Better get this one down to the station.’

  ‘Cautioned him yet?’

  ‘You’re under arrest. You’re not obliged to say anything, but if you do say anything…’

  Houses streaming by and the mad donkey-bray of the car’s siren, my thoughts in tune with it: Not true…not true…not true…

  CHAPTER 8

  I think I had them wondering at first. I told my story simply and calmly and although the questions became harder and more oblique as the day wore on, they didn’t shake me.

  After that, I saw a solicitor. He was about my age and called Henry. Solicitors aren’t paid to believe their clients, but I could see that Henry believed me. He asked if he could speak to my previous employers in Somerset and my GP and I told him he could do anything, if it helped. By the time he left, I had begun to hope.

  That all changed the next day. By then, Ron and Phil and Singh and Weasel-face had had their say.

  ‘You didn’t have a “romantic” relationship with Miss Wytham at all, did you, Randall?’ My tormentor had steel-blue eyes in a craggy face and called himself Inspector Johnson. ‘The truth is, she put you up for a night out of pity, and then couldn’t get rid of you. Imposed yourself on her, didn’t you?’

  The room was bare save for a tin ashtray on the stained table between us. A uniformed officer sat to one side, writing.

  I tried to keep calm. ‘That’s not true. She was glad to put me up the night your officers moved me on, as they themselves witnessed — ’

  ‘But she didn’t invite you to move in permanently, which is what you did.’

  A little daylight was trying to squeeze through the high window, past the fluorescent strip that provided most of the light.

  ‘As a matter of fact, that’s just what she did — ’

  ‘Listen, Randall — ’ he leaned forward — ‘we’ve got a witness, a colleague and close friend of Miss Wytham, who quotes her as saying that she was sick of you, that you imposed yourself on her, that she just wanted to be rid of you.’

  ‘That’s a lie!’ I shouted. ‘Who is this — ’

  ‘And we’ve got another witness — ’

  ‘It’s Philip Snow, isn’t it?’

  Johnson raised his voice, but otherwise carried on as though I hadn’t spoken — ‘your boss, who says that at work, you wouldn’t leave Miss Wytham alone, you persisted in forcing your attentions on her. He says that he had to s
peak to you about it last Wednesday and suggested that you leave, but that you were most reluctant to accept — ’

  ‘That’s not true, he changed — ’

  ‘Well, he’s your boss and that’s what he says. And on top of that, we’ve got a witness who as good as saw you kill her.’

  ‘Weasel-face! You don’t believe him, surely?’

  ‘Mr Albert Sims, you mean? Why shouldn’t I believe him?’ He opened the folder in front of him and found the relevant statement. ‘He heard raised voices, a quarrel, then a woman screaming. Then he heard, and I quote, “Thumps and bangings. Then everything went quiet for a bit, I don’t know exactly how long. Then there were more noises. After a bit, I looked out, and as I did, the man I now know to be Randall came out. He looked very excited and shouted at me, ‘Don’t go in there,’ then he ran down the stairs. I could see what looked like a body on the bed.”’ Johnson looked up.

  I said, ‘He didn’t see me do it.’

  ‘Just missed you, didn’t he?’

  ‘No, because I didn’t — ’

  He smashed his fist into the table and the ashtray jumped. ‘Come off it, Randall! You’re not fooling anyone.’ He flicked a page. ‘Another witness, the landlord, saw Miss Wytham arrive, and then a short while later, you. This bothered him, because a few days previously, he had found both of you together in the flat. I quote: “Miss Wytham was looking worried and tried to make Randall leave. He didn’t want to go, and when she persuaded him, he tried to steal a briefcase belonging to the rightful tenant.”’

  ‘I’ve already explained — ’

  ‘And this morning we’ve had some preliminary forensic evidence. The semen found in Miss Wytham is of your blood group and tissue type, and we’ve sent it for DNA fingerprinting — ’

  ‘It would be the same since I’d made love with her that morning.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call what you did making love. Tell me this, Randall: if you didn’t kill her, who did?’

  ‘I don’t know —’

  ‘No one else was seen entering the house, just Miss Wytham, then you. You followed her there, didn’t you, Randall?’

  ‘No, she ’phoned — ’

  ‘She was trying to get away from you, wasn’t she?’

  ‘No, I — ’

  ‘No one else was seen, Randall, no one.’

  ‘Then there must be a back way out — ’

  ‘The back door was bolted from the inside. Tell me, Randall, just out of interest, why did you run for it after your 999 call?’

  ‘I wasn’t running for it, I didn’t make any call.’

  ‘Yes, you did, I have the text here.’ He looked down. ‘“Please come quickly, I think I’ve killed her.”’

  ‘I didn’t make that call.’

  ‘The receiver was still off the hook when we got there, that’s how we managed to trace it.’

  ‘It wasn’t me.’

  ‘Your whole story is fantastic. What about this?’ He found my statement. ‘“I remember waking up on the floor. I must have been hit from behind, because when I stood up, I found Miss Wytham half undressed, which she hadn’t been before…” You expect us to believe that?’

  ‘It’s the truth,’ I said tiredly.

  ‘But where’s the evidence? You have slight bruising to the side of your head and neck, which could have come from anywhere, perhaps when you fainted.’

  He leaned forward again. ‘You see, Mr Randall, I am prepared to believe that you fainted. In fact, I’m prepared to believe that you genuinely can’t remember much about it. That in effect you did recover from a faint and find Miss Wytham in the way you describe. And because you couldn’t believe that you’d done it, why then, it must be someone else.’

  He leaned back. ‘We might even be talking about manslaughter. With your background, I should think that’s quite possible. Better than murder, isn’t it?’

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ I said slowly and carefully. ‘I’m not mad, or deranged, I just didn’t — ’

  ‘Who said anything about being mad?’ he cut in swiftly.

  ‘You did, just now, you said — ’

  ‘I didn’t say anything about being mad or…what was it? Deranged? Those were your words, Mr Randall.’

  ‘Well, I’m not either of them.’

  ‘I didn’t say you were.’ A heavy silence. Then: ‘Think about it, Mr Randall.’ A pause, ‘Now…’ And so we went back to the beginning, but from a different angle as he probed and prodded for weaknesses.

  Hours later, my cell seemed like a haven, almost a homecoming. The bars swung shut and the keys jingled — fine, if it meant getting away from Johnson for a while.

  Oh, Sally…but my mind couldn’t grasp what had happened to her.

  Homecoming… God, what wouldn’t I give to see the inside of my cottage now? My throat swelled as I sank on to the hard bed and thought about what it looked like, felt and smelt like…

  A little later Henry called and I was very glad to see him, but as I told him about my interrogation, his face told me that something was wrong.

  When I’d finished, he said, ‘I’ve had a chance to look at all the statements now, and I’ve also spoken to your doctor.’ He took a breath. ‘Quite honestly, if the police are offering to reduce the charge to manslaughter, I think it’s something we must consider.’

  I gaped at him. ‘But I didn’t do it. Admitting manslaughter is saying I did.’

  He took off his glasses. ‘I must tell you quite frankly, Mr Randall, that if you insist in pleading Not Guilty, I don’t rate your chances very highly.’

  ‘Are you saying you think I did it?’

  ‘What I think doesn’t matter. What matters from now on is the evidence, and there’s a great weight of it against you. You realize you’re going to be charged tomorrow, don’t you?’

  I could only shake my head.

  ‘Listen.’ He leaned forward. ‘Not only is manslaughter preferable to murder, but now that I know your background and medical history, I’m almost certain that you could get a reduced sentence on the grounds of diminished responsibility, especially if we can get the psychiatrist who saw you to give evidence for you.’

  ‘But I didn’t — ’

  ‘Think about it very seriously, Mr Randall. Now, do you want me to be present when you’re charged?’

  My head sank into my hands. ‘Will it make any difference?’

  ‘I was thinking of moral support. It’s up to you.’

  *

  Homecoming. My cell didn’t seem so much of a haven now — there’d be letters at home, waiting to be opened…

  Suddenly I realized I might never see them…what was life imprisonment now? Ten years? And to think I’d thought it too little…

  I buried my face in the pillow and felt myself spiral down, down into blackness.

  Prison. Three to a cell. Filth. Sodomy. AIDS. All inevitable.

  My body shook with sobs, convulsed, then suddenly stopped.

  I sat up. There was complete silence.

  I’d rather die now, rather kill myself. I’m no use to anyone.

  How?

  No knives here, only plastic cutlery with meals.

  Hang myself, that’s the traditional way. I looked around the cell, where could I…?

  The window-bars, maybe I could… I rose, went over to them. Reached up, touched them.

  I recoiled as though they were electrified, sank on to my bed and trembled. I’s really meant it.

  Can’t give in…suicide ultimate surrender…

  Now I wanted to scream, hurl myself at the bars, make them understand, make them let me out…

  But I was in no position to make anyone do anything.

  Very slowly I became calmer, and thought. Thought about the evidence.

  It was true I’d seen a psychiatrist. It happened about a month after I’d killed Jill. Liz, her sister, used to come and see me, see how I was. We’d always got on.

  That evening, we were sitting down together. I held her hand. Put an
arm round her. Kissed her.

  She’d let me at first, then stiffened as she’d realized what I wanted.

  ‘It won’t bring her back, Chris,’ she’d said quietly.

  ‘I know. Please, I need you.’

  It was true. I had to have a woman, now, make sure I was all still there.

  ‘Please!’

  She’d stood up. I grabbed at her, tried to kiss her again, then a ringing slap sent me back on my heels.

  She hadn’t run away, which was something, I suppose, but she said it was as though I’d been another person. She made me promise to see a psychiatrist.

  I did. He told me there was nothing wrong with me, but they always say that, don’t they? He’d suggested I find a woman who was willing.

  So how d’you get from there to being mad?

  Because Johnson knows…he wouldn’t have spoken like that…would he?

  What if the psychiatrist now says I am deranged? What if I really am mad?

  What if I really had killed Sally?

  My head reeled and I fell back against the cold white tiles that lined the cell. God! Why don’t they still hang people like me?

  I wanted to jump up and confess.

  No!

  No, I’m not mad.

  I went over what had happened again — no, it’s all right, I didn’t kill her. Whatever they do to me, I know that.

  *

  Johnson again, the following morning. ‘Just want to check over a few details.’

  ‘I want to make a statement,’ I said.

  He considered me for a moment, then told me to go ahead.

  ‘The flat Sally was killed in belongs to John Devlin, Sally’s boyfriend — ex-boyfriend. As I told you before, he’s also a friend of mine. He works at the National Microbiology Lab too, but he’s away at the moment.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Well, he told me a few months ago that he was working on a cure for AIDS.’

  Johnson stared back blankly.

  ‘You’d agree that that could be worth something?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He’d hidden his data in the lab computer — you need a special password to get into the program. Well, Sally and I were looking for that password.’