Evil Games (27 page)

‘Ruth, was there anything in that last session that could have inspired you to do what you did?’

‘It was all my own doing. I took the knife, I waited for him, I followed him and I stabbed him.’

Kim could see the emotion building in the woman opposite. A flush was spreading across her chest and the muscles in her face were tight.

‘But don’t you think it’s possible that you were being manipulated, used by Doctor Thorne? I mean, by getting you to imagine killing Allan Harris, by using a knife in the symbolic exercise, is it possible that the doctor was intentionally …?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. How could she have known that I would use her efforts to help me as …?’

Ruth’s words trailed away as she realised she’d just confirmed what had been a lucky guess on Kim’s part. The crime mirrored the session.

‘Ruth, please talk to me.’

Ruth shook her head vehemently. ‘Detective Inspector, I will not say one word against Doctor Thorne. She is a skilled, intuitive psychiatrist who has helped me through the worst time in my life. I don’t know what you think she’s done, but I can tell you that she has been my saviour. I think you should leave and take your disgusting accusations with you.’

‘Ruth …’

‘Please leave and don’t come back.’

Ruth glared at her before leaving the table.

Kim cursed under her breath. The bloody woman was so wrapped up in her own flagellation she wasn’t even open to the suggestion that perhaps there were more people to blame for the crime. She had committed herself to attrition and there would be no budging her.

Kim returned to the car, now knowing what she had previously only suspected: that Alex had been instrumental in manipulating Ruth. What she didn’t know, was why.

Kim wondered if the doctor was playing some kind of sick game of power, seeing how far she could push people, but she didn’t think that was it. She remembered the first time she’d met Alex after Allan’s death and she’d asked if she could visit Ruth. Had that been to cover her tracks or something more? If the aim had simply been to manipulate Ruth, then knowing what Ruth had done would have been triumph enough, but it wasn’t. She had wanted to gauge Ruth after the fact.

No, it wasn’t as straightforward as mind-fucking. Alex wanted to learn something and Kim had to try and figure out exactly what that was. It was going to take a trip into her past to find out.

Kim could not ignore the power that Alex now held in her hands. Having access to the horrors of her past definitely made it an unfair fight. Alex could examine these events openly and not lose her mind. Kim didn’t have that luxury

Alex could use every fact to drag her closer to the darkness and Kim wasn’t even sure how to fight back. What she needed was a better understanding of exactly what she was up against.

She suspected there was only one man who could help her now.

FIFTY-ONE

Bardsley House, four miles east of Chester town centre, was used to house the criminally insane. Open since the late 1800s, it had never offered day trips to the wealthy, a guided tour through the stages of insanity like Bedlam in London. Bardsley House kept its patients private, behind closed doors and away from curious eyes. Externally, it bore no sign of the madness within.

The half-mile gravel drive wound its way through rich, undulating lawns and a 700-acre deer park before ending at an imposing structure that had retained its 17th-century appearance.

As she approached the entrance, Alex decided there were far worse places to be crazy.

The reception area was unlike a normal hospital foyer. Comfortable wing-backed chairs littered the area, with occasional tables scattered throughout. Watercolours of local landscapes dotted the walls and pan pipes sounded gently from a speaker that rested above a CCTV camera.

Alex’s finger was poised above a bell when the door opened and she was met by an overweight woman in her late fifties. A quick assessment told her that the woman had been at the facility for some time. She was dressed in black trousers formed of a cheap polyester mix, with a white T-shirt covered by a plain blue pinafore. Her nails were multicoloured, and bright yellow costume jewellery adorned her wrist and throat. Her short hair was dyed a vivid purple. A simple name badge stated ‘Helen’. No title or position, just Helen.

Alex held out her hand. ‘Hello, my name is …’

‘Doctor Thorne,’ Helen completed with a wide, open smile. The woman was clearly accessible and trusting. Just the kind of person Alex loved.

‘Doctor Price told us you were coming. He asked that we assist you in any way we can.’

Of course he did, Alex thought. Doctor Nathaniel Price was the registrar of the hospital and their ‘friendship’ went back to medical school when Alex had sussed out he was having a homosexual relationship with one of the tutors. His secret had been of little use to her at the time and she wasn’t prone to frivolous malice. There had to be a benefit to her; at the very least, her own entertainment. Back then his secret would have been low impact; news for a week or two, quickly swallowed into the whirlpool of university shallowness. But now it meant more, especially to his wife and three daughters.

Fortunately, Alex hadn’t needed to use the threat. It had been there, travelling along the phone lines. It was enough for him that she knew, and if he was as intuitive as she suspected, he also knew that she’d use it. He was probably still at it secretly. She made a quick mental note to find out. A little extra insurance never hurt.

‘That’s very kind of you, Helen,’ she said, smiling and shaking her hand warmly. Fat, ugly folks always liked attention from the beautiful people.

Helen led her from the foyer along a short corridor and took a left turn into a small orderly office.

‘Please, sit.’

Alex did so. The space was functional and small, with a window overlooking an ornate fountain on the east side of the grounds. The mouth of the dolphin looked as though it hadn’t spouted water in fifty years.

‘I’ve been Care Manager here for twenty-two years, so if there’s anything I can help you with, feel free to ask.’

Alex sat back. ‘I don’t know how much Doctor Price told you.’

‘Just that you had a similar case at the moment and that any insight would be helpful.’

Alex nodded regretfully. ‘Obviously I can’t go into detail, but if you could discuss Patricia Stone with me and if I could meet her briefly, I think it would help me treat my patient more effectively.’

Helen seemed happy to share. ‘Okay, I’ll just talk and if you have any questions feel free to jump in.’

Alex took out a notebook. Helen swigged from a can of Diet Coke; amusing considering the woman’s girth.

‘I assume you know the bare details of Patty’s earlier life. She was placed here in 1987, following the tragedy.

‘She had been diagnosed with schizophrenia years earlier but was responding to drugs and was released during the era of de-institutionalisation.

‘When she was brought into our care she exhibited many of the characteristics of Schizophrenia. She suffered delusions, hallucinations, disorganised speech and catatonic behaviour. She had been socially dysfunctional and the signs had lasted for more than six months. The exclusion of known organic causes had been confirmed.’

‘Can you be more specific on the nature of the delusions and hallucinations?’ Alex asked. This first-year medical lesson was wearing thin.

‘Well, initially she heard voices arguing in her head, completely independent of herself. She was the referee, if you like, the peacemaker. The voices always wanted her to side with one of them. She also suffered with delusional perception. There is a record, before my time, that when a fellow patient pushed the water jug towards her during lunch-time it meant the nursing staff were trying to kill her and she could only protect herself by urinating in the middle of the dining room.

‘Not long after I came here, Patty developed a phobia of windows, fearing that if the window was open her thoughts were being sucked out of her mind.’

‘Has she suffered any violent episodes?’

Helen nodded sadly. It was clear that this woman was extremely fond of Patricia Stone. How very unprofessional to develop such feelings for a patient, Alex mused.

‘Unfortunately, yes. She is not violent by nature but there are times when it is difficult to control her.’

‘Can you tell me about those incidents?’

Helen reached for the file so she could offer detail.

‘In ‘92, she attacked a fellow patient, claiming that the elderly woman was flashing thoughts into her mind and she had to make it stop. In June of 1997, she attacked another patient, claiming that he was projecting feelings into her. A few months later she insisted this same patient was reading her thoughts aloud. Six years ago, she attacked a visitor, claiming that he had gained mental control of her and had made her scratch her knee until it bled. And most recently she floored a young nurse for projecting impulses into her mind.’

Alex was intrigued. Patty Stone had almost covered the entire scope of Schneider’s first-rank symptoms. Any one of which would indicate schizophrenia.

Helen closed the file. ‘Please don’t misunderstand. These episodes are few and far between. Otherwise she is a model patient; co-operative and reasonably pleasant. Such an episode prompts us to re-evaluate her medication. Initially she was on chlorpromazine but now she’s on clozapine.’

Clozapine was often given to schizophrenic patients who had been difficult to treat. The drug produced fewer side effects.

‘Is there any link in her behaviour or episodes with visits from her family?’

‘Patty hasn’t had a visitor in all these years.’

Alex feigned surprise. ‘Oh, I thought her daughter …’

‘Sadly not. She calls each month and has done since she turned eighteen, but she never visits.’

‘That must be hard for Patty.’

Helen opened her hands. ‘It’s not our place to interfere in family dynamics. We simply do the best for the patients in our care.’

‘Is there any hope for Patty’s release at any stage?’

Helen was thoughtful. ‘That’s a difficult question, Doctor Thorne. There are times when Patty is very stable and it is not difficult to imagine her leading a life outside this facility, but her periodic outbursts of violence render that possibility unlikely. Bear in mind she has been institutionalised for more than a quarter of a century. There is a safety, a familiarity to her life here. We are not a fast-food type of facility. Our aim is not a quick turnaround. We give care to patients that need it and we accept that for some that may be a very long time, and in some cases for the rest of their lives.’

Alex nodded earnestly, thinking that if this woman was not responsible for writing the PR brochure, she should be.

‘It’s expensive care, though. I mean, this facility is unlike many I’ve visited.’

‘We have a mixture of private patients who fund their stay here; others are funded by the social care system.’

Of course they were, Alex thought, especially patients failed by that care system who had gone on to cause neglect and death.

‘Thank you, Helen. You’ve been very helpful. It’s clear that you are an integral part of the quality of care offered here.’

Helen looked suitably flattered. ‘I understand that you would like to meet Patty?’

That had been easier than she’d thought. ‘If at all possible.’

‘I told Doctor Price that I wouldn’t force her to meet with you. As I said, she has received no visitors and if she feels uncomfortable or doesn’t want to meet you then that will be the end of it.’

Alex nodded her grateful acquiescence. Beneath all that blubber the woman had a backbone.

‘And I will stay with you at all times. Is that understood?’

Alex nodded, liking this woman less and less.

Helen stood and indicated that Alex should follow. Once again she was back in the corridor with the pan pipes. Eerily, there was no other sound. Helen carried no keys and each door was opened by an access code, keyed in quickly through habit.

Helen came to a halt outside a heavy oak door. ‘I’d rather you didn’t enter the general population area. Our patients understand routine. They know when visitors are due and I don’t want them unsettled.’

Alex was guided into a vast room, seemingly untouched by the facility or its inmates.

‘Please take a seat. I’ll go and speak with Patty.’

Alex thanked her but didn’t sit immediately. She wandered the room lined on two walls with books that stretched from floor to ceiling. The third wall was filled with art that she recognised as Gainsborough, van Dyck and Sir Peter Lely.

Alex chose a seat carefully. She faced the window so that Patty would hopefully sit opposite her and not be distracted by any outside interest. Despite Helen’s words, Alex felt confident that Patty would meet with her. Her journey had already been worth her time. The fact that Kim had never visited her mother yet continued to call every month fascinated her.

Alex was unsure what further insight she might gain, but she was eager to meet the woman that had produced Kim and had been instrumental in forming every complex personality trait the detective possessed. Meeting Kim’s family cemented their relationship even further. Alex guessed that none of the people in Kim’s life had ever met her only living relative, and so this would be their bond alone.

The door opened and Alex hid her surprise at Patty Stone’s appearance. The woman was slight but not frail. Her hair was completely grey and cut short. She wore loose jeans and a floral jumper. Her feet were encased in light blue slip-on pumps. She’d been taken from a cottage garden, minus the sunhat and flower basket.

Alex smiled as the woman approached, noting the stiffness and slowness in her movements.

‘Hello, Patty. How are you today?’

Patty allowed her hand to be taken. It was warm but limp. On the face of it, this delicate middle-aged lady looked older than her fifty-eight years and hardly capable of violent outbursts, but Alex knew that looks could be deceiving.

She sat and fixed Alex with an unnerving gaze. Alex looked into the unnaturally dark irises that Patty had gifted her daughter. Suddenly, without blinking or moving any other muscle, Patty slapped her own thigh.