Evil Games Page 22

  ‘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.

  Alex ignored the movement. ‘So, Patty, is it okay if we talk for a little while?’

  Patty appeared to be listening, but not to her. After six or seven seconds, Patty nodded.

  ‘I’d like to talk about your daughter, Kimberly, if possible.’

  ‘You know Kimmy?’ No hesitation but a slap of the thigh.

  Alex glanced sidewa
ys to where Helen sat reading a magazine. Far enough away not to intrude, but close enough to listen to everything that was being said. And to measure Patty’s reaction. Alex had to make sure she phrased her questions carefully.

  Alex nodded and met the woman’s stare, shocked by the intensity she saw there, just for a second, before it was blinked back into docility.

  ‘I met Kim recently. I believe you haven’t seen her for some time.’

  Patty looked up to her left, frowning.

  ‘My apologies, Patty. You haven’t seen Kimmy for some time?’

  A single tear ran down her cheek as her hands started moving, as though knitting.

  ‘Kimmy safe?’

  ‘Yes Patty, Kimmy is safe. She has a very important job as a police officer.’

  ‘Kimmy safe.’

  Alex nodded despite the fact Patty’s gaze was fixed above her head.

  ‘Kimmy calls, I’m safe.’

  Alex continued to nod. It was often pointless to try to fathom the disorganised speech of a schizophrenic. Alex noted that Helen had not turned one page of the magazine she was holding.

  ‘Can you tell me anything about Kimmy’s childhood?’ Alex pushed. She didn’t think she would get anything useful.

  The hands began to knit faster. ‘Mikey safe, Kimmy safe. Devil comes, devil takes.’

  Patty stopped dead and turned her head to the side, listening, although there was no other sound in the room. Oh for goodness’ sake, woman, just get on with it, Alex thought.

  She started shaking her head. ‘No, Kimmy’s friend. Kimmy safe.’ She paused to listen to a response that was only in her head.

  Patty stopped knitting long enough to slap her thigh and then resumed knitting, more quickly.

  ‘No, Kimmy’s friend. Friend Kimmy. Kimmy safe?’

  She fixed Alex with a stare that she felt had the vision of an X-ray. ‘Isn’t she?’

  The dark, brooding eyes seemed to look straight into her soul. Alex nodded.

  With the swiftness of a gazelle, Patty was upon her. It took a second for Alex to catch up. Patty’s hands were in her hair, her nails scraping at the flesh. Alex instinctively raised her arms to push Patty off. She was vaguely aware of Helen shouting for Patty to stop.

  Patty’s hands were everywhere, clawing at her scalp. A guttural sound came from her mouth. Spittle landed on Alex’s cheek. She almost vomited as the saliva travelled towards her lips. She lowered her head to protect her face but she could already feel her cheeks and temple smarting.

  Alex tried again to push her off, but the advantage was with the slight woman that towered over her.

  Alex saw the arms of Helen encircle Patty’s waist from behind to prize her off. Patty’s right hand was fisted around a clump of hair. As Helen pulled Patty backwards, Alex cried out as the roots were ripped from the scalp. Patty’s other hand was desperately grabbing more hair.

  ‘You reach up and grab her other hand and I’ll pull,’ Helen called.

  Alex reached out and found Patty’s left hand. The grip around her hair was strong. Alex’s eyes watered as Patty pulled. She loosened the fingers one by one.

  ‘Pull,’ she shouted to Helen.

  Patty’s arms continued to flail towards Alex even as she was being pulled backwards by Helen.

  Alex watched as Patty was carried out of the room. Her eyes wildly stared Alex down. Gone was the diminutive figure taken from a country garden and in its place was a spitting, feral animal.

  ‘Wait here and I’ll get someone to check you over,’ Helen said, bundling Patty out of the door.

  When the door closed, Alex smoothed down her hair and headed out the door. She had no intention of waiting around any longer. She’d had enough. She wasn’t going to get anything else from the psychotic lunatic.

  Once back in her car she surveyed the damage. One long scratch travelled from her temple to her jaw. The thin line was red but not bleeding. Red blotches from Patty’s nails dotted the rest of her face. Most of the damage was beneath her hair.

  Her whole head felt as though it was on fire.

  The visit had given her much more than she’d bargained for and she had to wonder if it had been worth it.

  There was something about Patty that was not quite making sense to Alex. She took out her notebook.

  The movement disorders were quite pronounced, despite the medication. Patty’s methodical journey through the majority of Schneider’s first-rank symptoms of the disease was something Alex had rarely witnessed. The periodic violent episodes that occurred with a precise regularity were intriguing, as were the garbled, apparently nonsensical, words she spoke.

  Alex tapped her fingernails on the steering wheel. ‘Of course,’ she said to herself as the pieces came together. Alex couldn’t help but smile at the cunning of the wily old woman as the pieces finally fell into place.

  Despite the injuries, Alex couldn’t help enjoying the irony that the most insightful person she’d met in years happened to be a paranoid schizophrenic.

  As she put the car into reverse, Alex smiled to herself that the journey had been well worth her while after all.

  FIFTY-TWO

  The two-storey building in Brockmoor had changed little since Kim’s last visit. The front door needed a lick of paint and the brass doorknob was dull and blackened in places. She didn’t know for certain that he still lived and worked at this address but she had to try.

  She hesitated before pressing the button, unsure how her visit would be received, or if he would remember her at all.

  She tentatively rang the bell and held her breath. Heavy footsteps and a low grumbling tugged at her mouth.

  The door was opened by a man smaller and wider than she remembered. His wiry grey hair stuck out at all angles, like Einstein. His glasses hung around his neck. He had hardly changed at all.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss, but I’m not buying …’ His words trailed off as his gaze found her eyes. He placed his glasses on the end of his nose. ‘Kim?’

  She nodded, awaiting his response. She had stopped coming to see him for one simple reason: he was too good at his job and had started getting a little too close. She had offered no thanks, no explanation and no goodbye.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ he said, standing back. There was no anger or disappointment in his tone. Yes, she should have known.

  She followed him through to the consulting room and was immediately struck by the contrast to Alex’s treatment room. Doctor Thorne offered the illusion of comfort. Well-placed expensive chairs, an oriental rug, plastic plants, candles, velvet drapes at sash windows. But this room housed old chairs made comfortable by use, a little worn in places but clean and welcoming. Scattered around the room were bonsai trees at varying stages of sculpture. No certificates shouted his credentials from the wall. They didn’t need to.

  ‘How are you, my dear?’ he asked. From anyone else it was a banal question meant as a polite formality. From him it was loaded with knowledge and understanding.

  ‘I get by, Ted.’

  ‘I will allow my curiosity to steep long enough to make you a cup of coffee.’

  She followed him to the kitchen at the rear of the house. The room was dated with old oak cupboards and units, darkening the small room. Mismatched crockery drained on the sink unit.

  ‘No second wife?’

  ‘No, my dear, it wouldn’t have been fair. No woman would have held a candle to Eleanor and it would have been wrong. I could never have lowered my expectations. There have been dalliances over the years but my refusal to take it to the next level has always been a sticking point.’

  Kim said nothing as he poured boiling water into a West Bromwich Albion mug and an Aston Villa mug. He handed her the Villa mug. ‘They lost at the weekend so that mug is out of favour.’

  She took the drink and headed back to the comfy room.

  ‘So, what’s happened with you since you stood me up twenty years ago?’

  Jeez, his memory was keen. An apology at this stage was poi
ntless. She sat in the chair that was familiar to her. It felt exactly as it had back then.

  ‘I went to college, then entered the police force. I like the job I do.’

  ‘What rank are you?’

  ‘Detective Inspector.’

  ‘Hmm … well done, but why have you settled for that point on the food chain?’

  Christ, this man was challenging to be around. Not one seemingly-innocuous fact went unnoticed. It was one of the things that made him an excellent psychologist.

  ‘Who said I have?’

  ‘Because if you wanted to be higher you would be.’

  It was a simple statement and totally true. She’d been in his company for less than ten minutes and already he could read her like a book.

  ‘How about you. Have you finally retired – or are you still poking your nose into other people’s business?’

  He smiled. ‘Ooh, nicely done, my dear. Misdirection and an attempt at humour all in one sentence. You have come a long way, but I’ll let it pass seeing as you came to see me and your reasons will become clear eventually.’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘I suppose I’m semi-retired. I see two or three patients at any one time and sometimes more if needed.’

  Kim guessed that the ‘if needed’ occurred when social services asked him. Ted had always worked for the state, primarily on child abuse and neglect cases. Kim could only imagine the tales of horror that he’d heard, the disturbing pictures he’d had to endure.

  ‘How do you do it, Ted?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Because I like to think I’ve made a difference. Because then I can sleep at night.’

  It certainly wasn’t for the financial rewards, Kim thought. He lived in the two rooms on the upper floor. He really was one of the good guys.

  He chuckled. ‘You know I remember once, I had this little girl who was so angry, so defensive, that for three whole sessions she refused to say a word. I think she was six at the time. Nothing worked. I tried lollipops, toys, a walk into the garden, but she simply refused to speak.’

  Kim stiffened. This was a place she did not wish to go.