Читать книгу The Armageddon Game - Lynne Fox - Страница 8

CHAPTER 2

Sitting by the barred window back in my room I pondered the news DCI Munroe had given me. It was moments like this that I really missed Liliad, my marionette. For many years she’d been a constant companion, someone I could bounce ideas off. I know she didn’t talk back, I’m not insane but somehow talking to her made things clearer; she was my silent support, the only one I was ever truly myself with.

I’d bought her several years previously from a toy shop in The Lanes in Brighton. Normally I’d walk past a toy shop window without giving it a second glance but something, I was never quite sure what, had drawn me to the layout. My eyes scanned the various items; plastic trains, skipping ropes, Lego, jigsaws, picture books – the whole paraphernalia of children’s entertainment but nothing captured my attention and I was about to turn away when my gaze was inexorably drawn toward the back of the display.

A doll stared back at me, her wide blemish-free oval eyes compelling me to remain. Her irises were as green as ivy with huge pupils the deep liquid black of its berries. I felt as though I was falling. Transfixed by the delicacy of her features, the craftsmanship was so exquisite I thought she was made of porcelain.

Without conscious thought I found myself inside the shop. The owner, his hands fluttering before him like an agitated butterfly, was instantly by my side. ‘I see you’ve noticed our marionette,’ he observed.

‘Marionette? I thought it was just an ordinary doll.’

‘Oh dear me no; there’s nothing ‘ordinary’ about this little lady.’ So saying he reached across and extracted her from amongst the other toys. Up close my eyes widened in further surprise. ‘She’s made of wood!’

‘Indeed, what did you think she was made of?’

‘Well, she’s so delicate I thought it was porcelain or something.’

He smiled knowingly. ‘An understandable mistake; in fact she’s carved from a solid piece taken from the centre of an ancient oak. If you look closely at her torso …’ he gently pulled up the little blouse, ‘… you can see the rings of the tree growth. She is the heart of the oak and it continues to live through her.’

Untangling the strings he held her a few inches above the ground. ‘Here, you take hold and see if you can make her move.’

Gently he placed my fingers in the correct positions, ‘Make her walk toward the door.’

To my delight she strode forward.

‘You’re a natural,’ he exclaimed.

‘It’s so easy; I don’t feel I’m doing anything much.’

His smile widened but he said nothing, just waited.

‘How much?’ I asked and she was mine.

They’d taken her away from me after the Dr Metcalfe incident, concerned that I might strangle myself with her strings or tear off a wooden limb to fashion a weapon. Complete nonsense as I had no intention of killing myself and would never deliberately hurt Liliad for any reason. For the present Liliad is confined to a shelf in the locked store room. Lately, in return for his English lessons I’ve managed to persuade Alberto to take me down there and let me have a few private moments with her. She’s taking her incarceration with a stoicism that makes me proud, believing unerringly that we will be together again one day. I do not intend to disappoint her.

I closed my eyes to more precisely recall my meeting with DCI Munroe. I wasn’t surprised at his ill-concealed pleasure at the news he had to impart; in his eyes he had good reason to hate me. He believed that I had killed his daughter, Lily. She had fallen while on a hiking trip in Scotland and all Munroe had was a photograph that she’d instinctively clicked as she’d gone over the edge which showed a small section of someone’s sleeve but the image was so blurred it was impossible to pick out any distinguishing features.

Despite all his efforts Munroe had been unable to prove my involvement and instead had me convicted for the murder of Dr Metcalfe’s fiancée, Melissa Hartnell. It was true I’d deliberately befriended her and had enjoyed myself creating a sense of distrust between her and Dr Metcalfe aiming to ruin their relationship but to convict me of killing her had been a complete fabrication based on purely circumstantial evidence as the irony was I really hadn’t killed her.

Seeing him again after so long was a welcome break from the monotony of St Joseph’s; I’d run rings around him in the past yet I had to acknowledge he’d won the last confrontation; after all, I was back in St Joseph’s and that was a major problem.

It was a couple of months later that Inspector Munroe turned up again. By now I was out of the high security wing having been correct in my assessment that Dr Chang considered me no longer a risk.

They’d allowed me to keep Alberto as my main carer; the nurse who’d held that position on my previous stay, Betty Fletcher apparently refusing to have anything more to do with me; understandable I suppose, I’d always thought she had a soft spot for Dr Metcalfe. The current situation suited me fine, Alberto was far more malleable and definitely better looking.

Once again in room 1-4-5 I observed Munroe with amusement; he seemed to be torn between a sadistic pleasure at the news he was about to impart and an opposing desire not to have anything to do with me.

‘Miss Theakston, I’m afraid I have to be the bearer of more upsetting news,’ he paused, obviously relishing the moment, ‘your father, or rather, Mr Theakston …’

‘You may continue to refer to him as my father, Inspector, after all he and I both believed he was for over thirty years. It seems churlish to deny him that title now.’

Munroe shrugged, ‘Very well, as you wish. I’m sorry to have to tell you that your father hung himself whilst in prison awaiting trial.’

I didn’t react to Munroe’s news although I did feel a slight disappointment in my father; to give up so soon seemed like a betrayal of self. ‘Is that all, Inspector?’

Munroe hesitated, unsettled by my lack of concern. ‘Yes, I suppose it is except that I’m informed by the Australian police that the solicitors dealing with your father’s estate will be in touch with you shortly. They’ve been passed your current address.’

‘I see, I shall wait to hear then.’ I stood giving a beckoning glance to Alberto who moved to open the door but as a parting shot I said to Munroe, ‘I wonder if we will meet again, Inspector.’

Munroe spoke as though the prospect was his worst nightmare. ‘I sincerely hope not, Miss Theakston, I see no reason why our paths should cross in the future.’

I simply smiled and left the room.

Turning to Alberto as we made our way back to the main lounge I asked, ‘Alberto, do you think Dr Chang will let me have Liliad back again now that I’m so greatly improved? Would you ask him please?’

Alberto nodded.

‘Thank you I won’t forget your help.’ I glanced at the lounge clock, ‘Oh good, it’s almost lunchtime.’

Alberto was as good as his word, or in his case his silent nod; Liliad was back! I can’t express what a joyful reunion it was. She was a little grimy from all her months sat on a shelf in the store cupboard but I cleaned her with meticulous care until her black hair gleamed like spilled oil and her eyes sparkled with a renewed mischief.

I was just bringing her up to date with Munroe’s latest revelation when Alberto walked in bearing an airmail letter. Normally any correspondence for inmates would have been opened by the hospital authorities but as Alberto had been present at my meetings with Inspector Munroe and so was aware of the circumstances I’d managed to persuade him that in this instance it would not only be inappropriate for the trustees of St Joseph’s to be made aware of my dealings with the Australian solicitors but such communications should rightly be kept private. Also, coming as it did from a reputable firm of solicitors it was hardly likely to contain anything untoward.

Consequently Alberto made it his business to intercept the mail, picking out an airmail letter an easy task amongst so little correspondence anyway.

I waited until he’d closed the door behind him before opening the envelope. As one would expect the letter was typed on the solicitors’ headed paper and formally written. It was dated a week ago.

“Dear Ms Theakston

THE ESTATE OF JOHN ROBERT THEAKSTON

We are acting on behalf of the estate of the above-named and understand you have been advised by the Endover Police Force, namely by a DCI Munroe of the tragic circumstances of the deaths of both your mother, Brenda Anne Theakston and of the above-named.

Please accept our condolences.

Under the terms of her Will, at the time of your mother’s death her estate passed in its entirety to Mr Theakston with the proviso that should he predecease her, her estate would pass to the Sydney Animal Rescue Centre.

As, in law, a person may not benefit from their crime your mother’s estate bypasses Mr Theakston and settles on the residuary beneficiary, that is, the animal charity.”

What a bitch! I might have guessed that’s what she’d do; she must really have hated me.

“Although Mr Theakston had made a small provision for you in his Will we have to advise that his estate was in considerable debt and we believe that once all his assets have been liquidised and his debts settled only a nominal amount will be left.

We will, of course, keep you advised of progress but in the meantime, we require various documentation and details from you as itemised on the accompanying sheet. We would appreciate your swift response and will keep you updated of progress.

Yours xxxxxx”

I read the letter over twice, once out loud to Liliad. ‘Well, thanks a lot Mother and Father. Bastards to the end!’ I still had a fair amount behind me, enough to support me whilst I carved out a new life for myself outside St Joseph’s because ‘outside’ is where I intended to be and I wasn’t going to wait much longer.

Sitting with Liliad on my lap I looked hard into her eyes. ‘We need to think this through carefully, Liliad; we really do.’

‘Where do you think your parents will be buried?’

Alberto’s question caught me by surprise, coming as it did during one of our illicit written English lessons.

‘Why? Are you hoping for a trip to Australia?’

Alberto grinned completely transforming his features, his teeth a dazzling white against the blackness of his skin, even and of regular size; he’d be perfect for a toothpaste advertisement. ‘In your dreams, Annalee; in your dreams.’

I couldn’t believe the thought hadn’t occurred to me before as what happened to my parents remains was of little interest but maybe that was a mistake; how they were disposed of could prove useful. I brought our lesson to an abrupt close and once Alberto had gone began to plan.

I arranged a meeting with Dr Chang.

‘Thank you for seeing me at such short notice, Dr Chang.’

Dr Chang nodded, sat back in his chair with an air of patient authority, placed his hands up towards his face, finger tips together and waited for me to continue.

‘I expect you’re aware of my sad news.’

He nodded and gave a conciliatory smile. ‘Yes, Annalee I am. I was very sorry; it must be a lot for you to deal with.’

‘Yes, it has been but I think I’m slowly coming to terms with it.’

He said nothing, just waited. I hesitated as if feeling embarrassed and awkward at what I was about to say. ‘Mm, it seems that I will benefit quite substantially from my father’s Will.’

Dr Chang didn’t respond except for an almost inaudible intake of breath indicative of a barely suppressed anticipation of something good to come. I wouldn’t disappoint him.

‘The thing is I’ve realised in recent weeks how lucky I’ve been to be here at St Joseph’s. I mean the care and treatment I’ve received – more than I deserve I think in view of what I did to Dr Metcalfe.’ I lowered my eyes and allowed a slight break in my voice. ‘I’m truly sorry for that; I still don’t really understand what happened, why I did it.’

Dr Chang gave a knowing smile. ‘Accepting what you did was wrong is a huge step forward, content yourself with that for now.’

I gave Dr Chang a tearful nod of gratitude. ‘Anyway as I said I’m going to come into some money once the solicitors have settled my father’s estate and I’d like to make a gift to St Joseph’s.’ I hesitated as if a new thought had only just occurred to me. ‘Or maybe a particular line of research, whatever you think best.’

Dr Chang squirmed slightly on his chair, excitement at the prospect of extra funding overriding any fear that he’d be accused of taking advantage of a vulnerable patient. ‘Well, that would be very generous, Annalee. I’m sure if I have a word with the trustees we can agree on a suitable use for any bequest. Mm, about how much were you thinking?’

I knew it, it was so easy, I could almost see the pound signs in his eyes. ‘Oh, I can’t really say until I know exactly what my inheritance is but it’ll be a worthwhile sum, I’m sure.’

Dr Chang’s smile was benevolence itself.

‘I wonder if you could help me with something else, Dr Chang.’

‘If I can.’

I laid my hands in my lap like a contrite, obedient schoolgirl. ‘It’s my parents’ funerals. I’ve been in touch with the Australian solicitors and they tell me that neither of them made any stipulations in their Wills for how they wanted their remains dealt with. I realise, of course, that I wouldn’t be allowed to travel to Australia to attend but I wondered, if I had their bodies brought back, do you think I’d be allowed to attend their funeral here? I’d expect to be supervised, have Alberto with me of course.’

I looked Dr Chang directly in the eyes, mine wide and pleading. ‘I really need closure, Dr Chang; I need to be at their funeral otherwise it all seems so unreal.’ Large tears formed in my eyes that I allowed to run down my cheeks unheeded. ‘Please, Dr Chang, will you make the trustees understand?’

He hesitated only briefly. ‘It seems a perfectly reasonable request in the circumstances and I see no valid reason why St Joseph’s cannot accommodate it, you are greatly improved and your risk category is now considered low. I’ll put it before the Board next week and let you know their decision although I don’t anticipate any objections.’

Sniffling loudly I wiped my hand over my cheek dispelling the salt tears. ‘Thank you, Dr Chang; thank you so much.’