Читать книгу The Ben Hope Collection - Scott Mariani, Scott Mariani - Страница 47

The Institut Legrand, near Limoux, southern France Three months earlier

‘Oh shit–look, Jules, he’s done it again!’

Klaus Rheinfeld’s padded cell was covered in blood. As the two male psychiatric nurses entered the small, cube-shaped room, its occupant looked up from his handiwork like a child caught in the act of some forbidden game. His wizened face crinkled into a grin, and they saw that he’d knocked out two more teeth. He’d torn open his pyjama top and used the jagged teeth to reopen the strange wound pattern on his chest.

‘Looks like time to increase your dose again,’ muttered the male nurse in charge as Rheinfeld was led out of the cell. ‘Better get the cleaners in here,’ he said to his assistant. ‘Take him to the clinic, give him a shot of diazepam and put him into some clean clothes. Make sure his nails are cut really short, too. He’s got a visitor coming in a couple of hours.’

‘That Italian woman again?’

Rheinfeld’s ears pricked up at the mention of his visitor. ‘Anna!’ he sang. ‘Anna…like Anna. Anna is my friend.’ He spat at the nurses. ‘Hate you’

Two hours later a much more subdued Klaus Rheinfeld sat in the secure visiting room at the Institut Legrand. It was the room they used for more borderline-risk patients who were allowed to see outside guests from time to time but not trusted to be left alone with them. One plain table, two chairs, bolted to the floor, a male nurse either side of him and a third standing by with a loaded syringe, just in case. Through a two-way mirror on the wall, Dr. Legrand, head of the Institut, was watching.

Rheinfeld was wearing a fresh pair of pyjamas and a clean gown to replace the ones he’d bloodied earlier. The new gap in his teeth had been cleaned up. His improved mood was due partly to the psychotropic drugs they’d pumped into him, and partly due to the strange calming effect that his new friend and regular visitor, Anna Manzini, had on him. Clasped in his hands was his prize possession, his notebook.

Anna Manzini was shown in by a male nurse, and the stark, sterile atmosphere of the visiting room became filled with her airy presence and perfume. Rheinfeld’s face lit up with happiness at the sight of her.

‘Hello, Klaus.’ She smiled and sat opposite him at the bare table. ‘And how are you today?’

The male nurses were always amazed at the way this normally difficult and agitated patient would settle down with the attractive, warm Italian woman. She had a way about her, so gentle and calm, never stressing or placing demands on him. For long periods he wouldn’t say a word, just sitting there rocking gently in his chair with his eyes half shut in relaxation and one long, bony hand resting on her arm. At first the nurses had been unhappy about this physical contact, but Anna had asked them to allow it and they’d accepted that it did no harm.

When he did speak, for much of the time Rheinfeld kept muttering the same things over and over-phrases in garbled Latin and jumbled letters and numbers, obsessively counting his fingers in jerky movements as he did so.

Sometimes, with a little gentle prompting, Anna could get him to speak more coherently about his interests. In a low voice he would talk about things the nurses couldn’t begin to understand. After a while his conversation would often fade back into an unintelligible mumble and then die away al together. Anna would just smile and let him sit there quietly. These were his most peaceful times, and the nurses considered them a useful part of his treatment programme.

This fifth visit was no different from the others. Rheinfeld sat serenely clasping Anna’s hand and his notebook and running through the same number sequence in his low, cracked voice, talking in his own weird language. ‘N-6; E-4; I-26; A-11; E-15.’

‘What are you trying to tell us, Klaus?’ Anna asked patiently.

Dr. Legrand stood watching the scene from behind the two-way mirror with a frown on his face. He checked his watch and then strode into the visiting-room through a connecting door. ‘Anna, how wonderful to see you,’ he said, beaming. He turned to the nurses. ‘I think that will do for today. We don’t want to tire the patient.’

At the sight of Legrand, Rheinfeld screamed and covered his head with his skinny arms. He fell off his chair, and as Anna was getting up to leave he clawed his emaciated body across the floor and clutched at her ankles, protesting loudly. The nurses dragged him away from her, and she watched sadly as they bundled him through a door back towards his room.

‘Why is he so afraid of you, Edouard?’ she asked Legrand when they were back out in the corridor.

‘I don’t know, Anna.’ Legrand smiled. ‘We have no idea about Klaus’s past. His reaction to me may be the residue of some traumatic event. It’s possible I remind him unconsciously of someone who has hurt him–perhaps an abusive father or some other relative. It’s quite a common phenomenon.’

She shook her head sadly. ‘I see. That would explain it.’

‘Anna, I was thinking…if you’re free tonight, how about dinner? I know a little fish restaurant on the coast. The sea bass is just to die for. I could pick you up around seven?’ He caressed her arm.

She pulled back from his touch. ‘Please, Edouard. I told you I wasn’t ready…Let’s leave dinner for another time.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, withdrawing his hand. ‘I understand. Please forgive me.’

Legrand watched from his window as Anna left the building and climbed into her Alfa Romeo. That was the third time she’d knocked him back, he thought. What was wrong with him? Other women didn’t react this way. She didn’t seem to want him to touch her. She continually gave him the cold shoulder, and yet she seemed to have no problem letting that Rheinfeld hold her hand for hours on end.

He turned away from the window and picked up the phone. ‘Paulette, can you check and tell me if Dr. Delavigne is scheduled for today’s treatment assessment with one of the patients?…Klaus Rheinfeld…He is?…OK, can you call him and let him know that I’ll take over from him…That’s right…Thanks, Paulette.’

Rheinfeld was back in his padded cell, singing to himself contentedly and thinking of Anna, when he heard the rattle of keys from outside in the corridor and his door swung open.

‘Leave me alone with him,’ said a voice that he recognized. Rheinfeld cowered, his eyes bulging with fear, as Dr. Legrand walked into his cell and quietly shut the door behind him.

Legrand approached, and Rheinfeld backed away as far as he could into the corner. The psychiatrist towered over him, smiling. ‘Hello, Klaus,’ he said in a soft voice.

Then he drew back his foot and kicked Rheinfeld in the stomach. Rheinfeld doubled up helplessly in pain, winded and gasping.

Legrand kicked him again, and again. As the blows kept coming, Klaus Rheinfeld could do no more than weep and wish he was dead.