was delusional? What am I saying? She’s probably in there because she’s delusional.’
‘She pleaded guilty and was sentenced,’ said Nightingale. ‘They’re not interested in finding out whether or not she’s guilty; they just want to cure her if they can.’
‘And what are you saying? That she didn’t do it but somehow thinks she did?’
‘I want to try to get her to remember,’ said Nightingale.
‘And just how are you going to do that?’
‘I was hoping that your friend Barbara might help.’
‘Hypnotic regression? Is that what you’re thinking of trying?’
‘It might work. And, even if it doesn’t, Barbara would get one hell of a paper out of it.’
‘It won’t be any good as evidence,’ said Jenny.
‘It’s not about evidence. It’s about me knowing whether or not she did it. Can you be a sweetie and text me her number?’
‘You’re going to call her today? Boxing Day?’
‘Strike while the iron’s hot, that’s my motto.’
‘No, your motto is that everyone has to stop whatever they’re doing when Jack Nightingale needs something. Just try to show her some consideration, Jack.’
Nightingale ended the call and went over to his sitting-room window. He stared down at the street below. Three questions. Three killers. One had already tried and he didn’t know when the other two would attack, or where, or who they would be. Nightingale wasn’t fearful; he’d been threatened many times while he was a police officer. But he was apprehensive and he didn’t like having to keep looking over his shoulder.
He took out his pack of Marlboro and lit a cigarette. A young black couple walked down Inverness Terrace, arm in arm. They stopped and kissed under his window and Nightingale turned away, not wanting to intrude on their romance. His mobile beeped and he looked at the screen. He jumped when he saw the message:
YOUR SISTER IS GOING TO HELL,JACK NIGHTINGALE.
The phone slipped from his fingers and fell to the carpet, then bounced under the coffee table. Nightingale cursed and got down on his knees to retrieve it. He sat back on his heels and checked the screen. It was Barbara’s phone number, and a smiley face.
70
N ightingale phoned Rampton Secure Hospital first thing on Monday morning and spoke to Dr Keller, who was surprisingly amenable to Barbara visiting Nightingale’s sister.
‘Barbara McEvoy? I’ve read some of her work,’ the doctor said. ‘How do you know her?’
‘Friend of a friend,’ said Nightingale. ‘I told her about Robyn and she said she’d be interested in meeting her. I think she thought there might be a paper in it for one of the scientific journals.’
‘I’ve been thinking of using some sort of hypnotherapy myself, but frankly it’s not my field and there isn’t enough money in my budget to bring anyone in.’
‘Dr McEvoy said she’d do it pro bono,’ said Nightingale. He was bending the truth because he hadn’t discussed a fee with Barbara, but it sealed the deal and Dr Keller said they could visit anytime on Tuesday.
They arrived at the hospital just after eleven o’clock in the morning. ‘It’s an imposing building, isn’t it?’ said Barbara, as she parked her VW. She’d made it a condition of going that they went in her car not his. ‘The Victorians really knew how to do public buildings, didn’t they?’
‘It gives me the willies,’ said Nightingale. ‘Same with prisons. I always have this nagging fear that they’re not going to let me out.’
‘Sounds like a guilty conscience,’ said Barbara, getting out of the car.
‘I think it’s more an irrational fear,’ said Nightingale. He flipped up the collar of his raincoat as a few flecks of snow landed on his shoulders.
‘Like the way you don’t like lifts?’
‘Jenny told you, huh?’
‘We could talk about it some time,’ said Barbara. ‘Nail down if it’s the heights or the enclosed spaces that are worrying you.’
‘It’s neither. It’s lifts,’ said Nightingale.
‘Safest form of transport on the planet,’ said Barbara.
‘That’s only because of the elevator conspiracy.’
Barbara wagged her finger at him. ‘I’d be very careful about talking like that when we’re inside,’ she said. ‘Just in case.’
Dr Keller was waiting to meet them when they walked out of the holding area. He smiled broadly as he shook hands with Barbara. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you, Dr McEvoy,’ he said. He had taken off his white coat and was wearing a tweed jacket with scuffed leather patches on the elbows and a green and black checked flannel shirt with a brown knitted tie.
‘Barbara, please,’ she said.
Dr Keller shook hands so energetically that his spectacles slid down his nose. He pushed them back up and shook hands with Nightingale. ‘You’ve heard about what happened to Robyn’s parents?’
Nightingale feigned ignorance and shook his head.
‘The father drowned his wife in the bath and then cut his own throat. Horrible business.’
‘Robyn’s been told, has she?’
Dr Keller nodded. ‘The police were here last week.’
‘How did she take it?’
‘It’s hard to tell with Robyn. She’s very good at disguising her emotions, those emotions that she has.’
‘Did the police say anything, about what had happened?’ asked Nightingale.
‘Just that it was a murder-suicide and that Robyn had to be informed. They asked me if I’d do it.’
‘And she was okay?’
‘She seemed to be, yes. You have to remember that after she was arrested her parents cut off all contact. She was dead to them and I think it was reciprocated.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Anyway, to the matter in hand.’ He smiled ingratiatingly at Barbara. ‘I wasn’t sure where you’d want to do it,’ he said.
‘Somewhere quiet, preferably,’ said Barbara. ‘And it’s generally best if the subject can lie down.’
‘A sofa?’
‘A sofa would be perfect,’ said Barbara.
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Dr Keller. ‘I don’t have a sofa in my office but I’ve arranged to borrow a colleague’s.’
He took them along a corridor and up a flight of stairs to another corridor. The office was halfway down. Dr Keller knocked on the door and opened it, then had a quick look to make sure that it was empty before ushering them in. The office was lined with books and files and there was a coffee table piled high with psychiatric journals. The window was covered with thick wire mesh and barred, and underneath it was a red three-seater sofa.
Dr Keller looked at his watch. ‘It’s a bank holiday and Dr Muller is away today so you can use her office as long as you want,’ he said. ‘How long do you think it will take?’
‘Two hours is generally long enough for a session,’ said Barbara, putting her briefcase on the coffee table. She opened it and took out a small digital recorder.
Dr Keller took her coat and hung it on the back of the door. He had a small transceiver clipped to his belt and he used it to tell the hospital’s control centre that they were to send Robyn Reynolds to Dr Muller’s office. Five minutes later there was the crackle of a radio in the corridor followed by a knock at the door. Dr Keller opened it. Robyn was there, flanked by two uniformed guards, both female. She was wearing the same grey polo-neck sweater and red Converse tennis shoes as the last time Nightingale had seen her, with baggy blue jeans.
She smiled at Nightingale. ‘Can’t keep away, can you?’ she said.
Nightingale wasn’t sure how to greet her. A handshake seemed too formal and he didn’t know her well enough to hug her. She seemed to have the same problem. She took a step towards him and then smiled awkwardly and shrugged.
