Evil Games

  ‘If what you say is right, what do you think she’s capable of?’

  ‘From what I’ve learned, she’s capable of anything she puts her mind to. My only problem is that I have no idea how to stop her.’

  Disappointment flowed through her. She would never be able to prove this woman’s involvement in the death of Allan Harris, never mind expose any other crimes she may have been a party to.

  It was time for her to leave, but she had one question left to ask. ‘David, I can’t help wondering why you’ve been sitting beside that bike for fifteen minutes now and you haven’t touched a thing. Anything I can do?’

  He shook his head dismissively. ‘Umm … no offence but the mechanical characteristics of a speedway motorbike are a little out of …’

  ‘Oh, is that because they have only one gear and no brakes?’

  His tone grated on her nerves. Uncharacteristically, she’d been trying to be helpful. Now she had his attention.

  ‘Or is it because the use of methanol as a fuel allows for increased compression ratio to the engine, producing more power than other fuels, giving higher speeds when cornering? Or …’

  ‘Will you marry me?’ David asked.

  ‘Now do you want to tell me what the problem is?’

  ‘She’s just not starting. I normally turn her over every couple of months but this time she’s not having any of it.’

  Kim thought for a moment. ‘Could be the starter motor shorting out. Before spending money on new parts, try running an earthing strip from the starter motor casing to the frame.’

  ‘You have no idea just how aroused I am right now.’

  Kim laughed out loud but was prevented from replying by the presence of Dougie standing beside her. Very gently, he reached down and touched her left hand.

  ‘Dougie …’ David warned, meeting her questioning eyes. ‘He never touches people.’

  Him and me both, Kim thought.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said. His skin was cool and soft. He slipped his large hand inside her much smaller one and still didn’t look at her.

  A single tear had rolled down his cheek. Kim looked to David for guidance. He shrugged, clearly unsure of this changed behaviour.

  Dougie’s grip was firm as he tugged at her hand. Kim detected no malice or danger, just a gentle sadness.

  She spoke quietly. ‘Do you want me to come with you, Dougie?’

  He nodded while still looking up and to the left.

  Kim stood and let him guide her through the kitchen and hallway. His grip on her hand was firm but not threatening. David frowned but followed.

  ‘Dougie, what are you doing?’ David asked, as the three of them mounted the stairs to the first floor.

  He didn’t answer but continued to move forward purposefully. He turned the door handle to his room and pushed the door open.

  ‘Dougie, you know that ladies aren’t allowed into the rooms.’

  Dougie loosed her hand as she stepped inside. His room was similar to that of a twelve-year-old. Posters of fast cars were pinned to the wall at the exact same height around the room. His bed was a three-quarter, covered with a racing car quilt. One shelf was full of Top Gear DVDs. A framed photo of one of the presenters sat on his bedside cabinet. Kim turned to David who shrugged.

  ‘He loves Jeremy Clarkson, what can I say?’

  The shelf beneath the DVDs housed a collection of exercise books. Some were inexpensive flimsy books found in stationery stores and others were ring binders with colourful patterns on the front.

  ‘He loves writing books. The cheap ones are from me and the others are presents. He doesn’t use them, he just likes having them.’

  Dougie stamped his foot twice at David’s words, obviously displeased. Kim saw a pencil tucked behind the photo frame.

  ‘Are you sure he doesn’t use them?’

  David looked as puzzled as she felt. She turned to the gangly male beside her. ‘Dougie, is there something you’d like to show me?’

  Dougie counted along the exercise books and took out the third from the left. He didn’t look at the pages but counted to the seventh page and opened it, then passed it to her.

  The writing inside was painfully small. Her eyesight was 20/20 but she had to squint to make out some of the words. It was written in script form with a name and then speech marks.

  She looked to the book and back up at Dougie. Goosebumps rose from her skin.

  ‘Dougie, do you have eidetic memory?’

  Dougie offered no response.

  David was as confused as she. ‘What the …’

  She took another look.

  ‘David, you thought Dougie was lovesick. You thought he was following Alex around because he liked her, but he was recording her every word.’ She tapped her head. ‘In here.’

  She leafed through the book. The pages were filled with writing.

  She looked back to him, open-mouthed. ‘This incredible, gifted young man knew what she was before anyone else.’

  Kim stepped forward and touched his cheek, gently. He did not pull away

  Relief and gratitude flooded her body. ‘Thank you for showing me your work.’

  Kim read a paragraph in the book, feeling her anger rise as she did.

  * * *

  IT’S BECAUSE YOU ARE A WASTE OF MY TIME. YOU ARE SO DAMAGED THAT YOU WILL NEVER LEAD A REMOTELY NORMAL LIFE. THERE IS NO HOPE FOR YOU. THE NIGHTMARES WILL NEVER GO AWAY AND EVERY BALDING MIDDLE AGED MALE WILL BE YOUR UNCLE. YOU WILL NEVER BE FREE FROM HIM OR WHAT HE DID TO YOU. NO ONE WILL EVER LOVE YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE CONTAMINATED AND THE TORMENT YOU GO THROUGH WILL BE WITH YOU FOREVER

  She lifted her eyes from the page. ‘David, who the hell is Shane?’

  FIFTY-NINE

  The property was two large houses converted to four one-bedroom flats. Nameplates and a bell were mounted in the doorway.

  ‘Come on, Charlie,’ Dawson moaned. ‘It’s bloody cold out here.’

  ‘Keep yer knickers on, Kev,’ Stacey said.

  She pressed one of the other buttons. ‘Hello, is that Mrs Preece? Could you buzz to open the door. It’s the police and we’re here …’

  Stacey stopped talking when the line cut off. She waited for the buzz of the lock being released. It didn’t sound.

  Dawson nudged her out of the way.

  He pressed another button. ‘Mr Hawkins, I have a delivery from Amazon.’

  The buzzer sounded.

  Stacey followed him in. ‘How the hell …’

  ‘Everybody orders stuff from Amazon.’

  He turned left and knocked on the door. No answer. Dawson knocked again.

  ‘This guy is starting to seriously piss me off now. He won’t like the interview if he makes me angry.’

  ‘What yer gonna do, waterboard him?’

  Dawson chuckled. ‘Stace, that was almost funny.’

  ‘I don’t like this, Kev,’ she said, leaning down. She looked through the letter box. The jacket and shoes Cook had been wearing a couple of nights before were within her view in the hallway.

  ‘He’s in there but it’s silent. It don’t feel right.’

  They knocked together and shouted.

  ‘For once, Stace, I agree with you. I think we need to get in.’

  ‘Should we call the fire service?’ Stacey asked.

  ‘No, we’ll use the equipment instead.’

  Dawson raised the extinguisher and aimed it towards the lock.

  ‘Have you got my package?’ said an elderly voice from the stairs.

  ‘Postman said he’d got the wrong address,’ Dawson shouted back.

  He hit the door hard with the extinguisher. It burst open on impact. Stacey couldn’t help but be impressed.

  ‘Hey, what are you doing down there?’

  ‘We’re the police,’ Stacey shouted back as Dawson called for Charlie.

  ‘Do you have my package?’

  ‘No, we’re the police,’ Stacey repeated but louder, following Dawson inside.

&nbs
p; ‘Awww … shit,’ Dawson said, standing in the doorway.

  Stacey came to rest beside him. Her mind echoed his words verbatim.

  The grossly overweight man lay sprawled on the bed, face down. He wore light blue boxers and a covering of hair. His right leg dangled off the side of the bed. Aspirin packets sat next to a glass of water.

  Stacey sprang into action. She touched the side of his neck. She didn’t remove her fingers until she was sure.

  ‘Call an ambulance, Kev. He’s still alive. Tell them unconscious but breathing.’

  Dawson took out his phone and began to call it through. Stacey grabbed the boxes and started to count.

  Dawson was reciting the address and the state of the patient.

  ‘I make it about twenty-five tablets,’ she said.

  Dawson repeated the dose to the dispatcher before ending the call.

  They stood and looked at each other.

  ‘Shouldn’t we be doing something?’ Stacey asked.

  Dawson looked around. ‘You could make him a cuppa but I don’t think he’ll drink it.’

  Stacey offered him a filthy look.

  He opened his arms. ‘What do you want me to say? Can’t give him CPR, thank God. He’s still breathing.’

  ‘Jesus, Kev, knock it off. Errr … insensitive.’

  She moved towards the bed and leaned in close to his ear. ‘Charlie, I’m Detective Constable Wood and …’

  ‘Bloody hell, Stace, great thing to tell a man already close to death.’

  Stacey turned and glared at him as Dawson stepped past her to squeeze the man’s bare shoulder. ‘Alright, Charlie. It’s Kev. Everything’s gonna be okay. Help is on the way. They’ll be here any minute but we’re not going to leave until they’re here.’

  Yeah, that was better, Stacey admitted, but only to herself.

  ‘A cry for help?’ she asked Dawson.

  Dawson shook his head and stepped away, lowering his voice.

  ‘Nah, it’s a serious attempt. He meant to die. No bloke wants to be found like that and then live to tell the tale.’

  And at this moment, they didn’t know if he would.

  What exactly was Charlie Cook running from?

  SIXTY

  As she poured the aromatic Colombian Gold, Alex acknowledged that she had planned this session very carefully. Ideally she would have preferred longer to work with Jessica but she was growing impatient for a result. She desperately hoped that Jessica would not be a disappointment to her, like the others.

  This was the biggest play of them all. If she could pull this off it would erase the failures of her other subjects. Kim was still a work in progress but Jessica was in a whole different league.

  If Alex was interested in helping this woman properly she would be endeavouring to explore Jessica’s past, but that was not her priority. She had limited time. Most women with postnatal psychosis had already experienced an episode of serious mental illness.

  Alex was still surprised that the social workers had dismissed it as postnatal depression instead of psychosis even though it only occurred once in every five hundred women. In Jessica, they had found the normal symptoms of depression but hadn’t seen the additional pointers that elevated it into Psychosis.

  Jessica had also been prone to severe disturbance of mood, mania, muddled thoughts, false ideas and hearing voices. The onset of the symptoms had occurred quickly after the birth of the child, all indicating post-natal psychosis; a condition that required round-the-clock supervision by competent adults.

  Such psychosis often resulted in maternal filicide and Alex needed to establish which major motive was responsible for Jessica wanting to harm her child. She had researched well-known cases for each of the possibilities and they were all fixed in her mind, ready.

  She placed the coffee on the table. She really needed to get started.

  ‘I understand that you told the authorities that you rolled over onto Jamie while taking a nap with him beside you. We both know that’s not true but here I want you to talk openly.’

  Jessica looked doubtful.

  ‘Whatever you say here is confidential. I am here to help you and I can only do that with total honesty. The sooner you tell me everything the quicker I can give you the help that you need.’

  Jessica shook her head and stared into the depths of her lap.

  Alex had guessed it would be difficult to persuade the woman to divulge her deepest secrets. No mother would wish for Jessica’s thoughts, never mind the burden of saying them out loud. But Alex needed that honesty. She needed those words.

  ‘Was it anything to do with your husband? Were you angry with him?’

  Alex spoke gently and evenly. ‘Spousal revenge is far more common than people think.’ She paused to search for a memory that was stored at the front of her mind.

  ‘A few years ago a man named Arthur Philip Freeman threw his four-year-old daughter Darcy from the West Gate Bridge in Melbourne during a bitter custody battle. It’s believed he did this purely to make his spouse suffer.’

  Alex thought this motive was unlikely for Jessica, as she had said nothing to demonstrate any hostility between herself and her husband. But there was a method to her madness.

  ‘Were you so angry with your husband that you decided to hurt him by hurting Jamie?’

  Jessica slowly shook her head. Good. There was no defence that the incident was accidental. Her head was still cast downwards but the eyes were no longer staring beyond her lap, instead staring at it.

  She was listening and that was exactly what Alex wanted. Jessica was not yet ready to admit she was wrong. The judgement of society and her family was responsible for the submission that was weighing her down. What Jessica wanted was understanding, acceptance. Permission. And the knowledge that she was not alone.

  ‘May I ask if Jamie was planned?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Jessica answered immediately. Good, she was alert and connected. And finally she had spoken.

  Alex hadn’t seriously thought it was a case of unwanted child filicide but that made no difference to her next move.

  She sat back in her chair and just talked.

  ‘You might not remember but it was all over the news in the mid-nineties. A woman in South Carolina, Susan Smith I think her name was, reported to the police that she’d been carjacked by a black man who had driven away with her two small sons still in the car.

  ‘Nine days of tearful pleas played out on television for the safe return of her children ended when she confessed to letting her car roll into a nearby lake, drowning her children inside. All to keep her wealthy lover.’

  There was no horrified shudder that ran through the body of her patient. Only a slight tip of the head that signalled her attention.

  Good. She had achieved the first of the three stages. Understanding. Jessica needed to feel that she was not alone.

  ‘Honestly, Jessica, the problem is a lot more widespread than people think. You’re not the first person I’ve treated for this condition and you certainly won’t be the last. Your feelings are nothing to be ashamed of. They are part of you and I promise you’ll receive no judgement in this room from me.’

  Finally, Jessica raised her head and they made eye contact. Alex smiled sympathetically and continued.

  ‘I promise I can help you but you have to tell me the truth.’

  There was a slight movement of the head. Excellent, they were moving towards acceptance and Alex was left with two possible motives, altruism or delirium, either of which she could work with. From their earlier conversation, she had no reason to suspect Jessica had been delirious. So that left altruism. And in reaching this conclusion Alex had guided Jessica on a journey through successful acts of matricide and now the woman was listening.

  Alex sat forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

  ‘I think you wanted to protect your child, Jessica.’

  A single tear appeared and travelled over her cheek.

  Oh you fools, Alex thought of the
social workers. If they had known the true extent of her illness the child would more than likely have been removed from her care. But that would not have suited Alex one little bit. Social Services could not have sent her a better gift if the woman had appeared wearing a big, red bow.

  ‘You love Jamie so much you can’t bear the thought of him being hurt. You want to shield him from every bad thing in the world. Am I right?’ Alex asked, softly.

  Jessica slowly began to nod her head.

  ‘He’s so beautiful and perfect and innocent; you can’t bear the thought of him experiencing any pain at all.’

  Jessica nodded, more definite.

  Alex just needed one last vital piece of information before she could move on to the third part of the process. Permission.

  ‘Can you remember when the thoughts began?’

  The tears dried as she gave the question some thought.

  ‘It was the news,’ Jessica offered, mechanically. She’d been prescribed medication which had a dulling effect but, of course, it wasn’t the right medication for her condition. Lithium or electro-shock treatment were the most effective but this was further information that it didn’t suit Alex to share with the authorities.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Not long after I got back from hospital, there was a news report about a bombing in Pakistan. I looked at the pictures and felt frightened of the world I’d brought Jamie into. At first I just tuned into the news programmes now and again, but then I had the twenty-four-hour channels on all day every day. Eventually, I’d be holding Jamie with one hand and checking the news on my phone at the same time. It was like an addiction.’

  ‘What were you looking for?’

  ‘Hope. But the whole world was filled with death and destruction and hatred. I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t seen all this before I became pregnant. How could I have brought him into such a terrible world?’

  Alex nodded her understanding. Jessica’s motive was the most common: altruistic. She genuinely believed her child would be better off dead, for any number of reasons. The condition often manifested because the mother felt that she could not protect the child adequately from threats, whether real or imagined.