My Bloody Valentine (Alastair Gunn) (41 page)

Read My Bloody Valentine (Alastair Gunn) Online

Authors: Alastair Gunn

‘Really?’ She produced a photograph of Wells from her bag and slid it across the desk. ‘He remembers you.’

‘Hmm.’ He studied the picture. ‘I don’t know him, but it’s possible he was a client. Generally, my patients arrive at pivotal times in their lives, which often means they come to regard me as more of a friend than a professional acquaintance. An awkward side effect of my work, I’m afraid. I’ll check my records. Why do you ask?’

‘We arrested him last night,’ Hawkins said evenly, ‘for murdering three people.’ She laid down more photos, pointing to each one in turn. ‘Rosa Calano, Samantha Philips, Matthew Hayes.’

‘That’s tragic.’ Reid’s tone remained typically calm. ‘I hope you aren’t suggesting my failure to rehabilitate an alleged client makes me accountable for his or her future conduct.’

‘Not exactly.’ She waved a hand at the new pictures. ‘How many of these people do you recognize?’

The counsellor returned her gaze for a second before looking down at them.

‘Samantha.’ He placed a finger on Philips’ image. ‘You know very well that I carried out her pre-release assessment a few weeks ago.’

‘How about the others?’

Reid sighed. ‘Again, it isn’t beyond the realms of possibility. As you’re aware, I conduct similar sessions for a dozen correctional facilities – hundreds of cases a year. Call it professional detachment, but I don’t commit every harrowing interaction to memory, Detective. Do you?’

She ignored him. ‘Actually, we checked with the centres in question. Matthew Hayes’ assessment was carried out by a Richard Ellison, while Rosa Calano saw a consultant called Jameson Mane.’

The counsellor frowned. ‘Surely that answers your question.’

‘I thought so, too.’ She looked at Maguire, who added a copy of Matthew Hayes’ letter to the growing pile on Reid’s desk. ‘Until we realized they all wanted to die. Although, for whatever reason, they were unwilling or unable to end their lives themselves. So they contacted Marlon Wells, who was prepared to help out. Obviously, you can’t advertise a service like that, which means somebody put them in touch. He says that was you.’

Their subject straightened. ‘That’s quite an allegation.’

‘Yes, it is. But I also find it hard to believe the victims would have taken up such a virulent offer without encouragement, especially when you had both the
opportunity and the expertise to recognize their suicidal tendencies and steer them off that path.’ She watched the counsellor’s eyes narrow. ‘Which is why I think you played an active part in convincing them that they wanted to die.’

Reid gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘Are you suggesting I’m in league with these other counsellors?’

‘Not at all.’ Hawkins made her final play. ‘The signature logs may show three different therapists, but there had to be a link somewhere, so I had the CCTV footage checked; it’s amazing how much storage these modern systems have, isn’t it? Oddly, the three counsellors share a strikingly similar appearance – yours, in fact. So, no, I’m not suggesting you’re in league with Ellison and Mane, I’m suggesting you
are
Ellison and Mane.’

She stopped, watching his face. The truth was that since Wells’ revelation about Reid earlier in the day they’d only been able to obtain footage of Matthew Hayes’ visitor, showing the man who signed in as Richard Ellison at a distance from behind. His build and hair matched Reid’s, but it was hardly conclusive. For now, the rest was conjecture.

Reid said nothing, so she pressed harder. ‘You must have planned it in advance; otherwise, you wouldn’t have used a false name the first time, for Calano’s assessment.’

She let the claim hang, radiating confidence, holding her breath. The counsellor stared through her and
Maguire for a few seconds, as if deciding whether to drag his heels or come clean. If he chose to fight, they’d have to rely on the testimony of Wells – someone with a clear incentive to transfer as much blame as possible on to others, guilty or not – plus any more evidence they could find between now and an eventual trial. Even if it came down to statements from prison staff, it should be possible to prove that Reid had seen all three victims pre-release, but she was willing to bet there were no transcripts or recordings of the sessions, and none of the subjects would be much good as witnesses now. They had the letters, of course, but there was no proof that Reid had told the victims where to send them. The air seemed to thicken as time passed.

At last the counsellor moved, taking off his glasses and placing them gently on the desk. He rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger for a long moment. Then he looked up at his visitors, taking a deep breath that came out in a protracted sigh.

‘Fine,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re right.’

Hawkins blinked.
Was that a confession?

She shook her head. ‘Why?’

Reid’s gaze dropped, and there was another pause as he appeared to order his thoughts. Eventually, he spoke, with the decorous air of a man resigned to his fate, but also of someone justifying his faith, in a soft, almost poetic tone.

‘All parties consented, Detective. Malice was never involved. Grief and remorse are a potent blend; they
override logic and cause, but they don’t always lead to recklessness. Sometimes they provide clarity where, previously, hope was lost. Those people were already dead; they merely lacked the strength to complete the physical transition. But if somebody craves release, ultimately, they will find a way. Marlon and I simply offered painless means.’

Hawkins nodded, remembering the events of the previous night: Amanda Cain running into the traffic, twisting through the air, hitting the ground. An ambulance had arrived within minutes, but the paramedic’s doleful headshake told everyone that was that.

They will find a way.

She stowed the thought. ‘You’re suggesting that Wells played a part in organizing all of this?’

The counsellor paused, looking towards the window and the drab Southwark skyline beyond. Hawkins waited, picturing the ex-soldier in his cell at Lavender Hill: sullen, withdrawn. After giving them Reid’s name, he’d clammed up, apparently overwhelmed by his own actions since having been offered a renewed glimpse of sanity. Ironically, he seemed more shocked than anyone about what he’d done to his victims, and what he’d almost done to Amanda Cain. But it was the doctor’s suicide that appeared to affect him most, as if his failure had forced her down the very path he’d sworn to help her avoid.

Reid sighed. ‘It was Marlon’s idea.’

‘So let’s get this straight.’ Hawkins felt the anger rise.
‘A war veteran comes in with post-traumatic stress, seeking professional help. He tells you he wants to rectify a personal tragedy by killing the depressed, and your way of helping is to provide a list of
nominees
?’

He glared at her, and when he spoke it was with an edge in his voice. ‘Oh, come on, Detective, it’s little more than euthanasia.’

‘Bullshit. You exploited them. What was it: boredom? You’re sick of appeasing the deranged?’

‘
Deranged?
’ Reid stood suddenly, making Maguire straighten. ‘Don’t give me that conformist nonsense, Detective. I know you see these people in your line of work, individuals so damaged by the world’s brutality that they become totally unable to deal with everyday life. Some resort to crime, hurting others to redress the balance for themselves, but there are also those who just want a way out. Legal fights are in progress all over the world to allow the sick to decide when enough’s enough.’ His voice continued rising. ‘No one should have to endure the torture of unwanted life. Locked-in syndrome, paralysis, disease – these things are tangible, so it’s easy to argue about whether it’s right to let the sufferer die if they like. But I deal with the unseen trauma caused by mental distress, invisible purgatory borne by more people than most of us like to admit. Where are
their
rights? How do
they
find release? And what if they don’t have the will to take their own lives? Where do they go? Marlon was a hero to them, and he was proud to be.’

‘You’re wrong.’ Hawkins shook her head. ‘Marlon’s curled up in one of our cells, distraught. He thought he was doing the right thing till last night, when he watched Amanda Cain kill herself because you convinced her she was beyond reprieve. Marlon never would have chosen to kill others suffering like himself if you hadn’t told him it was justified. But now he recognizes the truth: that you masterminded the whole thing, using him to keep the blood off your suit.’

Reid held her stare for a moment. Then he sat, crossing his arms, visibly calming himself. ‘Not at all. Marlon saw it as penance: a way to compensate for the wretched event that won’t let him be. He understands the agonizing paradox of survival instinct and death wish caused by inadvertently taking innocent life. All he wants is to atone for his mistake, and I’ve treated countless patients over the years who would gladly have accepted his offer. So, yes, I played my part, but the so-called victims did, too. They wrote the letters, left their homes alone after dark.
They
gave him the opportunity to strike.’

Hawkins fought to keep her voice steady. ‘Yes, they did, but
you
led them to it. You were their last hope, a trusted practitioner with a duty of care. But instead you nurtured their misery, validated their distress and then offered them an easy way out.’

‘No, Detective,’ Reid hissed. ‘I offered
mercy
, that’s all. Most of my clients aren’t hopeless; I rehabilitate where I can. But there are those beyond redemption, even in their own eyes. Can you
begin
to imagine what
it’s like, stalling at the final threshold, beaten by weakness, being forced to live on in pain?’

‘The problem,’ Hawkins said, signalling for the constables to cuff him, ‘is that you conducted it all. You steered Wells to murder when you could have turned him away. You fuelled the victims’ desperation, and then you put them in touch.
You
made the critical decisions – judgements that were never yours to make.’

Reid started to say something else, but Hawkins had heard enough. She turned away as the two uniforms pulled the counsellor upright and marched him towards the door. He was already protesting about being seen by his patients, but the officers’ expressions said they felt no more sympathetic about that than Hawkins did. It was only as he disappeared through the door that she allowed herself to wonder what Steve Tanner was doing at that moment, having been forced to release his prized suspect, following Wells’ categorical statement that no one else except Reid was involved.

She turned to Mike. ‘Is there some sort of lesson here about life being too short to let your future be controlled by your past?’

A wry smile skirted his lips. ‘Isn’t there always?’

‘Then let’s get home and have that talk with my dad.’ She leaned in for a kiss. ‘I think it’s about time he moved out.’

Acknowledgements

As somebody still overwhelmed to be writing the acknowledgements for his second published title, I must thank the following people. Eternal gratitude to Rowland White and his team at Penguin, and to my agents, Caroline and Joanna at Hardman & Swainson, for working collectively behind the scenes to make this incredible experience a reality. Heartfelt thanks also to my family, friends and colleagues for their continued encouragement, feedback and support. And, of course, to Anna, who still amazes me every day with her insight and strength. Writing a novel requires an innate compulsion to commit thought to page, but every writer needs a reason to do what they do, and you are my reason. Here’s to the next story.