Although the hotel was very comfortable Richard couldn't sleep; not just because of the recent events, but because his wife was not at all well. She had changed.
Richard tried to cope with the situation, but it was beyond him; his daughter was dead — and Liz, his wife, his friend, his soul mate, was just lying on the hotel bed repeating the same thing over and over; “Not Stephanie, Richard, it couldn't have been Stephanie. Not Stephanie, Richard…” His wife was in a very bad way and no matter how he tried to console her, the responses were the same; “Not Stephanie, Richard, it couldn't have been Stephanie…”
Richard looked at his watch; it was approaching midnight. He closed his eyes and ran a hand down his face, then reached for the phone.
“John, sorry to disturb you at this time but I could really do with your help,” Richard said to their family doctor and close friend He then proceeded to explain what had happened since they'd arrived home from the trip to Edinburgh.
John Withers was stunned and as soon as he’d replaced the receiver he got dressed and started the two hour drive to the hotel.
There was a knock at the Jameson’s suite’s door and Richard made his way to it, pulling it open with the little energy he had left.
John Withers looked at Richard’s face and almost recoiled; he’d never expected to see his friend in such a bad way, though the circumstances certainly warranted it.
“Richard, you're obviously in shock,” John Withers began in his light Scottish accent, entering the hotel suite. “If you're going to cope with this awful time you really need to get some sleep, and to sleep properly.” John Withers pulled a bottle of sleeping tablets from his case.
“John,” Richard said, raising his palm towards the doctor, “I really don't want to take any sleeping pills.” Richard was not one for taking medication.
“Richard, this is the best way, I can assure you. There's no way you can possibly carry on without sleep. Sleeping will help you cope. And the same goes for Liz.”
“I know,” Richard said, resigned to the fact that he would have to take some chemicals to help him. “Can you have a look at Liz? I'm really worried about her.”
“Richard, calm down. I know it's awful to say, but try to relax. If you're going to get through this, becoming any further stressed is not going to help. It won't help Liz either.” John Withers crossed the room to the bed.
After a cursory examination John Withers walked back over to Richard, who seemed crumpled somehow, sitting in the lounge area of the hotel room.
“Richard,” John said, trying to gain his friends attention and only just succeeding. “Liz is suffering greatly, she’s very bad. She’s not even responding normally to any conversations. She’s in a deep trauma. At this time I would suggest it may be appropriate to take her somewhere where she can be better cared for during this time of crisis. I know this is something you don’t want to hear but it would be for the best.”
“What do you mean precisely John? I'm sorry to appear stupid but I'm having great difficulty thinking at the moment,” Richard replied, strained almost beyond limit.
“It pains me to say this, but I think at this time Liz would be better off at the East London and City Mental Health facility, not far from here.”
“She’s really that bad?” Richard asked, and without waiting for a response he carried on, “No she can’t be. Are you sure you’re right?”
“Richard, of course she is, she's lost her only child, just as you have. I'm truly surprised you're coping as you are.”
Richard's heart sank as his thoughts were taken away from his wife's predicament and focused on the loss of his daughter.
“God. Yes! I don't know what to think about first, Liz, my wife or my poor, poor daughter who has been taken from us.” Richard broke into tears; the immensity of everything that had happened hit him all at once like a sledgehammer blow.
There was nothing John could say. What he could do though was allow Richard to work through his feelings and support him in any capacity required.
“Richard, sit back down for a minute,” the doctor said as Richard attempted to stand. “I'll pour you a Scotch, and if there's anything you want to say you know you can talk to me.”
Richard cleared his eyes with a juvenile sweep of his jacket’s cuff. “Thanks, John, you're a good friend.”
The Scotch burned as it went down, it was not particularly good malt but its effects were calming all the same. After a prolonged silence Richard spoke.
“John, is it possible that Liz can stay here tonight, your medicine seems to be doing the trick. And she's asleep, can I take her to the institution tomorrow?”
“Yes. Of course. She’s resting well now; but when she wakes she’s going to need a hell of a lot of support. And I don’t want to say this, but it’s probably more than you are able to give her at the moment. You know what I’m saying don’t you, Richard?”
Dr Withers, although being a friend, was also trying to assess the depth of Richard’s trauma. But Richard answered appropriately and John Withers was relieved.
“Thanks, John, you're a good friend,” Richard said.
“You know, if I felt otherwise, I would not allow her to stay here don’t you?” John said.
“I know that, John. You're a friend and a professional at the same time,” Richard conceded.
“Okay. I'll organise the transport for tomorrow; so there's nothing you need worry about. Take a couple of these,” John said handing Richard a few sleeping pills, “and I'll see you in the morning around ten o’clock. Okay?”
“Okay. And thanks again, John. I don't know what I would’ve done without you under these circumstances.”
“There is one other thing, Richard,” the doctor added.
“What's that?”
“If I'm going to be able to provide the care your wife obviously needs, she's going to have to agree to it. This is serious enough to require consent.”
“What d'you mean?”
“If she's going to go into the institution she needs to agree that's what happens.”
“Oh, I see,” Richard said as the enormity of the situation dawned upon him. “I’ll explain to her, I’m sure she’ll understand. You’ll have the consent in the morning, and thanks again, you’ve been a great help my friend.”
Richard reached out with his hand and John shook it.
“Think nothing of it.” With those final last words John Withers closed his case, and making sure Richard had swallowed the pills he’d given him, the doctor left the hotel room.
Richard sat in the chair, nursing the remains of his small scotch, gradually relaxing as a blissful unconsciousness prevailed.
Janus awoke with a start and turned over to look at the bedside clock; it was only six in the morning, but he was already wide awake and his thoughts had immediately focused on Mandy.
After returning from the meeting with Greg he was now sure that R.J.P's financial accountant was, at the very most, an unwitting accomplice, if anything.
Janus was getting frustrated and last night had closed off another avenue to discovering what had actually happened to Mandy; his intuition telling him that Greg Smith had been honest in his version of events.
He got out of bed knowing that there was no point in trying to get a few more hours sleep. What could he do now? He supposed there was really only one answer and that was to contact the spirit world once again. Janus turned on his radio and sat down in his chair.
“
My guide
…” before he could finish the thought he was interrupted.
“
Janus, I've been expecting you; pray tell me what you have discovered.
” The interjection startled him, but he was glad of it.
Janus recounted all that had happened since his last contact, finishing; “…
every line of enquiry I take is a dead end. I have not got any further with my investigation. I have not discovered anything new. I feel Mandy's death will not come to anything other than suicide.
”
“
On the contrary my dear, Janus, what you have told me sheds a different light on your initial suppositions. From all that you've said I can deduce the following; Mandy was murdered and this is without a doubt, and the person of whom the focus is, is not your employer.
”
“
If it's not Richard then who is it?
”
“
It’s you, Janus. There is a malcontent that bears you such ill will they will not be satisfied until your life has been completely destroyed, but for you to be made to suffer, your own life will not be jeopardised.
”
Janus had thought this might be so, but now, to be told outright, made him fear for everyone else related to him in some way or another.
“
This person has taken it upon themselves to rid you of all those that have assisted in your rise as a popular author,
” the spirit of Conan Doyle continued.
“
Do you mean Richard is also dead?
” Janus asked, not wanting to hear the answer; but he knew, in his very being, he had to persist if he was going to find out the truth.
“Richard has not passed over, his spirit is not present, but it is obvious that this is by intention.
”
“
What d'you mean?
”
“
Undoubtedly the intention is to demonstrate that you are the perpetrator of these crimes and to this end Richard must live, but one other must
…”
There was a sharp banging on the door to Janus Malik's flat. He opened his eyes and the radio's output returned to static.
“Janus Malik. Open the door. This is the police,” came the call from behind his front door. How the police had got in without buzzing his flat he did not know.
Janus leapt up from his chair; “Okay, okay, I'm coming,” he shouted in utter panic. He opened the door and three police officers walked in.
“Mr Janus Malik?” one of the officers asked.
“Yes,” Janus replied.
“Mr Malik, we are here to take you to the station for questioning, if you do not come willingly we have a warrant for your arrest.”
Janus was stunned. What the hell was going on?
“Officers, I have no idea what this is about but I have no issues with your request. If you'd allow me to get dressed first, I'd appreciate it.” Janus was still in his dressing gown.
“Whilst you change one of us will have to be with you. Is this clear?” the lead officer stated.
“It's more than clear,” Janus said.
“PC Evans, please accompany Mr Malik to his bedroom,” the lead officer commanded.
PC Evans nodded.
Janus went to his bedroom and the police constable followed. Once Janus was ready he was led from his flat and carefully guided into the back seat of the police car.
Once at the police station he was placed in an interview room and instructed to wait; not that he’d had any choice in the matter. Whilst he was waiting he tried to recall what the spirit had been telling him. His memory was in disarray; the shock of the raid had thrown him completely. He recalled snippets of the conversation with the spirit. He was the perpetrator; Richard would live, someone else must… Must what? Janus didn't know.
The door to the interview room opened and a plain clothes officer, he assumed it was an officer, entered.
“Mr Malik, I'm Detective Inspector Davis from Thames Valley police, please remain seated.”
“What's going on? What am I here for?” Janus asked.
“Mr Malik, you're here to help us with our enquiries into the explosion at Wyverny House three days ago.”
“The explosion at Richard Jameson's house?” Janus tried to clarify.
“Exactly. What do you know about it?” Davis persisted.
“Nothing. I only found out about it when some officers came around to tell me.”
“Can you account for your whereabouts between the times of 6.00 a.m. and 8.00 a.m. that morning?”
“I was asleep, in bed, in my flat.”
“Can anyone corroborate that?”
“No,” Janus sighed. “I live alone. Why are you asking me these things?”
“Further analysis of the bodies at the scene…”
“Bodies? What bodies?” Janus said, before the police officer could finish his sentence.
“The bodies of Mr Jameson's daughter and nanny.”
“Oh no. Not Stephanie?” Janus said, slumping in his chair.
“Stephanie Jameson and Natasha Ericsson,” Davis clarified noting Malik's reaction; either the man was an excellent actor or he truly knew nothing of what he’d been told. “You know nothing about this, Mr Malik?”
“Of course I bloody know nothing. Why would I? How could I? And what do you mean by 'further analysis of the bodies'?” Janus was furious at the intimated accusations and how he was being treated.
“The path. lab. has found significant levels of a benzodiazepine in both the victims' bodies. It seems they were tranquilised before the explosion. Do you take or have you ever been prescribed sleeping tablets?”
“No. Never,” Janus responded to the question.
“Mr Malik, we have the authority to retrieve your medical records and it will harm you if we find out you have been lying during the course of this interview.”
“Inspector Davis, I'm not lying,” Janus pleaded. “Since the death of my father the Jameson's have been the closest thing to a family I've ever had.”
“Mr Malik, so far I'm happy with your responses. However if anything else comes to light we will be taking you in for further questioning. If there's anything you haven't mentioned, I would suggest you come clean now; because if you don't it will not look good for you in court,” Davis bluntly outlined the situation as it stood.
“There's nothing, absolutely nothing. Why are you doing this to me?” Janus implored again.
“Mr Malik, I can assure you we are not doing anything to you. We are just following the relevant lines of enquiry,” Inspector Davis answered Janus’s question.
“It doesn’t feel like that,” Janus said. “Can I go now?”
“Yes, you're free to go.” The Detective Inspector stood up and opened the door to the interview room. “The exit is to the left,” he said to Janus, adding, “thank you for your time and cooperation.”
“I didn’t have any choice did I?” Janus almost yelled at his interrogator, his frustration going past boiling point. “You didn’t need to raid my flat; you could’ve just asked me to come in,” Janus finished.
“Unfortunately the evidence we're gathering doesn't warrant such an approach,” the detective retorted.
Janus left the police station with his anger bubbling. He knew now that he would have to redouble his efforts to clear himself, as he was now in the frame. And to find out who or what was behind everything that was going on. He also needed to contact Richard as soon as possible, especially after what had been revealed during his interview.
Once Malik had left the building Detective Inspector Davis picked up the phone, this was not a call he wanted to make but he was fairly sure Harris would be open to other suggestions after the initial disclosure that they were going to have to treat the deaths of Stephanie Jameson and Natasha Ericsson as murder.
“This is Detective Inspector Davis; can I speak with Chief Superintendent Harris?”