Fragile Minds

TUESDAY 25TH JULY CLAUDIE



I sat in the interview room and waited for them. I was freezing, I couldn’t warm up, despite all the hot drinks they brought me; I had been walking for what seemed like hours, but I’d lost all sense of time. I wanted to explain how messed up these girls were. But I was so confused again, I could hardly think straight, and I was in pain. Worse, I was frightened. I thought someone was going to come after me. I thought the police were going to blame me. I was losing my will to fight; I just wanted to close my eyes and to sleep now.





TUESDAY 25TH JULY SILVER



‘Something’s not right,’ Claudie Scott said, as soon as he came through the door.

He leant on the wall and looked down at her. She was still shivering, a blanket wrapped round her shoulders, her blonde hair all on end, tangled and tousled where she’d been forced to lie down, big brown eyes staring up at him like a child’s. Haunted eyes. He thought of the photos in her flat of the little boy, the son she had lost. They looked remarkably similar, and Silver felt a stab of pity he didn’t know how to convey.

‘I see. Are you all right though, Claudie?’

She kept her hands in her lap beneath the table, but he knew she was tearing at her own bloodied skin.

‘I – I’m not sure.’ She eyed the toast warily. She wasn’t going to eat it, he could tell, although her face was hollowed, as if she had not had a square meal for weeks. ‘I think I will be OK.’

He sat now, opposite her, and he studied her. The circles below her eyes were dark and ingrained, her pallor tinged with grey. She was a pretty woman, but she was destroyed, it was absolutely obvious. What could he do for her?

‘Have we met before?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘You look a little familiar.’

She shook her head. There was a pen on the table; he turned it round neatly, thinking, and then he gave her a reassuring smile.

‘So, Claudie. In your own time, I need you to tell me why you’re here. How you came to be all the way out here. Did someone bring you?’

‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘And something’s not right,’ she repeated.

‘What?’ he said now. He could sense how frightened she was. ‘What’s not right?’

‘I can’t – it’s hard to explain.’

They locked eyes. He desperately wanted to help her. Something in her vulnerability reminded him of Lana. He thought of the two men he’d met earlier, Will Scott and the suave MP. How they’d failed her. He could see her attraction for Longley, who obviously liked lost causes.

‘That sounds stupid, I know.’ She was stuttering slightly. ‘I mean, I can’t quite put my finger on it.’

‘On what?’ He willed her on.

‘I think I might have done something bad. The Friday before last.’

‘What kind of bad?’ Silver asked. He thought about unwrapping his gum, but it seemed a little inappropriate. So instead, he sat back in his chair and looked at her. He knew he had to wait, and eventually she would tell him.

‘Very bad,’ she muttered. She stopped again. He could hear the scratch scratch scratch of fingernails on dry flesh.

‘Do you know my name?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘Sorry – I can’t remember.’

‘It’s DCI Silver.’ He wanted her to know he was a friend. He spoke gently. ‘Joe Silver.’

Kenton walked into the room now. She smiled at the woman and Silver remembered they’d met before. Claudie gazed back at Kenton. She might have attempted a smile, but her face was so stricken it was hard to tell.

‘And what happened to your face, Claudie?’

She raised her hand to her cheek. ‘Berkeley Square.’

‘Berkeley Square?’ Silver sat up straighter. ‘The explosion?’

She nodded.

‘OK, Claudie,’ he flicked the gum away and smiled at this broken soul again, ‘why don’t you start from the beginning? Who brought you all the way out here?’

‘I think I might have done something terrible,’ she repeated. She met his eyes this time. ‘I think I might have killed a lot of people.’





TUESDAY 25TH JULY SILVER



Silver drove Claudie Scott back to London early that morning after they had all had a few hours’ sleep in a local hotel. Claudie was exhausted; nervy and obviously frightened, and Silver couldn’t help feeling that, given her history, she certainly did appear a little delusional.

In the early hours of Tuesday morning, she had seemed convinced that she had had something to do with the bombing in Berkeley Square, that she had been there or if she hadn’t, she should have been. But her memory was patchy, her brown eyes wide and staring, her raw, cracked hands shaking with an almost constant tremor. She had rambled about the Queen of Hearts and choppers chopping, and she kept saying ‘as you like it’ until Kenton and Silver’s worried eyes met above her head.

The police doctor in Norwich checked her over and said that apart from some bad bruising and a cracked rib, she seemed all right; although she was also complaining of stomach cramps, which he gave her some medication for. He took some blood too, but they’d have to wait a day or two for the results.

She’s under-nourished, that’s for sure,’ he explained. ‘There’s ketones in her urine. She’s been starving.’

They couldn’t persuade her to eat though; she kept muttering about poisoning and pushing food away. Helen Ganymede sat with her for a bit, until she slept, and Claudie seemed pleased to see her, which Silver hoped was a good sign, for Claudie’s sake.

On the plus side, she was able to tell them that she had seen Sadie Malvern at the farmhouse, and also Pritti Vershani, whom she identified from a photo. Silver felt a burst of relief at the news of Sadie’s presence, which didn’t last long when Claudie informed them she thought that they were preparing for something big.

‘They mentioned a package,’ she said. ‘I think Sadie is the one who is meant to be responsible.’

‘And the man in your flat, Claudie? Who called himself Rafe to your sister?’

‘Who?’ She stared at them, dry lips cracked. ‘Oh, you mean Francis Watts. He’s my acupuncturist. Bit weird, but harmless I think. Friend of Tessa’s.’

Not long afterwards, Claudie collapsed, doubled over with stomach pain.

‘I’ll accompany her to hospital if you like,’ Helen offered. ‘I’d be glad to.’

‘We’ll send a plod down too, to keep an eye for a bit. It’s hard to know what she’s dreamed up and what’s real. Her sister will be here in a while.’ Silver contemplated the situation. ‘Kenton, find this Watts bloke and bring him in for questioning.’

‘Where are you going?’ She frowned at him.

‘To the Royal Opera House.’

Silver was concerned he’d dismissed Rafe Longley too quickly. Okeke had brought him pages of a biography on the hot-shot MP, pointing out with some excitement that his full name – Rafael – was the same as one of the Archangels.

‘I don’t think he’s old enough to be Michael Watson,’ Silver shook his head. ‘And the press would have got on to a minister having a dodgy background like Watson’s’. Silver was desperate to return home, shower and change, but the station bathroom would have to suffice for now. His worst nightmare was wearing the same shirt two days in a row; no matter how scrupulous he was it was impossible to keep white cotton as crisp and pristine as he liked over two outings.

He plucked the shaver from his desk drawer and took it to the window; watched Claudie Scott being helped into the ambulance, Helen Ganymede stepping in after her. He didn’t for one moment think that Claudie had anything to do with the bombing; it concerned him more that it had served someone well to let her believe she might have been responsible.

Silver could sense Kenton steeling herself for an argument. He fixed her with a look.

‘Look, I know you want to come, kiddo, but I need you to bring in the acupuncturist,’ he murmured to her. ‘It could be crucial.’

‘OK,’ she shrugged, her eyes filled with disappointment.

Silver addressed Okeke over the buzz of the shaver. ‘What time’s the Royal Opera House event start?’

‘Four.’

It was already two.

‘We need to be there if Longley is. Check with his office. And have we verified his movements in Norwich during his last constituency visit?’

‘Yes, they largely check out.’ Okeke perused his notes. ‘But his next-door neighbour did say she saw him with someone late on the Saturday night.’

‘Someone?’

‘A young lady. Small and dark. Pretty. They were rather – enamoured, apparently.’

Silver grinned. Okeke’s speech was so courtly and proper. ‘Doesn’t surprise me.’





TUESDAY 25TH JULY KENTON



Craven saved Kenton the trouble of picking Francis Watts up. She was just finishing her double espresso from the canteen (marginally but not significantly better than the machine’s coffee), and determinedly not checking her phone, wondering why Alison still hadn’t called, when a shadow loomed over her.

‘Derek,’ she said wearily without looking up.

‘Lady-boy to see you,’ he sneered, jerking his balding head in the direction of the interview rooms. ‘Don’t say I never do anything for you.’

‘Lady-boy?’ she frowned.

‘Name of Francis. Friend of Tessa Lethbridge. Sticks needles in folk for fun.’

‘Francis Watts?’ Kenton sprang to her feet. ‘Nice one, Derek.’

They made a strange triumvirate in the bleak interview room.

‘So, Francis,’ Kenton said carefully as Craven fiddled with his plastic cigarette. She really didn’t want to blow this. ‘What were you doing in Claudie Scott’s flat and how did you know Tessa Lethbridge?’

‘I met Tessa when she contacted me through my website.’

Kenton frowned at Craven. ‘What website?’

‘I don’t run it any more, but I did for years. It was the old Empathy Society one,’ he sighed, running his fingers through his horrid hair. ‘Tessa read about us in some New Age journal – Crystal Life, I think. I haven’t run the Society for years but I’m not ashamed of what we stood for.’

‘So your name is not really Francis Watts.’

He sighed again. ‘No. It’s not. It’s the very ordinary Michael Watson.’

Kenton tried to hide her excitement.

‘And you say Tessa and you only met – recently?’

‘Last year some time.’

‘And Tessa is not Rosalind Lamont?’

He stared at Kenton and then began to laugh. ‘Rosalind? Tessa? Are you out of your tiny little tree? Hardly.’

Kenton bit her tongue. ‘So would you mind telling me where Lamont is?’

‘I have no idea.’ Watson ran his hand through his nasty little beard and added sorrowfully, ‘She lost her way some time ago. We had a lovers’ tiff or ten, and she went abroad for a while. Then she married into money and we fell out. We began to move in totally different circles.’

‘Money?’

‘Some banker type. Foreign, I think. Possibly Russian.’

Russian …

‘His name?’

‘I don’t make a habit of remembering my ex-girlfriends’ husbands’ names.’ Watson fiddled with the black rubber circle that stretched a great hole in his lobe. Kenton suppressed a shudder. Did he really think a tribal earring looked fitting on a fifty-year-old? ‘Sorry.’

‘So why change your name?’

‘That’s what we did, my love.’ He looked down his beaky nose at her. ‘We were activists. We were undercover half the time. We didn’t want to be hounded by the fascist state. We wanted to be free.’

Echoes of Jan Martin, Kenton thought wryly. The man smelt like a scented candle. Utterly distasteful.

‘We took our names from the great classics. It was a game really.’

‘Gabriel Oak?’

Watson looked amused. ‘Very good.’

‘So you haven’t seen Lamont for – how long?’

He squirmed slightly. ‘Years.’

He was lying.

‘Mr Watson, I suggest you tell us the complete truth.’

He sighed heavily. ‘I saw her some time last year, for about five minutes. She booked an appointment at my clinic under a false name.’

‘What name?’

‘Bathsheba something’.

Craven let out a snort. ‘Bath-whatty?’

But Kenton had done her research this time. ‘Bathsheba Everdene – from the Hardy novel?’

‘Yes,’ Michael nodded slowly. ‘I guess so.’

‘And what did she want?’

‘She wanted me to join some mad society of hers. She brought leaflets but I chucked them all in the bin. I can’t remember its name, before you ask. I was worried by her, to be honest. She was a little – possessed.’

‘Not the Daughters of Light?’

‘Possibly,’ he shrugged. ‘I didn’t take much notice to be honest. She was raving, I thought. I asked her to leave, and she told me I’d be sorry.’

‘Can you explain why you were in Claudie Scott’s flat, uninvited, last Saturday?’

Now he looked uncomfortable for the first time. ‘I was worried about her.’

‘Really?’ Craven spoke now, his disdain obvious. ‘Not because you wanted to make her disappear?’

‘Why would I want to do that?’ Watson frowned. ‘I’d been treating her for some time. I care about her.’

‘But she was frightened of you. Frightened enough to ring us. Why was that?’

‘I don’t know.’ Watson toyed with the shark’s tooth round his neck. ‘She seemed quite paranoid. When I treated her the last few times, I knew something was wrong. Her system is utterly clogged. Her eyes were dilated recently, her blood pressure is too low. There’s something very wrong, but I haven’t been able to work out what.’

‘And that must be frustrating for a specialist like you?’ Kenton interjected.

‘Well, let’s just say I wasn’t surprised when the hospital called about the contra-indications.’

‘You’ve lost me,’ Kenton shook her head.

‘I took a call for Claudie when I was at her flat. She’d had some kind of test at St Thomas’s. They said they found contra-indicated drugs in her bloodstream.’

‘Contra-indicated?’

‘Drugs she should not have been mixing. I wasn’t surprised. Claudie’s system was getting so weak. And with Tessa’s tragic death—’

‘Tessa who wasn’t actually Tessa.’ Craven scowled at the other man and shoved the plastic cigarette in his pocket. ‘It doesn’t really stack up, mate, if you know what I mean.’

Kenton was amazed that for once she and Craven appeared to be singing from the same proverbial song sheet.

‘Look,’ Watson sighed. ‘I met Tessa because we shared an ideology, but one that I have no active part in any more. You have to believe me. I left all that rubbish behind me years ago. I have no interest in politics now. I retrained. I just,’ he smiled a truly sickly smile, ‘I just want to help people now.’

‘And your relationship with Tessa?’

‘Friends. Sometime lovers,’ he shrugged. ‘Love one, love all. She was a lost soul too.’

‘So you know nothing about the Daughters of Light?’

Again, Watson looked uncomfortable, squirming slightly under their scrutiny.

‘Well—’

There was a sharp knock on the door and Tina Price entered the room.

‘DS Kenton, I need a word.’

‘Now?’ Kenton pulled a face.

‘Yes, now, please.’

Kenton stepped outside the room as Craven took up the baton. ‘So, about these bleeding Daughters of Light—’

‘So?’ Kenton could feel her own agitation; she wanted to get back in there with the two men. She had a sudden vision of Craven producing the result she’d worked so hard on, without her.

‘Tessa Lethbridge,’ Price said, her pleasant face eager beneath her shining bob. She would look much better once she got rid of the thick metal braces, Kenton thought absently.

‘What about her?’

‘I think we know who she is.’