Chapter 25 #2
“Can’t it always. Too hot, too cold, too bright, too cloudy.
Too much rain and a hose pipe ban. We never allow ourselves to be content, which is why we should make an effort to.
Justine, would you mind nipping to the bakery and getting breakfast for us all, because unless Mia has altered her entire personality, she won’t have eaten yet, and neither have I.
Bit of a rush to get home this morning.” He took the seat that Justine had leapt off upon his arrival, and I wondered if her sitting there was a way of marking her territory.
It was also typical Daniel, trying to be subtle when he flaunted a new girlfriend.
He’d had plenty since I’d known him, his craggily handsome looks and prestige making him a magnet for keen students in their twenties to crush on and he occasionally took advantage of this, although I knew from how we marked their papers after, it never got them any extra credit.
“Course. What do you want?”
“A selection of pastries, and maybe pasteis de nata. If you want something different, help yourself. Does that suit you, Mia?” He stood back up and turned on the coffee machine, not even glancing at Justine as she left, taking a credit card from his drawer, the same place he’d always kept it.
“Who’s the new lady? Funnily enough, we were just talking about your dating patterns.” I’d never given Daniel much leeway when it came to his love life. He wasn’t a kind partner, often psychoanalyzing the women he was sleeping with like they were part of a case study.
He shrugged, looking smug at the same time. “I’ll tell you about her if there’s any point in a month or so. You remember how it is.”
“Unfortunately, I do.” I did manage a smile. He didn’t have to tolerate listening to my theories, he wasn’t being paid as a consultant, so me being here was a one-way transaction. “Did you ever work at a hospital in Leeds called the Lindridge Psychiatric Unit?”
He raised his brows and sat down with his coffee cup.
“That’s a place I haven’t heard about for a while.
I did a day a week as a consultant while they sought for someone permanent.
It was difficult at the time to find anyone as they needed someone with a specialism in schizoaffective disorders, as that was a common diagnosis among their patients.
It was when I was still doing a couple of days of private practice, or consultancy for the NHS – just after my divorce so every little bit helped. Why’s Lindridge come up?”
“The Charlie Mason murder’s come up. That’s confidential – don’t give your little assistant the head’s up.” I sounded jealous, even to my own ears.
He heard it too, judging by his smile. “She’ll never be as good as you, but you’re not fishing for praise. Charlie Mason – another name I haven’t heard in years. Why’s his name resurfaced?”
“Did you know he was murdered just after he’d been discharged a couple of years ago?”
“I didn’t even know he was admitted again. When he left Lindridge when I knew him, he was – teetering. I figured he’d either be dead pretty soon after or he’d get his act together. So he ended up back in there?” Concern washed at his words.
“He did. A psychotic break. The nurse I spoke to was convinced he’d been sexually abused as a child but had repressed the memories.
When the memories came to the surface, he’d develop psychosis, which had him readmitted for a six month stint.
He was a heroin user, which could’ve been why he wanted to get out sooner than the last time. ”
“Good old narcotics, help keep the demons at bay by replacing them with worse ones,” Daniel nodded, staring into the fire, set already for the next time there was a cold spell. “Poor Charlie. But he’s not your killer though, if he’s already dead.”
“What do you remember about him?” There was no patient confidentiality if someone was dead, certainly not when it was a police enquiry, and I could make this official.
However, right now, I was the only one looking at Charlie Mason.
The likelihood that the same knife had been used on him and our three women was high as Nate had confirmed, but Charlie’s case – although unsolved – had an explanation and there had been no one who cared enough to push for justice.
“Charlie? He was a mixed up youth, brimming with adverse childhood experiences, but at the same time, he was charismatic. When he was with it, which was more often than not, he pulled an audience. He had friends and a girlfriend at various points. But when he went, he was lethal. He liked to lock people in rooms, including one of the nurses, usually with him, to the extent that he was on two to one supervision.”
“Didn’t he hold a girl called Kelly-Anne hostage once? Although I’m sure the nurse said she was seventeen – so why was she in the adult unit?” I hadn’t thought to ask Dave that.
“I suspect it was because she was nearly eighteen and there was no room in the kids’ facility, and yes, I remember that.
They called me in as an emergency the day after to speak to him.
He was about to be reviewed for discharge, but my advice after that was for him to stay for another twelve months.
When he had a psychotic episode, he was a danger to everyone, including himself, and at the time it was a medium secure unit, so he was appropriately place there for longer.
I think it changed to low security a couple of years after I stopped working there.
” He seemed far away for a moment, as if he’d been transported back in time.
I waited, giving him space to continue speaking. We had a half-nine briefing, so plenty of time to hot foot it back down Oxford Road to Piccadilly or take the scenic way and pay homage to the Vimto monument.
“How did Charlie die?” he came back to me, leaving the place he’d visited.
“He was stabbed. After he was discharged the second time, he went to the Wheatsheaf to score heroin and was stabbed – the police suspect it was a case of mistaken identity, and he looked like an informant on their books who’d been involved in providing intel that got someone sent down for a long time. ” Eighteen years, to be exact.
Daniel slowly nodded. “He was never going to have a long life. What do you want from me with this?”
“I’m not sure. Charlie had bi-polar and ACEs that suggest significant trauma. He was killed with the same weapon as the three victims we’re currently investigating. It could just be coincidence.”
“Except you don’t believe in coincidences.”
“I believe that people make choices that lead them to an inevitable place or position because of their make-up. It isn’t a coincidence that you were a consultant there, because ultimately the world is small. Paths cross.”
“True. You never did believe in fate.” He moved to his desk, shuffling the papers there because he’d never fully embraced the digital world. “What’s your theory about the weapon, because it could’ve been sold on or passed on. The trade in weapons is out there, as you know.”
I did, because that was one of Stan’s favourite commodities.
“Charlie was stabbed in the back, which also led to the police to believe it was a case of mistaken identity. Two of our victims were stabbed in the back. I’m wondering if this was someone who’d been sectioned and knew Charlie from there who’s gone on to have an online presence, involved in the Blackpill Matrix. ”
“The development of a shared language. Almost like the creation of world such as The Sims or Minecraft, which fits with a generation that grew up making their own worlds online. It reinforces shared beliefs and creates an identity that’s lacking, but my question back to you, Mia, is why are you convinced it’s a male? ”
I tripped over my few first words because I was wrong-footed. I’d questioned the same thing at the start, but since then I was swept away with incel theories.
He threw me a lifeline. “I agree with the line of enquiry you’re pursuing.
Three women, and from what I’ve read in the media, the second two victims were prominent on social media, so my suggestion would be that the first victim, Chelsea, was a personal choice.
The second have been picked because of who they were, so there’s no personal connection. ”
“What about Charlie. It would be unusual for a perp to change the type of victim?”
“It would. However, if you are looking at someone who’s a psychopath, there may be more than one Charlie – have you looked at any other murders around the same time and same area that resemble Charlie’s?
Or, it could simply be that Charlie was killed by the gang because they thought he was the informant, and then they sold the weapon. Both are possibilities.”
“Which isn’t the answer I wanted from you.” I stood up. Justine was on the way back; I could hear her talking to Professor Sam Jolley in the hallway, and while I could eat a croissant or a cinnamon roll, I needed space to process this to decide what information to share at the morning briefing.
He stood up as well, heading to the door. “My job isn’t to tell you the answer you want, it’s to get you to think of the answer you need. Ah, Justine – excellent. Sam, are you joining us for breakfast?”
I glanced at Daniel’s desk, a printed set of papers on top, annotation all over them.
The Shadow Self: Female Violence and the Mirror of Trauma
I wonder if he’d referenced my mother in that. I’d told him enough about her over the years.
“Pastry, Mia?” Justine offered me a tray of freshly baked treats that would’ve lasted about three seconds at the Pigeon Loft, its name scoring double. “I queued for ages, so we need to enjoy them.”
I picked up a cinnamon roll and bit in, tasting the spice and the sugar and the sweetness, my quota for the day.