Angels Bleed (Fallen Angels Book 1) (6 page)

‘So, you can’t remember laughing manically?  You can’t remember ripping his heart out?    You can’t remember eating it?’ asked Dr Hanlon.

‘I can’t remember doing any of those things.  They are the things I can’t explain, the things that test my lucidity.’

‘What about sitting astride him.  Can you remember that?’ he asked.

She tensed again. ‘Do you mean did I fuck him?’

‘Rebecca, I am using your words, all I want to do is know what you know.  I am not trying to get a rise out of this, please believe me.’ he encouraged.

‘Sorry Doc.’ she answered, sincerity in her tone. ‘My moral compass is totally demagnetised and spinning like a dervish.  I do remember my son fucking me, vividly.  It wasn’t at my flat.  It was after a party the night before, after we left there and went back to someone’s house.’

‘You went back to someone else’s house?  They were with you and Michael before he died? Did the police know this?  Did they visit the house, question who you were with?’ he asked.

Rebecca laughed through her still trickling tears. ‘Doc, if only it was that simple.  I don’t have a clue where the house is that we ended up at.  All I remember is the room that we had sex in, all three of us.  It had a black fire place with gargoyles chasing cherubs around it.  We fucked all over, on the Chesterfield sofa’s, on top of the Steinway piano, on the plush carpets in front of a roaring fire, with huge candelabra’s throwing flickering light onto passions shadows throughout.  That’s where I sat astride him.’

‘So who was the other person?  Surely they know where it is?’ he pushed.

‘You would think that, yes, she probably does.  If you can find her, if she were ever real.  I don’t know where she came from.  I met her in a particular kind of bar, and she introduced me to a world of pleasure I never knew existed.  She became my dark disease, my fatal addiction.  I never had a phone number, an address, any kind of contact information, just a name.  I told the police everything I knew about her, which wasn’t much and they checked at all the places we had met.  Some people did recognise the description, but no one knew who she was, no one could recall the two of us being together and to be honest, that is the way those kind of places are.  The police and Dr Ennis concluded that everything I told them about her and the house was all down to my psychosis, all just a figment of my imagination.  I only knew her name: Madame Evangeline.’

5:30 am

The stuttering orange hue of streetlights illuminated the road out of Morpeth as Saul turned left into the entrance of St George’s Park Estate, and started the meandering ascent up the side of the hill to the main hospital grounds which were housed on the plateau on top of it. 

He dialled recall on the hands free phone as he took the bends slowly.  The call went to voicemail.  ‘Just me again.  Look, I can only apologise so many times, but I am truly sorry.  I’ll give you a call a little later, when the world wakes up a bit.’ he finished, hanging up on the call to Sarah with a heavy sigh.

The beams from his headlights punctuated the darkness beyond the glow of the streetlights, highlighting tall metal fencing to the left and right on the winding road, ‘Keep Out’ signs fixed to them.  Behind these, the lights exposed fleeting glimpses of boarded up houses.  They were ancillary offices and accommodation of the old lunatic asylum that came into view on the right as his car rounded another bend.  Security lights shone out from each side of the redbrick tower at the centre of the asylum, illuminating the derelict wings of the main building, the harsh glare against the darkness accentuating the detritus of dilapidation festooning the weed infested concrete pathways surrounding the boarded up structure.

He took a left into a driveway that passed the new Community Mental Health Centre, and ended at the security gates to the Fielding Institute, a large, modern structure totally enclosed within a ten metre high metal wall.  He flashed his badge to the Security Guard. ‘DI Saul to see Dr Ennis.  I rang ahead, he is expecting me.’

The Guard checked his tablet.  ‘No problem Sir. Through the gate when it opens and please park in the visitor bay to the right then report to reception.’

A large red light began to pulsate on top of the tall steel gate as a loud beeping signalled its opening into a holding cage with a similar gate at the far end.  He drove in and waited for the gate behind to shut and the one in front to open, which it did, in a similar manner.  The car continued on and Saul pulled into the visitor bay. 

He vacated the car and walked to short distance into the light, airy reception area, announcing his arrival to the polite, smiling young lady behind the smoked glass and aluminium reception desk.  ‘If you would like to take a seat Sir, I will let Dr Ennis know you are here.’

Saul returned her smile, thanked her and then walked the few paces to the waiting area with its metal legged black leather sofas, taking in the various pictures on the walls.  His eyes were drawn immediately to an enormous canvas just behind the seats, fully five metres wide by about a metre deep.  It depicted a Jesus like figure, long hair and beard, pious expression on his face, in hessian robes with palms held out displaying his stigmata.  Two giant wings spread out either side of his body to fill the width of the picture. 

‘Impressive canvas, isn’t it Saul.’ came the impersonal greeting from a tall gentleman in a tweed three piece suit, striding down the corridor, thumbs tucked tightly into the pockets of his waistcoat as he arrived and positioned himself right beside Saul, shoulder to shoulder, taking in the picture.  ‘We found it in the old hospital, hidden under wood panelling removed from the main hall.  Records suggest it was painted by an inmate, around 1899.  Psychopath.  Murdered three men.  Partial to eating their genitals apparently.  Also killed one of the guards, maimed and sexually molested two others before he was restrained, face down.’  Dr Ennis finished, leaving the last statement hanging in the air as he turned his head to take in Saul’s profile.

‘Impressive brush work.  His strokes have a feel of Munch, the face has a similar contortion to that in ‘The Scream of Nature.’  There are those that think Munch found his inspiration from a lunatic asylum near to the location depicted in the painting.  His sister was in there at the time, apparently.  Very apt.  This guy might have been a psychopath, but he certainly studied the masters.’ Saul said, before turning and offering a hand for Dr Ennis to shake, adding, ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me at such short notice Doctor.  I appreciate your time.’ he finished, looking directly into his eyes, gaze unwavering.

Dr Ennis stared back for a moment, a simmering anger evident in his glare, hands still firmly forced into his waistcoat as he looked down to the proffered hand with obvious disdain.  ‘Yes, well.’ he said, a tinge of red rising on his neckline above the brilliant white and perfectly starched shirt collar as he looked Saul up and down, snorting as he took in the tuxedo.  ‘Let’s continue this in my office.  Follow me.’ he ordered while turning and striding off in the same direction from which he had come.

Saul sighed, shook his head and slowly followed him down the clean, white walled corridor and into his office.  As he came through the door, the décor changed from crisp, clinical lines and materials, to paisley papered walls, mahogany furniture and classic paintings.  Saul’s attention was drawn to a painting on the wall behind Dr Ennis’s desk and he continued to look at it while he was offered a seat and Dr Ennis took his.

‘The Cezanne behind you, is that an original?  I don’t recall it being there the last time I was here?’ asked Saul, motioning to the picture which depicted a table with apples spilt onto it from a fruit bowl, a pitcher beside it.

Dr Ennis looked up to the picture as he sat then turned to Saul with a perplexed look.  ‘I’m sure you haven’t come here to ask me about art, have you?’ he said, while resting his elbows on the table, steepling his arms and hands on the desk and resting his chin on the thumbs.

‘Sorry, no, I haven’t.’

‘It was bequeathed to the Institute by one of our patrons.  We received it amongst about a dozen other painting three months ago along with a large financial donation.  We have all the paperwork if you need to see it.’ he said.

‘No, it’s not why I am here.  Just an interesting painting, that’s all.’

‘So, Saul, why are you here?  Is it further allegations of brutality towards my patients?’  Dr Ennis stated, crossing his arms and leaning forcefully forward in his seat, not able to stop himself bringing the subject back to his agenda.

Saul held his penetrating gaze and answered.  ‘Dr Ennis, I appreciate that you are unhappy with me and the investigation we undertook into those allegations, and if you want to vent your frustrations, then please feel free.  What I can tell you is that we presented facts found in the investigation to the CPS,
they
took a decision to prosecute, and you and your staff have been acquitted.  That is the process and the system that I respect and it has done its job.  I am not here to harass, or hound, or claim any umbrage with regard to the outcome.  I am here on a totally separate matter.’ he concluded, holding Dr Ennis firmly in his eye line.

‘Just as long as you accept that we were just doing our job.  We deal with extremely psychotic individuals here, individuals that would kill someone in a split second with no reservation whatsoever.  We need every tool available to us to manage them.  I recognise face down restraint can be dangerous, but it is also effective: very, very effective.’ Dr Ennis stated, anger still driving his tone.

‘As I said Dr Ennis, I accept that due process was followed and an impartial jury accepted you were doing your job.  I have nothing more to add to that.  I do need to talk to you about Rebecca Angus though as a matter of urgency, so could we please move on to that?’ asked Saul, his tone conciliatory, even if the statement wasn’t forgiving.

Dr Ennis was still simmering with resentment, which was evident in how hard he was balling his fists, how his head was juddering and how his right eyelid was twitching under the strain of his own self-restraint.  ‘Alright Saul, let’s leave it at that: for now.  What do you need to know about Rebecca?’

‘Thank you Dr Ennis.  As I mentioned, we are investigating a potential murder at the moment and have reason to believe that Mrs Angus could help us with our enquiries.  Do you feel she is in a position to be able to answer some questions?’ Saul asked.

‘Given what I know of her mental state, I doubt that very much.  The other issue you have is that she is no longer a patient of the institute.  She was moved to Broadmoor two weeks ago.’ answered Ennis.

‘Oh, right.  Is that usual?  Moving between hospitals I mean.  I thought that there would need to be a court order to move care from the designated authority?’ Saul questioned.

‘It’s not usual, no.  In this situation however, her new consultant, Dr Hanlon and I thought it best for the treatment of her condition.  And yes, it was approved by the court.’ he finished tersely.

‘Sorry, I don’t mean to sound accusatory, I’m just surprised our systems haven’t been updated with that information.  Would you be able to get in touch with Dr Hanlon and see if it would be possible to interview her?’

‘I can try.’  Dr Ennis began, picking up his desk phone and ringing his receptionist.  ‘I’m not sure he will be in the office this early, depends what shift he is on.  Celia, could you give Broadmoor a call and see if Dr Hanlon would be free to have a quick chat about Rebecca Angus please.’ he asked as the call was answered.  ‘Thanks, just buzz through if you can get him.’

He hung up the call and continued.  ‘I still don’t think you will be able to talk to her.  For six months before she left us she was continually sedated to protect her and my staff.  I very much doubt that has changed dramatically in two weeks.’

‘Perhaps you can help while we are waiting.  We know that Mrs Angus was committed to you for the murder of her son.  In your time providing care to her, did she ever mention anyone else involved in his murder?’

‘You do know why she was in here with us, don’t you?’ Dr Ennis asked, surprised.

‘Unfortunately we don’t have too much information at the moment.  We only found out about a possible link to our investigation a short while ago and haven’t got all the paperwork through from her original conviction.  If you could let me know, that would help.’ Saul answered.

‘Rebecca was diagnosed with psychotic Dissociative Identity Disorder.  She has multiple personalities.  Two to be precise.  One, the guilt ridden and suicidal celibate lesbian that worshipped her son, who we know as Rebecca.  The other, a sultry, vivacious psychotic dominatrix who will eat you alive, literally, who she refers to as Madame Evangeline.  We have spent the past year trying to bring out the Madame Evangeline personality, without any success.  It’s one of the reasons we moved her to Dr Hanlon’s care, he has some innovative ways of treating DID.’

‘If you haven’t been able to bring that personality out, how do you know she has a multiple personality?’  Saul questioned, slightly bemused.

‘That comes back to your question about was anyone else involved in her son’s murder.  When you do eventually see the investigation transcripts you will see Rebecca continually referring to Madame Evangeline.  How she met her, their relationship, her involvement in Michael’s death.  You will also see reports of prolonged periods of time where Rebecca can’t account for her whereabouts or actions.  The police could not find any evidence from any of the sex clubs she frequented of a Madame Evangeline.  They remember Rebecca, but always being there alone.  From a psychological perspective, the blank periods in her recollection and detailed observations about Madame Evangeline are classic symptoms of DID.  We believe that the last act Madame Evangeline carried out, the brutal murder of Michael Angus, was so traumatic to Rebecca’s personality that she has figuratively locked the room and thrown away the key that would allow us access to her.  We have to try and find that key.  It is the only way we will really understand why Madame Evangeline committed this murder.’

Dr Ennis stood up then and walked to a set of filing cabinets behind Saul. ‘It might help you to understand more if you see what Rebecca looks, or looked like, and how she sees Madame Evangeline.’ he continued, taking a file out of the cabinet and bringing it back to the desk.  He took out two photographs and one drawing, placing them on the desk facing Saul.

‘This first photograph is Rebecca before she murdered her son.  Don’t know when it is, it’s just what she used to look like.  You can see she is tall, very slim, yet curvaceous with a natural beauty about her.  She has long flowing brown hair and bright green eyes, much like yourself.  The second is a police artist sketch of what Rebecca thinks Madame Evangeline looks like.  Notice she is tall, slim, curvaceous with a natural beauty, bright green eyes, but red hair.  The second photograph is Rebecca just before she left.  She pulled all her hair out, inflicted those cuts and bruises in many, many suicide attempts.  She has no tongue to speak of now, pardon the pun.’