A Murderer's Heart (3 page)

Sam intervened, his tone calm, “Barbara, stop making the situation worse. Don’t worry too much, Anne. Everyone has enjoyed the food and drink, and all are now anticipating your words. They’ve all been very understanding. It was an emergency of a kind. Did you help him?”

He shook his head.

“
Never mind now, here give me your coat, you look sensational, it was worth the wait. They’re sure to take you seriously, and you have the advantage of your looks to keep them hooked!”

She laughed before all three made their way to the function room, and said, “You are good for me, Sam, what would I do without you? Have there been any problems?”

“
Not one,” answered Sam with a smile.

“
Sorry to have panicked you all, sorry Barbara, stop worrying, I’m here now. Oh dear! What if it’s all for nothing?”

“
You’ll be fine, go on, good luck, not that you need it.”

“
Thanks, Sam, see you later. Here goes.”

*******

Anne’s eyes took in the sea of expectant faces and thought ‘I’ll never do it!’ Had she worn the right dress? Long and black was safe, but what about the sparkle – too much? The earrings, too long? And what about the slit just past the knee?

She sucked in another breath and blew it out slowly.

There was no turning back, though while she launched into her speech, her nerves disappeared as her knowledge and passion for her cause filled the room.

Her audience was silent as she talked about how the mind can take control, how it can betray and trick and confuse. How it can lead you down paths never thought about. How it can be impulsive, develop beastly desires and identify with aggressive behaviour. She talked about the sadistic side of human nature and whether it was learned from the environment or a tangible evil.

“
Illnesses like Schizophrenia, Multiple Personality Disorder or Dissociative Identity Disorder as it is now preferred to be known, and Psychopathic disorders all can produce anti-social and dangerous human behaviour,” Anne told them.

“
These are the specific areas of my interest because if we can identify the disorders correctly, then we can deal with them safely – not only for the victims of the illnesses but also for those others who are hurt by them.

“
I believe that by helping these victims, we can help them back into the world. I realise that not all can be cured. A psychopath will always remain so because the damage done to them is too severe – I think of them as human ‘black holes’. However, we must learn to identify them and isolate them from society. Though I still believe they can be helped to some degree – to alleviate some of their suffering. Believe me, that for all their atrocious acts, they do suffer; that
is
the point, why they do what they do.

“
You must have had enough of me by now, so I will just add; that with your help, my colleagues and I will begin a programme which will deal specifically with people that suffer these illnesses. These people need our help and you are the ones to make a start. Thank you.”

With a last smile Anne left the podium and walked to her table for a welcome drink.

Her audience at once began to applaud enthusiastically. She was stopped repeatedly and shook hands with various people who all congratulated her.

She finally reached her table where Sam had already poured her a glass of dry white wine, chilled to perfection. Anne took it thankfully and drank a large proportion.

“
Careful,” whispered Sam looking at how quickly she drank and added, “That was brilliant, you’re sure to bank a good amount tonight.”

“
I needed that, what a day. I was very nervous but once I started it all just poured out.”

She was about to say more when silence fell once more on the room.

A second speaker had arrived at the podium. It was Frank Miller, Head of Psychiatry at Tadmore Hospital.

“
Thank you ladies and gentlemen. I think you will all agree with me that Doctor Blake’s speech hit where it should. Thank you, Anne.”

There was more applause.

“
Thank you. Now if you are all serious in your appreciation, there will be a special fund set up for the
Back Into The World
programme. Myself, aided by Doctor Blake and a chosen committee will head it.

“
Doctor Blake and I will be the main practising psychiatrists, helping patients with these unfortunate illnesses.

“
For those who are interested in donations and sponsorship will please contact Ms Pamela Green at the number printed at the bottom of the special forms on your tables; or if you prefer...either me or Doctor Blake.

“
Again, thank you for your support; we’ve already raised quite a sum with the donations per plate, thank you. Please enjoy the rest of the evening. Thank you again.”

There was further applause as Dr Miller left the podium.

A quiet hubbub of conversation circulated the room, while tables were cleared and a special band began to play in readiness for dancing.

Dr Miller made his way towards Anne’s table amid handshakes and general hellos. When he finally reached it, Anne was already on her second glass of wine.

“
Hello, Anne,” he said, as he kissed her on the cheek. He shook hands with Sam and nodded at Barbara.

“
That went well,” he added, sitting down.

“
Hello, Frank, yes it did. There seems a lot of interest. Do you think we will find the funding we need?”

“
Definitely, tonight’s donations will give us the leverage we need with the Government. Grants will be poured at us now. It will be a very fashionable ‘political’ cause now.”

“
But we don’t want fashion, that’s not the reason.” Anne responded.

“
We know that, but if we have to play politics and know the ‘right’ people, then so be it. As long as we find the money we need, who cares?” Frank smiled with ease.

“
Yes, I can see what you mean, but I’m uneasy. What if it all backfires or the ‘politics’ change, what then?”

“
It won’t matter then because we’ll be well established and the powers that be won’t want to be seen to have wasted so much money or to be seen to have been wrong.”

“
Okay, I hope you’re right.”

“
Of course I am, trust me, I’m a doctor! Come on, let’s dance,” Frank said as he helped Anne to the floor.

{7}

The murderer crept around to the side door, knowing it would be open and went into the darkened kitchen.

With gloved hands and rubber-clad feet, the killer silently slithered through the house and up the stairs.

The house seemed soundless, except for the hall clock, its menacing tick almost anticipating the last seconds of peace.

As the killer reached the top of the stairs, a sudden noise broke the hush.

The killer stopped and waited in the shadows.

A door opened at the far end of the landing, soft skirting lights followed the figure into the bathroom.

Moments ticked within the rhythm of the clock.

The figure reappeared, lights marking its way back.

The killer heard the yielding click of the bedroom door.

Darkness reigned.

Quiet settled as it should.

Reassured, the murderer moved foward then opened the nearest door, knowing the intended prey lay in a deep and peaceful sleep.

The killer stood for some moments looking down at the face and felt almost sorry for what was about to happen.

But didn’t they deserve to be killed?

There was no choice now; it had to be done.

A gloved hand was placed onto the victim’s mouth as the long, slim knife was pushed effortlessly into the knowing place of death.

There had been no recognition this time. No pleading, no acceptance, just a passing from this world to who knew where?

Another darkness? Another Hell?

This time things were different.

No need to dispose of the body.

A bonus.

Yes, a little different.

Just to keep things interesting.

Keep them off the trail.

As quietly as the arrival, the killer left the house, hopeful of the next victim.

{
8}

After the pressure of the speech giving, she had enjoyed the rest of the evening. Dancing with Frank had been lovely – or was that too much wine? No, it had been pleasurable, except of course now she was late and had a headache.

Upon arrival at the office, Sam had already poured her coffee, cleared the post and was ready for the day’s appointments.

“
Hello, Sam. I know, late again! Oh, thanks, coffee,” she said, slumping into her office chair. “Who’s first today?”

“
You’re lucky, Mister Evesham has cancelled and rescheduled later in the week. I’ve managed to squeeze in Mister Armstrong after deciphering your message from last night. He’ll be here in twenty minutes,” answered Sam.

“
I never seem to be anywhere on time, though after last night you can surely forgive me?” Anne said; a small smile on her lips.

“
I can always forgive you anything; I always try to make your appointments later that you expect for the very reason of your tardiness!” Sam said, smiling.

“
Devious, very devious. Are you sure you’re not hiding some deep dark alter ego?” Anne challenged playfully, as Sam laughed at the suggestion.

“
Are you never off duty, always analysing? Anyway, quickly tell me about Mister Armstrong. What happened?”

“
You know I can’t go into details. But your instincts were right, Sam, he does need help; both he and his mother. I’m going to arrange a home visit. His mother can’t leave the house. When is my last appointment today?”

“
Are you sure that’s wise? Will you be safe?” Sam asked, obviously anxious.

“
I’ll be fine, what time, Sam?”

“
Your last appointment is at three thirty with Missus Kingston. I insist I come with you, no arguments,” Sam said in an assured tone.

“
There’s no need, but okay. I’d better prepare for Mister Armstrong now. Thanks, Sam.”

Anne opened files and reread the notes she had made last evening.

*****

A few minutes later Peter Armstrong arrived.

He was a little taller than Anne, with a mass of blond hair and a rough textured skin. He probably had acne problems as a teenager, thought Anne. But he was by no means ugly. His features were pleasant, with blue eyes that seemed kind, but troubled.

After shaking Anne’s hand, Peter sat down in the seat offered. This time, Anne had chosen a less formal setting for their meeting, by sitting in the larger, soft chair opposite one of the same for her client.

“
Just relax, Mister Armstrong. There’s nothing to worry about; I’m here to help you.”

Anne smiled reassuringly.

“
I feel so ashamed, Doctor Blake. I thought I was doing what was right for my mother. For years I’ve tried to help her, but it’s going too far and driving me mad. Am I already mad? No sane person would do what I have, would they?”

“
Far from it. People do all kinds of things in the name of love. I feel that’s all it is in your case, Mister Armstrong.”

“
Call me Peter, please. How can it be love? The things I have done are just too terrible.”

Anne saw the agitation.

“
Peter, just think about why you have done these things. Has it been for pleasure or your own satisfaction?”

“
No, but they are just so terrible.”

“
Calm down, Peter. I’m here to help you see why and to change the pattern for both you and your mother. I want to see your mother, tonight if possible - in fact immediately after this session. I feel it’s important to talk to you both and if your mother can’t leave the house...”