A Murderer's Heart (9 page)

This was something that Anne certainly understood.

Barbara kept her private life to herself, and though Anne was sure she’d had affairs, she’d never been introduced. Anne respected her privacy.

Barbara still hadn’t arrived by the time Anne had changed, so she walked through to the fitness room. She hoped to have a swim later.

Beginning with the running machine, Anne started at a slow pace, quickening as she warmed up. She had switched to the rowing machine when Barbara arrived, full of apologies.

“Don’t worry. You’re here now – you’ll just have to work twice as hard to catch up!” she laughed. “Will you stop looking like that – it’s not the end of the world that you’re late. It’s usually me anyway, it makes a change.”

“Things happen. But you have to allow for that – you know how I’m nearly always late for everything. Look at the Fundraiser – more than an hour! I couldn’t believe it. But there it is – somebody needed me.”

Anne suddenly remembered who it was that had made her so late.

“Somebody always needs you – that’s why you’re so overworked! What’s the matter?” asked Barbara, noticing her friend’s sudden pale face.

“I’ve just remembered. The reason why I was so late that evening and now they’re dead!”

Unexpectedly, Anne began to cry. The shock of the day had suddenly pushed its way through. She sank down into the water to wash away the tears, nobody could really tell, her face was wet anyway.

“Tell me,” Barbara said, straight to the point as always.

Anne told her about Peter Armstrong and his mother. She listened with that intense concentration she always had. It felt like you were the most important person in the world when Barbara listened – a great asset in her line of work.

“You don’t think it’s your fault, do you?” she reasoned; at once getting to the heart of the matter.

“I suppose I do in a way. If only I’d insisted on her being admitted that night, she’d still be alive.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Anne, how could you have known? Did you kill her? No, of course you didn’t. There is one only person to blame for her death, and that’s the killer!” Barbara’s no nonsense attitude made Anne see sense.

“No, of course, you’re right. It’s just the shock. Come on, let’s swim. I’ll race you.”

Barbara followed Anne in her race to the other end of the pool – Barbara won as she always did. They were out of breath and laughing when they had both stopped.

“I must come here again soon. Work seems to take most of my time. I do manage to run at weekends – sometimes even through the week – but I’ve missed the swimming.”

They watched swimmers paced the pool, with good even strokes. It was quite soothing sitting here watching; helping Anne relax after such a stressful day.

Feeling suddenly tired, Anne said she must go home. She still had the drive back and needed to be fresh for tomorrow’s workload. She’d see Barbara at the hospital in the afternoon.

******

Anne lay in bed, thinking about the day.

She’d only managed a quick call to Jenny to see how her meeting had gone with Inspector Meakin, only to be told that her statement had been taken and kept on record. She was to continue to make her notes.

Anne supposed that the Inspector had decided not to tell her of the seriousness of the case.

And they might not be related after all.

Anne thought both Jenny and David should be prepared for anything. Although it could be nothing, it could also be more sinister.

She’d have a word with David tomorrow.

They both knew how Jenny worried about things; this news would probably push her over the edge of frantic, especially because of the girls. They also knew how much she worried about them – their traumatic birth had affected Jenny greatly.

{16}

After finishing her morning appointments, she arrived at Tadmore Psychiatric Hospital.

She parked the car in her marked spot and walked over to the main reception, signed in, collected the identity badge and then made her way to the seventh floor, using the lift.

She walked down to her office, put on her white coat, clipped the badge onto its lapel, put several pens in the top pocket and went along to see Frank.

Dr Frank Miller – ladies’ man and brilliant psychiatrist.

It was often speculated whether it was his charm that helped to mend many of his female patients; though it had to be said he was greatly respected in his field. His easy style had won him many friends, two ex-wives and several girlfriends. Beneath his manner however, were a keen mind and caring soul.

He stood to welcome Anne as she entered his office, walking around his desk to kiss her on the cheek.

Though his flirtations were wasted on Anne, they had become good friends over the years, and she trusted him. They certainly respected each other’s professional competence.

Despite seeing each other at Anne’s picnic, they hadn’t spoken properly of the fundraiser since the event so Anne thought they should iron out some details and make concrete plans for their ideas about a special unit. She knew they must interpret certain illnesses, define them, so to bring a greater understanding, and with that, a cure.

She wasn’t the only one who believed that it would benefit all concerned if these people could once again function, as they should. There were no guarantees, of course, but it was vital that more research should be done in these areas.

They sat facing each other, talking, questioning then finally agreeing on the next steps.

“That’s great, okay,” said Frank. “I’ll get all this on paper and set up the relevant meetings.”

He leaned back in his chair, then frowned before asking, “Is something up? You seem worried. You’re happy with all this, aren’t you?”

“I’ve become immune to the things people do to each other. I’ve learned to switch off; I wouldn’t be able to do my job if otherwise. I try to look at the underlying problems rather than the effects. If I thought about the victims of sick people, I’d never cope.”

“What makes you think the killer was sick?”

“Must be sick in some way, but from what you told me, it doesn’t seem like it was a burglar or just a random break-in that went out of control. The killer had a weapon ready, using a knife means they have to be very close to the victim – that takes a certain kind of mind.

“Think about it. How many murders are committed with a knife? In our line of work we know that knives are usually used in the spur of the moment – a handy weapon in a kitchen for example, against either an abusive husband or attacker – temporary insanity in many cases. If a knife is chosen deliberately, there is a different frame of mind at work. A different heart, even...a murderer’s heart, I would say.

“From what you said, the killer knew what they were doing – it seems like Missus Armstrong was a target. For them to use a knife…well you know the implications.”

Frank looked seriously at Anne, when he talked like this, his brilliance shone. The frivolous, charming womaniser was wiped away.

“But why would Missus Armstrong be a target? The only person she harmed was herself. It was all in the notes I sent you. She was just a pathetic old woman who had a habit of hurting herself – she said it made her feel alive. Her son, Peter, had had to struggle with her for years – ever since his father died. I wish I’d got her admitted that night – she’d still be alive.”

“Don’t be, it’s a natural reaction – but stop it anyway. There was nothing you could have done. It is curious though. What else did the police say?”

“Not much...not about that, anyway.”

She went on to tell him about Jenny and all that Inspector Meakin had said about the stalker cases.

“Stalkers – yes difficult cases. Totally infatuated with someone, irrational but very real to them. Very sad, but it must be frightening for Jenny. The murders seem unusual though – are you sure Meakin said they were connected?” Frank asked.

“Well, not necessarily to Jenny, but the other cases, yes. From what he said – which wasn’t all that much – it seems that several victims have been stalked then murdered. I feel like he was warning me for Jenny’s sake. Although he did say the length of time in Jenny’s case was unusual – to be connected to these murders, anyway.”

“Naturally, you’ll be worried about Jenny, but it doesn’t look like there’s a connection. Is Jenny sure about it all?”

“Jenny didn’t want anyone to know – she even waited a year to speak about it. There’s no way it can be a secret now. Anyway, I think the more people know, the better – more of us to keep a look out. This whole thing is very strange and Jenny is very frightened. She’s never seemed to be one hundred percent confident about life – especially after the twins were born. That experience affected her view – she tries not to be too paranoid about them. Despite this, I believe she’s stable and sensible, though always a little afraid. And to answer your question, yes she is sure about it all, and I believe her – absolutely.”

Anne was blatant in her defence of Jenny, her green eyes shone as she stared at Frank.

“Okay, okay – it was a fair question, especially in our line of work.” Nevertheless he was smiling. “I have to admit that the little I know of Jenny she does seem reasonably self-assured, notwithstanding the nervousness. That in itself is quite a normal reaction when a major trauma has taken place.”

Frank rose to shake the Inspector’s hand, who then sat in the proffered chair, next to Anne. Meakin acknowledged her with nod. She looked intently at the newcomer; a knot forming in her stomach.

******