The Chameleon's Shadow (7 page)
Read The Chameleon's Shadow Online
Authors: Minette Walters
‘You don’t know him the way I do.’
Willis smiled. ‘I’d be a millionaire by now if I’d been given a pound every time someone said that.’ He clasped his hands in front of him. ‘He doesn’t seem to share your enthusiasm for Uma Thurman.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘A couple of minutes ago you said he referred to her as a joke.’
‘Not
her
. Him being with her. He knows it’ll never happen.’ She touched the tissue to her eyes. ‘Me dressing up was the next best thing. Why do you think my friend described me as an exotic bird? I had to deck myself out like Irene Cassini in
Gattaca
– the Uma Thurman character Charlie most fancies . . . like
this
–’ she
gestured towards her suit – ‘otherwise he couldn’t do it.’
‘What?’
‘Sex.’
Willis let the word hang in the air while he thought about the monkish young man upstairs who avoided all contact with female nurses.
Was Jen telling the truth?
It would explain a few things if she was, he reflected, not least Charles’s refusal to go anywhere near the subject of sex. ‘I’m not sure I understand. Are you saying he couldn’t achieve an erection without the Uma Thurman stimulus?’
She smiled unhappily. ‘Not at the beginning. It was just a game at the beginning.’
Willis made what he could of this. ‘And then the game took over. Charles preferred the fantasy woman to the real one. Is that what happened?’
‘It made him angry if I refused.’
Willis thought of the conversations he’d had with Charles about Jen’s resemblance to Uma Thurman. The lieutenant had certainly talked about a ‘fantasy’, but not in the kind of terms that suggested arousal. ‘Then I wonder why he didn’t respond more positively towards you today,’ he said slowly. ‘You seem to have done everything you could to evoke positive memories.’
‘He wouldn’t look at me. He stood by the window with his face turned away.’
‘Not all the time. He wouldn’t have been able to catch your hands otherwise.’
‘It was too late by then. He’d already lost his temper.’
‘With Jen Morley or Uma Thurman?’
‘What difference does it make?’
‘It seems quite crucial to me. If he lost his temper with Jen Morley why would he want to throttle Uma Thurman? You seem to have irritated him in both roles.’ He folded his hands under his chin. ‘Are you sure this isn’t
your
sexual fantasy, Ms Morley?’
Dampness welled in her eyes. ‘Why are you being cruel to me?’
Willis showed surprise again. ‘It was a fair question. I assumed you wouldn’t have come dressed like that if you hadn’t been looking for intimacy with Charles. It suggests the fantasy was a mutual one . . . in your mind anyway.’
‘That’s disgusting,’ she said with a sudden show of anger.
‘Then I’m mystified, Ms Morley. What was the point of today’s exercise? What were you trying to achieve?’
The question seemed to worry her because she checked the contents of her bag while she worked out an answer. ‘What you said before . . . I was trying to remind him of the good times. He liked the attention I got when we were out and people mistook me for Uma.’
Willis frowned. ‘I thought you said he was jealous. The parallel you used was a guard dog who snapped at anyone who came too close.’
She stared at him with growing irritation. ‘But it gave him a hell of a buzz at the same time. He loved the idea that other men envied him.’
‘I’m sure he did,’ he said easily. ‘It’s a common duality of emotion. Did you feel the same way? He was a good-looking man before his injury.’
‘Are you asking do
I
get jealous? Then, no, I’ve never needed to be,’ she said dismissively. ‘Men are more afraid of losing me than I am of losing them, Dr Willis. That may sound boastful, but it’s true.’
‘Not in the least. You’ve obviously had far more relationships than Charles.’
‘So?’
‘They don’t seem to last very long. Is it always you who ends them?’
‘It’s hardly going to be the man, is it?’
Willis smiled. ‘I don’t know, Ms Morley,’ he said honestly. ‘I’m having trouble understanding why Charles is so unwilling to mend fences if it was you who broke the engagement. In my experience, it’s the partner who doesn’t want the affair to end who tries to resurrect it . . . and the one who makes the decision to split who moves on.’
‘Charlie hasn’t moved on. He’d be taking visits and phone calls if he had.’
This time Willis’s nod was a genuine recognition that she was right. Whatever bonds had held these two together were still strong.
Nevertheless . . .
‘He won’t talk about you . . . won’t read your letters . . . indeed, shows every determination to draw a line under the relationship. Why would he do that unless he’s made up his mind to confine you to history?’
He’d finally goaded her into showing her anger openly. ‘Because he’s
ashamed
,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘And if you want to know
why
. . . which you probably
don’t
, since you’re on his side . . . it’s because he
raped
me. And it wasn’t just
any
old rape. He pushed me against a wall and
buggered
me. I bet
that
little fact hasn’t come out in your cosy conversations with him.’
‘No,’ Willis agreed matter-of-factly, ‘but I guessed something of the sort from your email. You said he was violent towards you.’ He might have added that Charles’s demeanour, whenever the subject of Jen came up, also suggested shame.
‘He behaved like a brute,’ she said with a pronounced shudder. ‘I’ve never been so frightened.’
‘I’m not surprised. Rape is a terrifying ordeal under any circumstance.’ Willis let a beat of silence pass. ‘Shouldn’t you have thought more seriously about coming to see him alone today?’
She delayed answering by blowing her nose. Too forcefully. When she took the tissue away there was a smear of blood on her upper lip. ‘He hasn’t tried to strangle me before . . . or looked as if he was getting a thrill out of hurting me.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘And before you ask whether he got a
thrill
out of the rape,’ she went on belligerently, ‘the answer is I don’t know because I couldn’t see his face. When he’d finished, he pushed me to the ground and left.’
‘And that was the last time you saw him before today?’
‘Yes.’ She rushed to pre-empt him again. ‘And the reason I wasn’t afraid about coming alone was because this is a
hospital
, Dr Willis.’ She gave an angry laugh. ‘I thought it would be a safe place to talk to him. I expected him to be on a ward . . . or at least that there’d be a few doctors and nurses around.’
‘Mm.’ Willis set to with his spectacles again, breathing on the lenses and using his handkerchief to wipe them clean. ‘Which makes it more surprising that you chose to play up to his Uma Thurman fantasy . . . and didn’t leave when he asked you to.’
The glasses routine was getting on her nerves. ‘I could have had him booted out of his regiment if I’d reported him . . . still could, probably. The army doesn’t condone rape any more than the rest of society does. How do you think the police will react if I say he had another go at me today?’
‘At a guess, question your motives in coming here . . . ask why you didn’t report the rape at the time . . . or why you began by telling hospital security that you didn’t want the authorities involved this time.’ He shook his head at her expression. ‘You’re on a slippery slope to real delusion if you think you can act the victim in this, Jen. The police will work out, as quickly as I’ve done, that it’s you who’s been using sex to manipulate this relationship, and that’s a poor basis for a rape allegation . . . particularly when there’s only your word that it happened.’
Her eyes hardened. ‘You’d better hope I don’t report you to whatever association you belong to. I bet there’s nothing in the psychiatric code that says it’s OK to condone violence against women just because the rapist’s your patient.’
‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Willis agreed lightly, ‘but it’s a big leap from my pointing out the flaws in your story to you accusing me of condoning violence against women. I’d find your allegation more believable if you’d said you’d made a crude attempt to seduce Charles. He’s a fastidious man – I suspect he’d regard any such attempt as exploitative and demeaning – and I can imagine him turning on you in those circumstances. Rather as he did today, in fact.’
‘You weren’t there. You don’t know anything about it.’
Willis replaced his spectacles. ‘Except you obviously came dressed like that for a purpose – to trigger some pleasurable memories, perhaps – and it appears to have provoked the opposite response. Charles has only negative associations with your Uma Thurman look. Do you want to tell me why?’
‘No.’ She stood up abruptly, clasping her bag to her chest. ‘It’s late. I have to go.’
‘Then I’ll take you to the taxi rank in the visitors’ car park. There’s a short cut through the staff entrance.’
‘I don’t need an escort,’ she said. ‘I want the Ladies. I’ll leave by the main entrance.’
Willis shook his head as he rose to his feet. ‘I can’t let you go alone, I’m afraid. If you insist on a lavatory stop, I’ll have to call a female security officer to accompany you.’
Jen looked murderous. ‘Why?’
The psychiatrist gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Hospital policy. We don’t allow drug abuse on the premises. What you do outside is a matter between you and your conscience . . . but I’d show some restraint if I were you.’
She took a swipe at him with her bag and staggered slightly when she missed by a mile.
He eyed her with amusement. ‘I’m just the messenger, Ms Morley. Don’t shoot me because you don’t like what I say.’
‘Fuck
you
!’ she said out of the mouth of an otherworldly angel.
Southwark Echo
, Thursday, 12 April 2007
FOLLOWING THE DEATH of Kevin at the Ministry of Defence, was con-Atkins, a 58-yr-old builder from scripted into the Royal Army Pay south London, police have a con-Corps as part of his National Ser
firmed a possible link with the mur-vice. Kevin Atkins served 15 years ders of Harry Peel, 57, and Martin in the army, most notably as a cor-Britton, 71. Mr Atkins sustained poral in 2 Para during the 1982 Falkfatal head injuries in what police lands War. He was decommissioned have described as a ‘frenzied in 1983. attack’. His cleaner discovered his Det Supt Brian Jones denied body on Wednesday morning but rumours that Harry Peel and Kevin post-mortem tests showed he’d been Atkins had been forced out of the dead for at least four days. army because of homosexual activ-
Det Supt Brian Jones, who has ity. He also refused to comment on been leading the inquiries into the whether a male prostitute is being murders of Harry Peel and Martin sought in connection with the mur-Britton, said there were similarities ders. ‘We are keeping an open mind.’ between the cases. ‘All three men He urged anyone with information to lived alone and were found in their come forward. ‘Whoever is doing beds,’ he said. ‘The attacks were this is extremely dangerous.’ violent but there were no signs of Police have welcomed the help forced entry and we believe the vic-of the gay community in drawing tims knew their assailant.’ attention to the danger of casual sex
He refused to comment on the with strangers. ‘Most of us think of men’s army records. Harry Peel our homes as safe,’ said a spokes-spent five years in an infantry regi-man, ‘but they’re not. They’re the ment from the age of 18. Martin place where we let down our guard Britton, a high-ranking civil servant and make ourselves vulnerable.’
Extracts from notes on Lt Charles Aclan
d
April 200
7
. . . Contradictory reports about Charles’s time in London. Susan Campbell says he disappeared on Saturday evening after one of her other guests, a young woman, tried to be friendly with him. Thereafter, he avoided the girl and withdrew into his shell. Susan’s conclusion is that he becomes anxious when people get too close. Touching and invasion of personal space appear to be real issues for him.
. . . Charles made no mention of the young woman but describes the stay as ‘difficult’ because of Susan’s attempts at friendship. Her kindness [he calls it ‘mothering’ and ‘bossy interference’] was ‘overpowering’ and he kept out of her way as much as possible. They both agree he went running every night, sometimes for hours on end.
...I asked Charles what he plans to do if the army rejects his request to return to active service. He said it won’t happen and has made no plans for an alternative. He has blocked all discussion on the subject since I suggested that a return to his parents’ farm might be his only choice if things don’t work out as he hopes.
. . . Susan believes his worries about his future are as debilitating to his confidence as his disfigurement is. Perhaps more so. She suggests Charles has defined himself for so long as a soldier – through a declared ambition at school and then in reality through his regiment – that he’s unable to define himself in any other way. Susan’s view – a pessimistic one – is that Charles will impose even more isolation on himself if the army rejects him.
. . . She feels he’s struggling with profound issues that aren’t easily explained by his injuries or concerns about his career. [Query: Sexual orientation?
Susan’s query also.
]
. . . Every attempt to talk about Jen angers him. He says he wants to forget her completely and can’t do that if I keep reminding him of her existence. When I mentioned the rape allegation, he said, ‘There’s a cast of thousands for the part of Jen’s rapist. She doesn’t exist if men don’t lust after her...’
METROPOLITAN
To: ACC Clifford Golding
From:
Det Supt Brian Jones
Date:
13 April 2007
Subject:
Kevin Atkins inquiry
Sir,
In answer to your question re the likelihood of a single perpetrator, the relevant SOCO preliminary findings from Kevin Atkins’s apartment are as follows. In brief:
- No forced entry.
- Victim found on his side, dressed in a bathrobe.
- Bathrobe pulled up to expose the buttocks.
- ‘Foreign object’ bruising/lacerations to rectum.
- No evidence of sexual intercourse.
- Opened, half-consumed bottle of wine in the living room – two cleaned glasses on the draining board in the kitchen.
- No useful fingerprints – some accounted for, some unknown.
- Frenzied attack to the head – similar weapon used (round-headed blunt instrument).
- Subsequent damage to walls and property with same weapon.
- No apparent resistance from the victim.
- No indication of how the victim was immobilized.
- Wallet emptied of cash – no credit cards taken.
- Mobile telephone stolen.
Despite 7 April being the probable date of death, FSS have yet to deliver a full report on Atkins. I am also waiting on an update to the psychological profile from Britton’s murder. Meanwhile, the focus of the inquiry team continues to concentrate on the army connection, male prostitutes, methods of contact, stranger sightings in the area and people known to the victims.
I will, of course, keep you updated as information comes in.
With kind regards,
Detective Superintendent Brian Jones
Si
x
A
CLAND
’
S DECISION TO
abandon further surgery in favour of a quick return to the army came as no surprise to Robert Willis. The lieutenant’s fuse had become shorter by the day since his return from London, made worse when a small operation, designed to begin the process of creating a pouch for a glass eye, showed minimal results.
He was left with an empty, misshapen eye socket, irregular migraines, persistent low-level tinnitus and a blade-shaped scar up his cheek, but as no one could guarantee that further operations would produce a significantly better result in an acceptable time-frame, he opted to live with the face he had. He was warned by Mr Galbraith that in an image-conscious world he could expect adverse reactions, but he rejected the surgeon’s advice and chose instead to confront the prejudices of the image-conscious by drawing attention to his disfigurement.
On the day of his departure, at the fag end of April, he buzz-cut his hair to half an inch, donned a black eyepatch and went in search of Robert Willis for a verdict. He found the psychiatrist in his office, deep in concentration in front of his computer.
Willis’s startled expression at the tap on his open door was as much to do with the fact that he hadn’t known anyone was there as with his lack of immediate recognition of the man in his doorway, but the response pleased Acland. Surprise and alarm were preferable to sympathy and disgust. ‘Am I disturbing you, Doc?’
‘Do you mean am I busy . . . or do I find your appearance disturbing?’
‘Both. Either.’
‘You certainly made me jump.’ Willis gestured towards a chair on the other side of the desk. ‘Take a pew while I finish this sentence.’ He shifted his gaze to his monitor and typed a few words before clicking on save. ‘So what are you hoping for?’ he asked. ‘Shock and awe? Or just shock?’
‘It’s better than pity.’
Willis stared at the lean, expressionless face that was staring back at him. Part of him could see that the image Acland had created for himself was magnificent – hard, tough and old beyond his years – but the other part saw only a tragic death of youthful innocence. There was no reconciling this implacable man with the boyish, good-looking one in photographs from before his injury.
‘You’ve nothing to fear from pity, Charles, although I can’t say the same for loneliness. You won’t make many friends looking like that . . . but I presume that’s the intention.’
Acland shrugged. ‘A glass eye won’t help me see any better . . . and the surgery will just delay my return to the army.’
‘You’re placing a lot of faith in this return.’
‘My CO’s supporting me.’
‘That’s good.’
Acland came close to smiling. ‘You might as well say it, Doc. I know you pretty well by now. The medical board won’t be as easily persuaded as my CO.’
‘No,’ said Willis with a sigh. ‘I’m afraid they’ll view your blind side as a liability and offer you a desk job instead. But that’s not what you want, is it?’
‘So I’ll have to prove the board wrong. Other people have done it. Nelson’s the greatest admiral this country ever had and he was one-eyed. If it didn’t stop him, it won’t stop me.’
‘Everything was a lot slower in Nelson’s day, Charles . . . including the ships. He had time to make decisions which isn’t given to commanders in today’s armed forces.’
‘What about Moshe Dayan? He made it to general in the Israeli army.’
Willis avoided another negative reply. ‘True . . . and a lot more contemporary. Are you hoping the eyepatch will prompt some positive memories from the board?’
‘What if I am? Will it work?’
‘I don’t know,’ Willis answered honestly, ‘but I suspect you’ll find the decision is made by computer. You’ll be asked a series of questions and your responses will trigger answers to another block of questions that you won’t be asked.’
‘Like what?’
‘Can you see to your left without turning your head? No? Then the computer will answer every other question relating to vision with a negative. For example, “Are you able to monitor a radar screen?” You’ll say yes – you might even be able to persuade an army doctor to put a tick in that box – but the program will give you an automatic no because you’ve already indicated that you have a blind side.’
‘You don’t need two eyes to watch a screen.’
‘You do if you’re in the middle of action and giving coordinates to a gunner. A fully sighted man can watch two things at the same time, a one-eyed man can only watch one. You won’t know if the gunner’s received the instruction unless you look away from the screen.’
‘I won’t need to. He’ll confirm over his radio.’
‘A doctor might agree with you,’ said Willis gently, ‘but a computer won’t. Written into the software will be an acknowledgement that accidents happen. The intercom might fail . . . the gunner might mishear the coordinates . . .
you
might mishear his confirmation. But in any case, you won’t be able to stop yourself turning away from the screen. It’s human nature to double-check. Every soldier – right down to the lowliest private – needs visual confirmation that the man next to him knows what he’s doing. It’s a necessary impulse when your life depends on it.’
Acland stared at his hands. ‘Did you design this program, Doc? You seem to know a lot about it.’
Willis shook his head. ‘I don’t even know if it exists, I’m just making an educated guess. The government uses a similar system to assess disability claimants, because doctors are seen to be more sympathetic than computers. The decision-makers work on the principle that if you take the human element out of the equation, it’s harder for a cheat to get benefit.’
‘What if I lie and say yes to the original question?’
‘You can’t. You’re not the one who feeds in the answers. It’s a doctor who does that and he’ll have your medical notes in front of him. Even without the evidence of the eyepatch, he’ll know that you’re unsighted on one side.’
Acland turned towards the window, deliberately presenting his blind side to Willis. ‘So what you’re saying is that I haven’t a hope in hell’s chance of getting back into a Scimitar.’ It was a statement rather than a question, as if he were confirming something he already knew.
‘Not necessarily,’ the psychiatrist answered as lightly as he could. ‘I’m saying it’s a possibility.’ He watched the young man flick a tear from his good eye with the back of a finger. ‘But you’ll be better able to argue your case if you understand what you’re up against. No decision’s final . . . and your CO’s support will carry weight at any appeal.’
There was a lengthy silence before Acland spoke again. ‘What about yours, Doc? Will your support carry weight?’
‘I hope so. I’ve given you a positive assessment.’
‘Have you mentioned Jen in it?’
‘No.’
‘My parents?’
‘No.’
‘I should be OK, then.’
‘Except it’s not your mental health the board will be assessing, Charles. It’s the physical handicaps of semi-blindness, persistent tinnitus and chronic migraines.
Those
are what you have to minimize.’ He gave one of his dry smiles. ‘No one on the board is going to be interested in disappointing relationships.’
‘Thanks, Doc.’
‘For what?’
Acland swung back with a twisted smile on his face. ‘Keeping it real . . . managing expectation. At least I won’t make a fool of myself. It doesn’t do to blub in front of retired colonels.’ The smile died abruptly. ‘Still . . . I’m never going to get my sight back so I might as well give it my best shot now. If they chuck me out, I’ll learn to live with it.’ His tone hardened. ‘That’s the
one
thing I am getting good at . . . learning to live with things.’
Willis opened a drawer and took out a business card. ‘There are two things you can do with this, Charles,’ he said, pushing it across the desk. ‘Bin it or keep it. The number will put you through to an agency who can reach me any time, day or night. I don’t expect to hear from you for several months . . . if at all . . . but I’ll return your call immediately.’
‘What if I phone next week?’
‘I’ll be surprised,’ the psychiatrist said frankly. ‘Whether you stay in the army or not, I’m afraid you’re about to shed friends quicker than you make them. You’ll walk away, closing doors behind you, rather than try to sustain relationships that you think are meaningless.’
Not for the first time, Willis wondered if a female psychiatrist would have been a better choice for this lad. With none of the formal baggage that came between men – the instinctive reluctance to show affection, the necessary distance demanded by alpha males
– she could have adopted a softer approach which might have allowed the lieutenant to weep for the person he’d been.
METROPOLITAN
