Death's Cold Hand J.E. Mayhew (best romantic novels to read TXT) 📖

“Y-yes, of course” Norton said, glancing at her watch. She turned back to the office, unlocking the door. The room inside was neat and tidy. Vikki supposed it had to be if she used it for consulting. This was Norton’s public face. Everything was painted a calming shade of pastel green.  A couple of tall parlour palms stood in the corner, softening the sharp edges of a bookcase laden with volumes of books about psychology and self-improvement. There was a couch in the corner, and a leather armchair next to it. Norton sat behind her desk and Vikki noticed a number of framed certificates declaring the woman’s professional accomplishments.

“I was hoping you would have got back to me sooner about Richard Ince’s buddy, Ms Norton,” Vikki said. “An investigation as complex as this takes time and I really didn’t want to have to travel when I could be assessing evidence back at HQ.”

“I’m so, so sorry. You should have phoned me …”

“I did several times and left voice messages but you never got back to me.”

“Like I said, I’ve been busy,” Norton said, smiling apologetically. “Honestly, it’s been frantic at Pro-Vets. Everyone wants to talk and George has been surprisingly generous with my time.”

“Well, we’re here now, so, can you tell me who Richard Ince’s buddy was?”

Nicola Norton looked as though she was weighing up what to say next. “Look, my experience of working with the police hasn’t always been encouraging in the past,” she said. “Two years ago, I helped on a case involving a troubled ex-serviceman. It was a total mess and the young man ended up dead. So forgive me but I’m concerned about just bandying names about without considering my patients.”

Vikki pursed her lips for a moment. “Okay. I can understand that. What do you suggest? I really need to speak to this person.”

Norton thought for a second. “The man works in the Pro-Vets warehouse. He has a number of problems due to an acquired brain injury. One of them is he finds it hard to process what people are saying, he also has poor executive function…”

“Executive function?”

“Imagine you want a drink of tea. You know that first you have to get the mug from the cupboard, then you know you need to fill the kettle with water, then you know you have to switch the kettle on. There’s a whole chain of actions that lead to that drink being before you, right? He struggles with working out the steps needed to achieve the most basic tasks sometimes. It causes all kinds of problems for him.”

“Then we’d have to plan what we were going to ask carefully so he could process and answer effectively,” Vikki said. “You could help with that, couldn’t you? I don’t want to make this any more of an ordeal for him than it has to be.”

Norton looked uncomfortable. “There’s something else you should know. My client has always been… fragile. There had been concerns raised about him before he was injured.”

“What kind of concerns?”

“Trauma can do all kinds of things to the mind, Sergeant. He was having bad dreams, making strange accusations against senior officers. Claiming they were spying on him or that other colleagues were going through his belongings. The injury only seemed to heighten this paranoia.”

“Are you saying that this man is dangerous?”

“Not normally but he will be hard to interview. Have you ever heard of the Fregoli delusion, Sergeant? It’s a very rare disorder that means the sufferer has trouble distinguishing between faces. Part of the delusional thought leads them to believe that certain individuals can change appearance or disguise themselves.”

“So, as far as my client is concerned, I could be one of his friends…”

“Or enemies, out to get him. He had trouble with one particular NCO, a Corporal Graves. Witnesses suggest that Graves picked on my client when he was in the army. Graves was caught in the same IED explosion as him but didn’t survive. In his worst moments, my client thinks Graves is still alive and out to get him, changing his appearance to get at him. He’s on anti-psychotics but, trust me, approach my client in the wrong way and you’ll have big problems. His name is Terry White.”

*****

As plans went, Blake knew it was foolhardy. Ian Youde, the voice of reason, sat in his kitchen and shook his head, Charlie curled at his feet. It was the end of another long day and Blake had treated himself to a chicken jalfrezi from the Wirral Tandoori in Bromborough. He’d phoned Ian in advance and got his order of fish and chips from the chippy. Blake could have predicted that he wouldn’t be a fan of curries. Now they sat polishing off their respective meals, Blake sweating slightly and sipping a cold Cobra beer in an attempt to cool his mouth down.

“Is there someone in your department, anyone, you’ve really wanted to punch? Because you may as well do that before you launch into this stupid idea and lose your job, Will.”

“There are a few people I wouldn’t mind giving a good slap right now, Ian, but I need to talk to Laura and it seems like the safest way…”

“There isn’t a safest way,” Ian said. “If she’s shacked up with her ex, you can’t go muscling in, especially if the police are watching him. You shouldn’t even have told me.”

“What? You going to tell them all at your Bridge circle, Ian?” Blake said.

“I go down the Snooker club every now and then,” Ian said, sounding hurt. “I like my own company, it’s true but I do have friends other than you.”

“I know but you’re not a blabbermouth, are you? Anyway, it might just work and give me at least a chance to speak to her.”

“You don’t even know if she’s still practising as an animal psychologist, Will…”

Blake showed Youde a website on his phone. It showed Laura holding a small black dog and smiling confidently out of the screen.