(2002) Deception aka Sanctum (18 page)

The business of the evening: Morris is still having an affair with the receptionist in his practice, and Bangor says he thinks his new girlfriend, Nurse Julie, has heard about it from the district nurse.

“Well, she either knows or she doesn’t,” says Morris.

“Well, she does,” says Bangor.

“How do you know for sure?” asks Morris.

“Because she told me.”

“What did she tell you?”

“She told me she knows that you and the tart with the fat arse from Kingspark are at it.”

“Is she going to tell Mrs. Morris?”

“Nurse Julie thinks Evelyn already knows.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“Julie’s going to tell her.”

“She can’t. The bitch just can’t trample all over people’s fucking lives like that. Has she no feelings? No sense of propriety?”

During this exchange I think of Gow and Susie, and I know they weren’t shagging. They couldn’t possibly have been shagging. We’re sitting there getting more and more pissed, and I feel great. I’m not the one with the problems, and there’s nothing strange here. We’ve all known each other forever, and Morris is up to mischief again and Bangor is trying to trick him into doing the right thing. I sip and nod along and laugh because I’m not the focus and all we have to talk about is frivolous shit. It feels roomy and comfortable.

But when I went to the bar to get a round in, the guy serving kept looking at me and frowning. Finally, as he was giving me my change, he asked where he knew me from.

I was feeling cocky because of the drink, so I said, “Dunno, mate. In here?” But we both knew it wasn’t.

I got back here at ten-thirty. I was standing in the dark kitchen, making a big buttery sandwich with the leftover roast lamb, when Mum came down and switched on the light. She put the kettle on and made us both a cup of tea. We sat at the table together. Full of drink and goodwill, I said thanks for coming. We had quite a nice chat. She said what nice friends I have, how good of them to come over and cheer me up. I didn’t tell her that I phoned and told them to come. The Guinness made me mellow, and I leaned across and kissed her cheek and said it’s been nice having her here, talking about it in the past tense, hoping she’ll get the message. She patted my hand and washed her cup before she went to bed.

I put the lights out again and opened the French doors to the garden. I sat on the step as if it were summer, as if there were nothing wrong. The dead leaves evaporated, the sky lightened, and the cup of tea in my hand turned into a can of beer. I looked out at the paper plates thrown in hedges and the bits of burger bun strewn across the lawn and decided to leave it all until the morning, what the hell, give the foxes a treat.

Behind me Susie was chatting about something Bangor had said to Saskia and laughing. She came over and sat next to me on the step, lifted my arm over her shoulder, and took the beer can from my hand. I squeezed her waist.

“What a pretty garden, Lachie. Aren’t we lucky to live here?” she said. “One day we’ll have kids of our own and they’ll enjoy it, too.”

“We’ll have hundreds of kids,” I said, burying my face in her neck.

“Well”— she smiled and patted my knee fondly—“tens of kids, maybe.”

I heard a noise behind me in the November kitchen. Yeni had crept in and was standing uncertainly by the door. I stood up and waved to her. Without making any noise, she waved back, glancing up at the ceiling nervously. I motioned for her to come over, I don’t know why; I didn’t have anything to say to her. She got the marzipan bar out of the fridge, brought it over and halved it, and we sat on the step in the dark in the cold, cold kitchen watching the moonlight slither about the grass. It was great marzipan. It had a spongy chocolate bit in it with pistachio stuff on top. We munched through it silently, nodding and smiling at each other like top pals.

Today I can actually feel my liver throbbing, although I may be imagining it. The alcohol is making something bad happen to my innards. It never used to be like this. I used to get pissed and bounce back the next day and go for a fry-up. I never want to eat a roast dinner again, but even through the bitter haze of a terrible hangover, I still remember how nice the marzipan was. I must find out where Yeni bought it.

chapter seventeen

I GOT A LETTER FROM SUSIE THIS MORNING ASKING ME NICELY NOT to come up to this study anymore. I wrote back and didn’t mention it. She can piss right off. I’ve got to go and visit her tomorrow and I don’t want to. I don’t want to talk about this being her room. I want it to be my room.

* * *

I’ve been looking at this report for days without realizing it was written by Jon Compton, Susie’s old supervisor. She did all the typing for him, and I remember she said she sat in on this interview as part of her training. It was probably the first time she ever met Gow. She said he was creepy and stared at her tits.

Box 1 Document 7 Gow’s Psychiatric Report 1994

State Hospital

Sunnyfields Lanarkshire

PSYCHIATRIC REPORT ON ANDREW GOW DATE OF BIRTH: JUNE 23, 1965

I hereby certify on soul and conscience that at the request of the Procurator Fiscal, Glasgow, I examined Mr. Andrew Gow in Barlinnie prison 2/13/1994 and that the following is a true report.

I am recognized in terms of Section 20 of the Mental Health (Scotland) Act 1984.

The report that follows is based upon statements that Gow made to me during my meeting with him and my only other source of information is certain background details provided for me by the Procurator Fiscal at Glasgow. The fact that I record Mr. Gow’s statements here does not mean that I accept them as being true and accurate.

THE CHARGE

I understand that Mr. Gow faces several concurrent charges of murder. He will not discuss the charges. Although he refuses to talk about it when questioned, he claims that he does understand the nature of the charges, that they are for murder, and that he fully remembers the events of the nights in question. Questioned about the charges, he smiles inappropriately but is aware of the meaning of murder and can recite the names of the women he is charged with killing. He says he never met any of them and had not heard of them before he was charged with their murders. Asked what the women had in common he says they were all prostitutes. Asked about his attitudes to prostitution he shrugs and says he wouldn’t want his sisters doing it. He claims to have a full memory for all events and was in a normal state of health throughout the period charged.

FAMILY AND SOCIAL BACKGROUND

Mr. Gow grew up in Bridgeton. His father had a drink problem and separated from his family when Mr. Gow was eight. His mother does not drink. He has three sisters, one older and two younger. He states that his childhood was unhappy. He blames his mother’s reliance on his looking after the other children for his failure to do well at school. He has worked as a minicab driver since school. His father died of cancer two years ago. He has fallen out with his mother and sisters because of a dispute between them and his wife. He seems quite bitter about his family’s unwillingness to accept his wife. Mr. Gow and his wife have no children.

PAST MEDICAL HISTORY

There is no history of psychiatric treatment or contact of any kind. He attempted suicide when he was twelve by taking an overdose of acetaminophen. His mother took him to Casualty and claimed he had taken them by accident. He does not recall why he took the overdose. There is no past history of physical illness.

ALCOHOL AND DRUG HISTORY

Regarding alcohol, he told me he used to drink, sometimes heavily, but “got a fright” after his arrest for drunk and disorderly conduct and stopped drinking. He has never taken drugs. He has been offered them in prison but does not want them.

BEHAVIOR PATTERN

He told me that he does not want to discuss the charges with me but is fully able to discuss them with his lawyer and understands what is about to happen in the trial. He is fully oriented and aware of his surroundings during interview. He is a healthy-looking man who, when not discussing the charges, smiles readily and appropriately and presents well.

He performed well in the reading skill and memory functioning. His handwriting is neat.

There was no evidence of abnormality either of the form or content of his thinking and no evidence that he has ever experienced perceptual disorders.

There was no evidence of primary abnormality in his mood in either direction.

OPINION

Gow is sane and fit to plead.

There was no evidence of mental illness or mental handicap.

There are no psychiatric grounds for diminished responsibility.

An EEG examination is not indicated.

J. Compton, MD MRC Psych, DCh.

Physician Superintendent

Reports like this one are being drawn up about Susie right now. I wonder what they’ll say about our home life.

1. Husband is unemployed/unemployable.

2. A dispute about her husband has led to tensions with her sole surviving relative, her Aunt Trisha.

3. Her husband is sticking by her even though she was having an affair with a half-man/half-monkey-type creature.

There must be something in among all the dross in here; something Susie doesn’t want me to know about. I’ve been through all the computer files in the “My Documents” file and they’re all cases, notes, timetables, research ideas, stuff like that. If there is a faint possibility that we could base an appeal on something in here, it’s got to be worth my looking through it, whatever she says. She can’t be objecting on the grounds that this stuff is confidential. She can hardly take a hard line on patient confidentiality, given that she was dressing up like a tart and giving interviews about Gow to lads’ mags.

* * *

It occurred to me while I was bathing Margie: Susie had a lock on the door and a computer password, which suggests that there might be something in the room, not just in the computer, that she doesn’t want me to see. I’ll start at one end and work my way around the walls.

* * *

I’ve spent the day with Mum and Dad and Trisha, being chirpy to reassure them all that I’m all right, that they can actually go home. We took Margie to the Haughhead center and let her run amok in the playroom. Mum and Dad like it out there because it’s warm and everything’s indoors. They wanted to leave Trisha behind and spend a bit of time just the four of us but it seemed so unkind to leave her out. We were talking about it in the kitchen and she came in to make a cup of tea, clearly feeling excluded, staying away from the table and looking out of the window with her arms crossed. I invited her to come out with us, and she pretended that she might have something else to do before agreeing enthusiastically. I wish she got on better with Mum so that they could go clothes shopping and I could get a chat with Dad. Trisha isn’t warm, but she is nice to Margie. When we got to the mall, she watched Margie climbing about in the playroom for nearly forty minutes while Dad and I walked around the supermarket and Mum went looking for an electric blanket to take back to Spain.

It’s scary spending long tracts of time with Dad; it reminds me how nervous and elderly he is. He’s lost half a foot in the past three years, and we’re not allowed to mention it because of the implication that his bones might snap in a high wind. But I know it’s not brittle bones or bad hips that make him old, it’s the fear. He treads carefully, is nervous around rough children, tries not to lift heavy stuff. In the supermarket he came to a complete stop at a spill of milk. I saw it happen to Mrs. Wilkens. Once the fear gets hold of them, they start to think that every fast-running child or hot bath or mild bout of diarrhea is the start of an inexorable descent into indignity. The fear is all-pervasive until they’re sitting in all afternoon watching the matinees on TV, afraid to leave the house in case they die.

* * *

I’m visiting Susie tomorrow, and I don’t want to fall asleep because then the morning will come sooner. Mum and Dad have insisted on accompanying me, saying that they’ll look after Margie while we’re in the car. Coincidentally, a big antiques fair is taking place nearby on the same day and they might just pop along to look while we’re in visiting. Trisha has told Margie that she will see her mummy, so there’s no backing out. Each time I think of simple questions to ask about the food and conditions, another, bolder, question leapfrogs to the tip of my tongue. What did I ever do to you? How could you come home and look at me in the evenings? Why were you fucking Gow? But Margie’ll be there, and Susie will pay scant attention to me. It occurred to me as I lay awake and burning-eyed on the settee that she only stayed with me for the sake of Margie. She was counting on my bringing up her child for her while she got on with her life, having affairs and progressing in her career. I’m like Yeni but paid better.

I actually found myself praying. Please, God, let me know the truth. Let all the wondering stop. Let my thoughts rest. But I don’t believe in God. I don’t even believe in the cognitive value of prayer.

chapter eighteen

IT’S FOUR-THIRTY IN THE MORNING, AND I’D GIVE ANYTHING TO BE able to sleep. I wish these old bastards would piss off home and leave me be. I want to go for three hours without talking. I want to get back into my own bed. I worked it out: In the past forty-eight hours I’ve had four and three-quarter hours’ sleep. In the past seventy-two hours I’ve had nine and a half hours’ sleep, as opposed to the generally recognized requisite twenty-four. That is a deficit ratio of 1:2.5. I should be sleeping two and half times more than I am.