Chapter 25

No matter how many flower beds were planted to soften the buildings that made up Bushey Fields, your mind knew that no amount of marigolds were going to help the people inside.

Mental illness didn't respond to well-cut borders or manicured lawns, and all efforts to the contrary were designed to assure onlookers and visitors that care was taken both inside and out.

A nurse buzzed them through the first set of doors into what Kim always termed a decontamination chamber. He checked both of their IDs and then tapped a few keys.

‘Who referred her?' he asked.

‘I did,' she answered.

‘Date and time?'

She understood the need for security. They had never met before and a decent-looking fake ID wasn't that hard to come by.

These were basic questions that only the genuine officers would know.

‘Yesterday afternoon around fivep.m.'

‘Reason?'

‘Unusual behaviour following arrest.'

‘For?'

‘Murder.'

‘Thanks for your patience, Inspector. Wait there and I'll have someone escort you to her room.'

‘No, bring her out. We'll sit at that table over there,' she said, pointing beyond the second set of doors.

‘No problem,' he said, buzzing the door open.

The nurse spoke to another member of staff and then approached them. ‘She'll be with you soon.'

‘How's she been?' Kim asked.

‘Hasn't left her room. Hasn't spoken. Hasn't eaten or even drunk a glass of water.'

‘Okay, thanks,' she said, taking a seat.

‘Why out here?' Bryant asked, sitting beside her.

‘Her world is alien right now. Her only safe space is that room down there, and we're not going to take it away from her.'

‘Got it,' he said.

‘You know what else you've got? Or will have once you've fetched them from that vending machine over there?'

‘What?' he asked, following her gaze.

‘Three bottles of water.'

‘You don't drink bottled?—'

‘Just get 'em,' she said as Katie appeared from the corridor.

She was pleased to see that more suitable clothing had been found for her, even if the jeans were a bit big and the cardigan sleeves too short. It was neither a ballgown nor a boiler suit, so she finally looked the age she was.

As the nurse guided Katie to the remaining chair, Kim caught her eye. ‘Any meds?'

‘Light sedative last night.'

Kim thanked her as Bryant returned to the table with three bottles of water.

‘How are you feeling?' Kim asked.

Katie said nothing and stared at her fingertips.

Still the silent treatment, which was confusing. She could understand it when Katie thought she might say something to incriminate herself, but now Kim knew that she hadn't murdered her mother, and Katie had known that all along.

‘Why didn't you just tell us that you didn't kill your mother?'

Katie's head shot up. Kim was stunned by the confusion on her face. What the hell was going on?

‘I didn't kill her?' Katie asked disbelievingly.

‘Do you remember killing her?'

Katie frowned and stared at the table. ‘I remember wanting to. I really, really wanted to.' She shook her head. ‘No, I don't believe you. I must have killed her.'

‘Tell us what you recall, and remember we're not here to trip you up.'

‘No, you're trying to trick me. You're trying to get me to say something you can use against me.'

‘I swear I'm not. You have no legal representation, you're not under caution and you've been deemed unfit for interview. You could tell me you murdered a house full of folks and I wouldn't be able to do much about it.'

Katie looked to Bryant, who nodded his agreement.

‘But I must have done it. I was angry. I went to the house…' She paused, and the frown deepened. ‘I was on the floor, covered in blood, with the knife in my hand. I killed her.'

And there it was: the confession she'd been after for almost twenty-four hours. Except it wasn't true.

‘Katie, you blacked out. Your mother was already dead. You saw that and it was too traumatic to process. You blacked out and lost time, but you didn't kill your mother.'

‘Oh God,' she said as her head fell into her hands. ‘I didn't kill her. It wasn't me.' The relief in her voice was obvious.

‘You're sure?' she asked, lifting her head before reaching for a bottle of water. As Kim had suspected: guilt-induced self-denial. She hadn't eaten or drunk anything for hours.

‘We're sure,' Kim said as Katie chugged half the bottle in one go. ‘We know you had serious issues with your mum, Katie. You spoke to Judith Palmer about it.'

‘She helped me understand that it wasn't my fault, that my mother was a narcissist who held me in a twenty-five-year guilt trip.'

‘Go on,' Kim urged.

Katie finished off the first bottle of water, and Kim pushed another towards her.

‘Nothing I did was ever good enough. Every day she would tell me of the sacrifices she'd made for me. Her love was conditional on how hard I practised my walk or how well I smiled. She would mark my practise performances out of ten. Anything below an eight got a scowl and twenty-four hours of silent treatment. Above an eight I got cuddles and toys.'

‘Did you want to do the pageants?' Bryant asked.

‘At first, when I thought it would be fun to dress up in sparkly dresses, but that soon wore off. I was weighed nightly and even a few ounces over was starved off me. I had no friends because I couldn't play out. God forbid I'd get a bruise or a scratch that would mar my perfect appearance.

‘My mother controlled everything. She wouldn't allow me to do anything. She was still cutting the fat off my bacon when I was nineteen years old,' she said, staring off into the distance.

Kim coughed to regain her attention. She wanted Katie to remember it but not relive it.

‘She had no boundaries. She would walk into the bathroom while I was showering to check that I'd shaved my pubic hair.'

‘But you got out,' Kim said, hiding her shock and trying to remind Katie of her own strength.

‘Yes, eventually, with Judith's help, but the problem was that I didn't know how to act. I found myself in my own home without knowing how to do anything. I'd never even cooked myself a meal.'

The empty cupboards were beginning to make more sense.

‘I've found cafés that cook the meals I've got used to. I don't know how to do anything for myself. I'm useless. I don't know how to make friends or make small talk, and now the only person that knows me is dead.'

The tears began to fall from her eyes, and Kim started to understand the complexities that had existed in this relationship. Only moments ago, she'd admitted to wanting the woman dead.

‘Did Judith advise you to cut your mother off completely?' Kim asked.

Katie nodded. ‘She said it was the only way to heal.'

Either that or make it feel like being cast adrift in the ocean in a dinghy, Kim thought.

‘And yet you were going to see her, despite Judith's advice,' Kim noted.

‘I was angry,' she said, glancing at the wall above Kim's head.

‘About what?' Kim asked, sensing the walls were going back up.

‘Just stuff. The things I was just talking about.'

‘But those things were in the past. Why choose that day to confront your mum about them?'

Katie's expression was closed as she took a sip from the second bottle of water. ‘Am I free to go now?'

Legally they had no reason to detain her. She'd committed no crime, she wasn't in any trouble, she wasn't a suicide risk, no family member had expressed a fear for her or their own safety, and other than some eccentric behaviour, she was able to function and hold a perfectly coherent conversation. Kim knew that few of the residents of this facility were able to claim the same thing.

‘You do know that you gave us quite the performance in the holding cells yesterday?' Kim asked.

Her face showed nothing. ‘Just a bit of light entertainment, some role-play to lighten the mood. Nothing you can keep me here for.'

‘Katie, I think you need help,' Kim said honestly. How many times had those same words been said to her? And how many times had she chosen to ignore them?

‘Am I free to leave?' Katie persisted.

‘I think you should stay for a while and learn how to manage?—'

‘Inspector, am I free to leave?'

‘Yes, except for a bit of paperwork, you're free to leave,' Kim answered, defeated. Any other response could result in a lawsuit.

‘Thank you,' Katie said, pushing back her chair before leaving.

A quick glance at Bryant confirmed he was as bewildered as she was.

This visit was supposed to have cleared Katie of murder, and it had, but she was still lying about something. It was more than rage about her past that had driven Katie to her mother's house yesterday morning.

‘Inspector Stone, I assume,' said a voice from above.

She ignored the outstretched hand as the man introduced himself.

‘Doctor Michaels. I'm about to assess your prisoner.'

‘Good luck on that – she's probably halfway out the door.'

‘Ahh, I see. There's not enough to hold her so I assume you're hoping my examination will conclude that she is fit for interview so you can extract a confession.'

‘You're a bit behind the times, Doc. What I really want is for you to take your time, diagnose her and then make her better. But unfortunately, I don't think you're going to get that chance.'