Lynne Fox - The Armageddon Game

Of course, the wing I was now on was somewhat more austere than the rest of the hospital but it was liveable with. The bed was comfortable enough even if the mattress was made of a material that resisted heat, ripping or tearing and the base made of extremely tough moulded glass fibre. My room was sparse but there were a few hooks for hanging things albeit made of moulded rubber so they bent over if any real weight was put on them and the clothes hangers were of cardboard. Bars on the windows and observation slits in the door were no different to the general wards so I was used to that.

The only real downside was the layout of the building. St Joseph’s was Victorian and built on a radial plan with long wings stretching out from a central hub. The majority of these wings had been demolished to make way for better design but the criminally insane were still housed in those that remained. This design led to a lack of natural light and prevented a healthy circulation of air and is generally regarded these days as inhumane but I guess the trustees of St Joseph’s felt it was all we deserved, However, there were compensations; we were still allowed to use the gym and swimming pool, had Sky TV and plenty of recreational activities.

Of course, to have any of these benefits one had to show willing and take part in the various therapy sessions; both the one to one’s with an allotted therapist and the group sessions. I enjoyed the group sessions best; it was fascinating to listen to the other inmates baring their souls, displaying their vulnerabilities – an excellent finishing school for a psychopath!

All in all, being in St Joseph’s again wasn’t so bad but I had no intention of remaining in the care of the psychiatric profession any longer than I had to; how to get out was the problem. The first step was to be moved back into the lesser risk accommodation and in that respect I was well on the way to persuading Dr Chang that I no longer posed any threat; that Dr Metcalfe was simply an aberration; I knew I’d been a naughty girl and I’d never do it again.

I’d just finished a session with Dr Chang and could sense he was close to transferring me when we were interrupted by one of the nurses. She walked across and whispered in Dr Chang’s ear, giving surreptitious glances in my direction as she did so. He made a brief nod of acknowledgement and turned to me as the nurse quietly closed the door behind her.

‘Annalee, there’s an Inspector Munroe at reception asking to speak with you. He apparently has some news for you regarding your parents. Will you meet with him?’

Possibilities raced across my mind; death, accident, divorce? Did I really care one way or the other? I hadn’t seen them for years; they’d emigrated to Australia during my first sojourn in St Joseph’s. Yet it would be interesting to see how Inspector Munroe was faring; he and I went back a long way and he, along with Dr Metcalfe, was primarily the reason I was back in St Joseph’s. I gave a slightly concerned look toward Dr Chang. ‘Will you be with me?’

‘No, but Alberto will be.’ Dr Chang looked across at Alberto, sitting mute in the back of the room; since Dr Metcalfe no-one except Alberto was inclined to be alone with me.

I turned toward him also. ‘Oh, ok then,’ and smiled warmly.

Alberto was a tall, black man, extremely handsome with the physique of a prize fighter. I could never understand why he had been appointed my main supervisor; with his attributes I would have thought he’d be far more useful with one of the burly, violent inmates. Despite Dr Metcalfe I was hardly a physical threat; female, diminutive – only five foot three – he could restrain me with one hand. Still, he was gorgeous and although I wouldn’t claim we’d formed a friendship we did have a mutual respect aided by the fact that I was secretly helping him with his written English.

‘The Inspector has been shown to Room 1-4-5, Alberto.’ Dr Chang closed his copious file on me with, I felt, a sense of relief and Alberto ushered me from the room.

DCI Munroe rose from the chair on which he was sitting, good manners obviously deeply ingrained then, remembering who it was he was standing to greet, swiftly sat down again retracting his proffered hand. ‘Miss Theakston.’

It was clear his animosity toward me had not lessened with the passing of time. He continued to believe that I was responsible for the death of his daughter, Lily. His turning up again so unexpectedly was a little disconcerting. As far as I was concerned the game was over; with the death of his daughter I’d had my revenge for what I considered was his part in the death of my brother yet I had to admit that I’d missed our verbal confrontations; the intellectual challenge had been stimulating. Sparring with the doctors in St Joseph’s was dull by comparison.

‘Good morning, Inspector, it’s been a long time; I trust you are well.’

I could tell, with some satisfaction, that he was anything but well. He had always been, to my mind, painfully thin but now he was almost skeletal. He’d lost more of his hair, the bald patch at the crown being crept up upon by the widow’s peak rapidly forming at the front; his cheeks were sunken with darkness about the eyes and his overly long neck poked out from a slightly loose shirt collar, sinewy tendons clearly visible. As he crossed his legs his trousers flapped about them like a skirt there was so much unrequired material. It was obvious the years had not been kind to Inspector Munroe.

Alberto directed me to the upright chair opposite Munroe then retired to the side of the room and leant against the wall. Munroe’s eyes drifted over toward him.

‘Alberto is my minder,’ I explained, ‘he goes with me everywhere.’ I smiled sweetly.

Munroe cleared his throat. ‘Miss Theakston, I have some news regarding your parents.’

‘So I’ve been given to understand.’

‘You may not have been aware but at the time of your trial and conviction for the murder of Dr Metcalfe’s fiancée, Melissa Hartnell …’

I raised my hand to stop him. ‘Which I did not commit.’

Munroe took a deep breath and continued, ignoring my interruption. ‘… the authorities advised your parents, as next of kin, of events.’

‘How very considerate.’

Refusing to be distracted Munroe ploughed on. ‘They expressed a wish to be kept informed of your progress and treatment although they have continued to refuse any direct contact with you.’

I said nothing, gazing at Munroe impassively. I could tell he was warming to his subject. His eyes glittered slightly in the finger of sunshine that was creeping across the room.

‘So, when your circumstances changed …’

I raised an incredulous eyebrow. ‘Please, Inspector there’s no need to be coy, you mean when I killed Dr Metcalfe.’

‘Just so, Miss Theakston, when you killed Dr Metcalfe I naturally took steps to inform your parents but not getting any response I contacted my counterparts in Australia.’ Munroe shifted slightly in his seat, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward toward me, his elbows on his thighs. ‘I’m sorry to tell you, Miss Theakston that your mother has died in suspicious circumstances and your father has confessed to killing her.’ Obviously anything but sorry Munroe couldn’t resist adding, very quietly as though to himself, ‘seems to run in the family, doesn’t it?’

Refusing to rise to the bait I merely asked, ‘What has any of this got to do with me?’

Munroe, affronted at my lack of concern said, ‘They are your parents, I would have thought you would at least be interested in how any of this has come about; what the Australian police have discovered.’