It’s All in the Game

by
Lynne Fox

For John Fisher

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Thanks to M-Y Books Ltd for their invaluable advice and support throughout the publishing process.

Once again sincere thanks must go to John Fisher for his encouragement and constructive criticism; a very patient man.

Lynne Fox

CHAPTER 1

Annalee Theakston; there‘s something strangely comforting in using my own name again after so long, it’s like regaining my true self, battered and bruised but definitely still me. Those months in St Joseph’s Psychiatric Hospital under the care of Dr Metcalfe had given me time to think; to acknowledge my mistakes and plan anew.

I’d had counselling before, long before the accident that had brought me to St Joseph’s. Then it had been just a bit of fun; my adversary, for that was how I saw Barnaby, was a rank amateur but our sessions did allow me the opportunity to practise deception, to infer one truth whilst hiding another and to sharpen my memory; it’s far too easy to slip up at your next meeting when your adversary is the only one taking notes.

Dr Metcalfe, on the other hand, was a different prospect and a far greater challenge. An eminent psychiatrist with, I discovered, a renowned academic career, he’d concentrated most of his professional life in studying and treating psychopaths, trying to determine if their ‘affliction’ was more nature or nurture. As if anyone really cares!

Sitting in the window seat of my new apartment I turn toward my beautifully crafted marionette. She has the most compelling eyes, wide blemish-free white ovals, the irises green as ivy leaves with pupils the deep liquid black of its berries. Her lashes, dark brown, are as soft as the ears of a King Charles spaniel and long, so that when she closes her lids they lay against her high cheek bones with the delicacy of an artist’s sable brush. I’ve named her Liliad after the two young women who have so featured in my life; Lily and Addie.

Brushing the marionette’s hair back from her forehead I note again the scar and feel the familiar stab of guilt. If only I’d left her at home that fateful evening. I let the hair fall back, covering the blemish and she is once again beautiful, the work of an exceptional craftsman.

As I stare into Liliad’s face I know there’s no going back, that life can only be lived in a forward gear. The day to day banalities will continue but beneath the reassuring pattern of their normality hides the insidious murmur of compelling desire.

‘You know, Liliad nowadays there’s a huge profession built up around finding reasons behind people’s heinous crimes, as though the human race simply can’t accept its inherent evil. Strange, don’t you think when the evidence to the contrary is so compelling?’

Liliad’s head turns slightly to look out of the window at the crenelated roof top of St Joseph’s, one street away and rising like a harbinger of doom over the houses opposite.

‘You don’t have to worry,’ I say, ‘we won’t go back there, I promise.’

CHAPTER 2

St Joseph’s Psychiatric Hospital stands imposingly on the crest of a hill, looking down on the town of Endover like a medieval fortification only instead of keeping marauders out it incarcerates the region’s ‘undesirables’ under the auspices of the ‘caring profession’.

My sojourn under its roof was occasioned by a car accident, entirely my own fault for which I paid dearly; broken ribs, broken collar bone but more worryingly, severe head trauma. Put into a medically induced coma for several weeks I was, when considered physically stable, transferred from the General Hospital to St Joseph’s for assessment; not just due to the accident but due to my actions and behaviour prior to it, which gave the police and the psychiatric profession reason for concern.

Dr Metcalfe seemed to think he had a need to rid me of my delusions and paranoia but I was well aware that I was neither deluded nor paranoid. I’d known exactly what I was doing but I also knew if I was ever to be discharged I had to play their game. That was OK though; I’m good at playing games.

Seeking revenge on DCI Munroe had become a game, albeit a deadly one. When I was younger I’d dreamt up various ways of killing him, fantasising as to time and place but later I realised that wouldn’t be much of a game; it would all be over too soon. I’m not into physical torture although I understand some people find it quite stimulating but no, it isn’t for me, at least, not for the present; I lean more toward inflicting emotional pain, the sort that can last for years; that way I get the pleasure of observing my handiwork for longer.

What was Munroe’s offence? He ignored me and that I will not countenance.

I’d been nine years old when my brother, Matt’s fiancée, Addie Baxter had tragically drowned in what the police initially considered suspicious circumstances. They were quite right, of course although I hadn’t actually pushed her in or held her down; I was only nine after all but I had manipulated her into taking a swim in what I knew was a dangerous part of the river. Looking back I’m quite proud of my young self.

Of course nobody was aware of my rôle in Addie’s demise, the police attention focussed entirely on my brother. I couldn’t have that; the whole point of getting rid of Addie was to have Matt to myself again so I tried to speak up for him.

Munroe was only a Detective Sergeant, at the beginning of his career, when he’d entered our house that day at the start of his investigations into Addie’s death. What was it he’d said, as my mother pulled me out of the room at his request, as I’d tried to defend Matt?

‘This is not the place for little girls with wild imaginations. They’re merely an irritation.’

Well, I’d shown him just how much of an ‘irritation’ I could be and I wasn’t finished with him yet.

Personally, I blame my parents for everything.

I’d learnt at a very early age that I was an unwanted addition to my family. Six years old, sitting on the stairs at home, I’d secretly watched and listened to my parents in the lounge; even today the image is so sharp it threatens to cut into my psyche like the razor blade cuts I hide under my sleeve.

‘If you’d had the snip when I asked you to, she would never have happened. You’re so bloody selfish!’ Dropping heavily onto the sofa, my mother almost spills red wine on the carpet.

Calmly my father replies, ‘It wasn’t all my fault; it does take two to tango you know.’

‘Don’t be so damn facetious; if you’d done as I asked we wouldn’t be in this position now. I mean, it’s ridiculous; Matt’s nearly twenty one with a six year old sister who hangs onto him like some sort of limpet.’

‘Matt doesn’t seem to mind,’ my father replies reasonably.

‘Well he should! It’s not healthy.’ My mother takes another gulp of wine. ‘And another thing, there’s something not normal about that child; I don’t like the way she looks at me sometimes.’

‘Oh really, Brenda, now you’re just being silly.’

‘No, I’m not. Sometimes when she looks at me it’s like there’s no depth to her eyes; they’re calculating – like a cat.’

Moving across to the bureau my father pours himself a large scotch. ‘Well, we can hardly put her back, can we? I don’t think they have a ‘satisfied or return’ policy at the maternity hospital.’

My mother gives an exasperated sigh, ‘No, more’s the pity. I just can’t help feeling so resentful; Matt’s twenty one and will be off our hands soon; he seems to have taken quite a fancy to that Addie girl he’s been seeing so we should be looking, in the near future, to holidays and travelling not standing at school gates and dealing with adolescent tantrums. She’s completely spoilt everything.’

The words thrummed in my mind like a stuck record; ‘spoilt everything’, ‘spoilt everything’ and then, on top of it all was Munroe, pouring salt into my already livid wound. Oh yes, the revenge I seek is very personal.

I’d focussed my efforts on Munroe’s only child, his adored daughter, Lily. I’d had to wait years, into adulthood but patience is the one virtue I do possess, in bucket-loads so playing the long game isn’t an issue.

It had all gone really well; I’d manoeuvred myself into a friendship with Lily, manipulated her into a relationship with a young man of dubious character, Barry Mason, who’d been one of my students at the college where I taught; persuaded DCI Munroe that Barry posed an immediate and dangerous physical threat to his daughter and engineered a confrontation that I hoped would result in Lily’s death. An eye for an eye; the Old Testament God is much more pleasing, but it all unravelled in the final hour leading to the car accident that almost took my own life and necessitated my enforced stay at St Joseph’s.

It was towards the end of my stay in the psychiatric hospital, my discharge imminent, that I had an unexpected visit from Mrs Munroe.

Shirley Munroe was a short, dumpy woman, a striking contrast to her tall, thin husband. Her face was remarkably clear of lines for a woman in her mid-fifties, the skin smooth and healthy looking; the well-scrubbed features of a country girl. Her eyes were small, their narrowness accentuated by her full cheeks so that they almost disappeared in the volume of flesh that migrated upwards when she smiled. She put me in mind of a pot-bellied pig.

Sitting in a chair by the window I stared silently at Mrs Munroe who stood just inside the door, one hand nervously plucking at the strap of her handbag as it lay over her shoulder whilst the other hung down by her side, holding a plastic bag containing … what? I couldn’t imagine.

Shirley cleared her throat. ‘May I sit down?’

I nodded toward the upright dining chair, the only choice in the room other than sitting on my bed.

Shirley sat bolt upright, her knees pressed primly together, placing the plastic bag on her lap and wrapping her arms around it in a protective, almost motherly gesture. ‘I expect you’re wondering why I’m here.’

Getting no response she struggled on.

‘I know you’ve been friends for a while now with my daughter, Lily and that you were there when Lily was accidentally shot in the police …’ Shirley hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and continuing. ‘… accidentally shot in my husband’s raid on Barry Mason’s cottage. Lily just wanted you to know – well, we both do – that she doesn’t in any way hold you responsible for what happened to her. Whatever her father might imply, she believes that you were trying to help when you drove towards them but lost control of your car and she’s sorry that you’ve been so badly hurt yourself.’

Like air seeping out of a balloon, Shirley’s body slowly lost its erect tautness as if she’d expelled something that had been caught inside her for a long time.

‘Thank you for telling me.’ I gave a weak smile, encouraging Shirley to continue.

‘The thing is, Annalee, I know you, or rather I know of you from years ago.’

I couldn’t control a sharp intake of breath which I hoped Shirley hadn’t noticed. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Like you, I used to live in Dorset, near Bridport; it’s where I met my husband; he was just starting out in the police force. My husband, Inspector Munroe, was the investigating officer into that young woman, Addie Baxter’s death. She was your brother’s fiancée, I believe.’

Sensing Shirley’s nervousness I forced myself to keep my face free of all expression but, turning my head to gaze out of the window I said quietly, ‘So that’s why Dr Metcalfe asked me if I thought, if I saw him again, I’d recognise the policeman who kept coming to our home all those years ago; he was the same one involved in all of this.’ I gestured to my bruised body.

‘And did you?’ Shirley ventured.

‘No, no I didn’t; I was only nine; the whole episode was so awful I think I must have blanked as much of it out as I could.’ I lied; it comes so easily.

Shirley shuffled uncomfortably on her seat. ‘It must have been dreadful.’

Turning toward her I allowed a solitary tear to trickle down my cheek. ‘My brother, Matt killing himself was the worst; he couldn’t believe anyone would suspect him of murdering Addie, he loved her so much …’ Raising my voice a fraction I allowed it to break on a sob. ‘… but that policeman, he just wouldn’t let go.’

‘Oh my dear, I’m so very, very sorry. I never would have wished …’

Pointedly I wiped away the tear. ‘Why are you sorry? It wasn’t your fault.’

‘If only I could believe that; I should never have told him.’

‘Told who? What?’

‘Eddie, I mean, my husband, Inspector Munroe.’ Shirley began fidgeting at the plastic bag on her lap, hugging it closer to her breast like a comfort blanket. ‘Where we lived, it was such a small community; I knew Addie’s mother from one of my evening classes; she often chatted about her daughter and she’d told me that Addie was having some doubts about her relationship with your brother; that there was someone else she’d met and that she was concerned how your brother might react if it ever came to anything. When I met her again, after the funeral, she told me that this other person had amounted to nothing; that Addie was certain she wanted to be with your brother and had been so excited and thrilled at their engagement.’

‘I still don’t understand why you think you have any blame?’

‘Because I told him, didn’t I? I told my husband that there were problems between the two; that I’d heard that Addie might leave your brother for someone else and that it’d likely cause a lot of anger and resentment. He latched onto it as a motive and wouldn’t let go; he was so keen to prove himself, advance his career; he wouldn’t listen to anyone after that.’

I let the air hang heavy between us as Shirley’s voice trailed into silence. Her admission made my intentions towards the Munroe family even more pleasing. Changing the subject I asked, ‘What have you got in the bag?’

Shirley started and glanced down at her lap, as though surprised to find she was holding anything. ‘Oh yes, of course, it’s for you.’

She held the bag at arms-length toward me but as I made no attempt to take it from her, she struggled up from her chair and, with a slight wince at the stiffness in her knees, crossed the room and placed the bag on my lap. ‘It was Lily’s idea; I hope you’re pleased.’

I made no attempt to look inside the bag but looking up into her face gazed expressionless until she felt so uncomfortable she took a few steps back, as though, amusingly, in the presence of royalty, and resumed her seat on the other side of the room.

Finding it difficult to hide the grin that was threatening to spread over my face I was obliged to look down, automatically opening the bag as I did so. ‘Oh!’ my surprise was genuine and impossible to conceal.

‘She was found in your car after the accident, still strapped into the front passenger seat,’ Shirley hastened to explain. ‘An arm had become dislocated, probably from the impact. When Lily heard about it she asked DC Wilson to get it for her.’

Shirley fidgeted with the pleats of her skirt as I carefully pulled the doll from the bag, holding her up and examining her closely.

‘Lily took her to the doll’s hospital, you know, the one in that small parade of shops in the old part of town. They were able to mend her arm but couldn’t completely get rid of the gash on her forehead.’

I brushed back the doll’s fringe and stared at the scar that ran from the doll’s left eye, up and across her forehead into the hair line.

‘They’ve made it a lot better than it was, though,’ Shirley continued brightly, ‘at least now it’s just a neat scar, not the ugly, jagged gash it was before.’

I said nothing, merely let the doll’s fringe fall back, covering the blemish and turned to place her on the window cill beside me.

‘Of course, I suppose I shouldn’t call her a doll, should I? I was so surprised when I saw all the strings; she’s actually a puppet, isn’t she?’

I snapped back, ‘She’s a marionette; there’s a difference.’

‘Is there?’ Shirley replied uncomfortably, ‘I wasn’t aware.’

I found it difficult to hide my contempt at Shirley’s ignorance. ‘Puppet is a generic term, it can be any one of a number of manipulated dolls; a glove puppet, a hand puppet, a rod puppet but a marionette is the only one manipulated by strings. They have a very ancient and respected history.’

‘Well I never.’ Shirley attempted a weak smile to cover her feelings of inadequacy. Picking up her handbag she stood and started toward the door but hesitated, obviously deliberating whether to say something more. After an awkward pause she ventured, ‘Why did you change your name; call yourself Amelia Thompson?’

I wasn’t inclined to answer immediately so looked out of the window as though her question had offended me. Shirley, uncomfortable with my silence, continued. ‘My husband says it was because you didn’t want anyone to know who you really were; that you were deliberately hiding your connection to your family, to Addie Baxter’s death and your brother’s suicide. He says it was a calculated ploy to get close to Lily without arousing any suspicions.’

I turned sharply to face her. ‘Why would I want to do that?’

Shirley squirmed like a maggot on the end of a fish hook. ‘He says it was because you planned to harm her all along; that you knew who he was, I mean, you knew he was her father and also the detective involved in your family’s case; that it was a sort of vendetta.’

‘Or perhaps I was just trying to forget such an horrific past; put it behind me and have a fresh start. Is that so unbelievable?’

I stared accusingly at Shirley, my eyes moistened with tears.

‘No, of course it isn’t. I don’t agree with him and neither does Lily; I’m sure your meeting up and becoming friends was just a coincidence. I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to upset you.’ Gathering her coat about her Shirley fussed at her handbag. ‘I’d better be going now, you need your rest. Can I tell Lily that you’re pleased to have the puppet, I mean, the marionette, back? She’ll want to know.’

‘Of course.’ I watched with a mixture of disgust and contempt as Mrs Munroe left; what a pathetic specimen. I turned to Liliad and smiled, ‘I’m so glad you’re back; we’re going to have such fun.’

CHAPTER 3

I’d been surprised and pleased at Mrs Munroe’s candour over what she considered to be her part in my family tragedy. A guilty conscience, the need to atone for one’s mistakes, leaves a person open to all sorts of potential manipulation.

I’d known that to communicate openly with Lily would be difficult; DCI Munroe was watching us both like a hawk, but here was Mrs Munroe, a willing go-between, only too ready to salve her conscience. I could hardly believe my luck.

Since that enlightening hospital visit Shirley and I had exchanged mobile phone numbers and by means of coded texts, Shirley had facilitated a couple of meetings between myself and Lily. Those meetings had been brief, both of us tentatively feeling our way back to a relationship that events had severely damaged but once we were both out of hospital and I was established in my new apartment, life settled into a degree of normality and contact between us became easier.

It was a couple of months after leaving hospital that I felt ready to start the game again. I placed a finger under Liliad’s chin as she sat on my lounge window seat and gently tilted her head back a little, her eyes opening wider.

‘I knew you’d agree,’ I smiled contentedly, ‘we must get back on track.’

Liliad’s head dropped slightly, as though nodding in agreement.

‘First things first – another meeting with Lily is called for.’

I picked up my mobile and sent a text to Mrs Munroe.

Four days later, I arrived early at Dougie’s café so that I could get a table by the window to watch Lily as she approached and so gauge her mood in advance.

As she rounded the corner, I could tell by her slumped shoulders and drooping head that things were far from happy. Entering the café Lily smiled but her greeting was subdued, measured, no longer exhibiting the carefree exuberance of before.

‘Lily, hi.’ I indicated the chair opposite, ‘I’ll get the coffees; what would you like?’

‘Oh, a cappuccino will be fine; small please.’

Standing at the counter waiting to be served I looked across at Lily. Her body language displayed a dejection that seemed excessive, even given what she’d been through. Returning with the coffees I smiled warmly. ‘It’s lovely to see you, Lily. How’ve you been?’

‘OK I guess.’

Staring into the swirls of her coffee Lily absent-mindedly mixed froth and chocolate powder into a brown sludge. With obvious effort she looked up. ‘How are you finding your new apartment?’

‘I love it; it’s so quiet there and the woman in the flat below is very nice although I don’t see her much; she seems to work quite long hours.’

‘That’s good.’

Getting the distinct impression that Lily hadn’t really paid attention to a word I’d said, I asked, ‘Lily is something the matter? You seem so down.’

Lily gave a brief shake of her head. Trying again, I asked, ‘So, how’re things with Barry?’

Shit, wrong question! Lily’s eyes immediately filled with tears as she fumbled in her handbag for a tissue.

‘Oh, Lily, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

Sniffling, Lily took a deep breath. ‘It’s alright; it’s not your fault; you didn’t know. We’ve split up.’

That was a blow; I’d worked damned hard at getting Barry Mason and Lily together; I’d hoped he’d stay around as a thorn in DCI Munroe’s side for a lot longer than this.

‘But why, I thought you were both so suited.’

‘I guess it was all too much in the end; Dad suspecting Barry of being violent, of being a potential murderer and all that questioning. It didn’t seem to matter to either of them that it was all cleared up; that Barry’s innocence over his father’s death was proven; the atmosphere between them was awful; neither of them were able to forgive and forget. And Barry, he’s so mixed up about everything. He can’t forgive me for not telling him my dad was a DCI let alone the one who was making his life such hell but at the same time he feels it’s his fault I got shot; if he hadn’t asked me to stay at the cottage with him it would never have happened.’

‘Oh, Lily, what a mess.’ Reaching out across the table I gently touched her hand in sympathy.

Lily sighed. ‘It’s no good, there’s just too much for any of us to get over.’

‘I don’t know what to say; sorry hardly seems adequate.’

‘There’s no need, it wasn’t your fault; after all, you were badly hurt yourself; it was Barry’s dogs bursting out of the shed and attacking Dad and DC Wilson; none of it would have happened but for that.’ Lily shuddered slightly at the memory.

‘I know,’ I agreed, ‘that’s why I drove my car at them, I tried to stop them; I couldn’t think of any other way; the noise and snarling was so frightening.’

‘Yes, but it wasn’t their fault, they thought they were protecting Barry and me; it was all just a dreadful mistake and they both paid such a high price for their loyalty.’

‘What happened?’

‘They were put down, they had to be; Barry was heartbroken.’

I couldn’t give a damn about the dogs or Barry. I’d caused the police raid on Barry Mason’s cottage, implying to DCI Munroe that his daughter was in danger there. The irony was that if the police bullet had been a fraction higher Lily wouldn’t be sitting here and my revenge on DCI Munroe would be complete but now I’ve got to start all over again; it’s so frustrating.

I turned to gaze out of the window, deep in thought as a passing car suddenly backfired. Lily’s whole body jerked, her cup dropping from her grasp and clattering onto the table. Picking it up I hastily said, ‘I’ll get us another coffee.’ Returning with a laden tray, ‘Here, I’ve bought a couple of cakes too; I think we could both do with a treat.’

Lily gave a wan smile. ‘Thanks.’

‘So, where’s Barry now? Is he still lodging at the cottage?’

‘No, I think he’s at his foster parents for now but he’s intending to go back up north – he’s applied for a job at some animal sanctuary near Sheffield.’

‘I see and what are you going to do, Lily?’

Lily shrugged. ‘I’m not sure; they’ve kept my job open at the solicitors but I’m not too keen on going back; I don’t seem to be able to cope with pressure anymore.’

‘Well, there’s no great hurry, is there? I expect your parents are quite happy to support you for as long as it takes.’

She paused and then, as if deciding on something said, ‘Yeah, they are. I think I’d like to take up watercolour painting more seriously. I’ve chatted informally with Madeleine McLevitt, you remember, our bohemian art tutor at college.’

For the first time Lily managed a genuine grin.

‘Oh God, yes, she was fantastic!’

‘Yeah, she was. She seems to think I have real talent and is encouraging me to take a residential course in Scotland. I might just do that if only because I’m so sick of Dad constantly watching me, I feel like I’m under surveillance.’ Lily hesitated, deciding whether to continue. ‘I know he’s only concerned for me but it’s so suffocating; I sometimes think he’s got his officers keeping an eye out for me and reporting back.’

‘Surely not!’

‘Oh yes, even before the accident there were occasions when I felt like he was interrogating me after a night out with friends and he always seemed to know more than I was telling him’

I raised my eyebrows, ‘It seems like a stay in Scotland might be a good idea.’

‘I know,’ Lily agreed, ‘when I paint it seems to shut out everything else and Scotland is so beautiful, I want to just be away from everything and everyone. That’s what I need right now, some space.’ Lily took a large bite out of her cake; for the first time since entering the café seeming a little more hopeful.

Gathering my things, I made ready to leave. ‘It’s been great seeing you again, Lily; remember to keep me posted whatever you decide, or better still, perhaps you’d like to come over on Sunday, I’d love to show you my flat.’

‘I’d love to see it but I can’t do this Sunday; how about next?’

‘That’s fine; I’ll get some wine in.’

‘Perfect.’ Lily stood and we briefly hugged.

‘Bye.’

‘Bye, Annalee I’ll keep in touch.’

Walking back to my car I pondered Lily’s news. If she does go to Scotland she’ll be well out of my reach a lot of the time but does that really matter? I don’t need a long drawn-out strategy now; I realised that when I was in St Joseph’s. My relationship with Lily is solid, it can withstand an hiatus and this time I intend for there to be no mistakes; I intend to be much more ‘hands-on’.