Jennifer – Jennifer Stone as she then was – had been Enco-Corps’ leading London trader during her last two years with the firm: it had been one of Lomax’s early jokes that he’d fallen in love with her professionally long before he’d been attracted in any other way.
All traders have to ‘know’ markets, to be able to assess margins and percentages but the very best additionally can ‘feel’, to judge instinctively when a price has peaked and is about to fall or whether it has the buoyancy of a few more points or a commodity can go up a few more cents to attain that extra eighth or quarter per cent that turns a good position into a spectacular one. Jennifer could ‘know’ and ‘feel’ and had the added ability of a gambler able photographically to memorize every card played in a poker game: indeed, it was a soon abandoned party trick for her mentally to add and multiply and subtract complicated equations faster than people could compete on pocket calculators.
All of which still only made up part of the legend of Jennifer Stone. It was completed by an awesome determination to be the best – to overcome any opposition or obstacle – in any trading deal upon which she embarked. It was another of Gerald Lomax’s remarks that he’d had Jennifer in mind when he attached ‘for piranha fish’ to the description of the totally glassed office as a goldfish bowl.
The combination of abilities and attitudes made Jennifer special and without conceit or arrogance she knew it, like she knew she definitely wasn’t mad. To allow herself to think that would be the final abandonment, giving Jane the ultimate victory. And she’d never do that.
It had been good – fulfilling – to have an unusual, unique mind: to be different. Living as she’d lived after her marriage had never been quite enough. She’d never admitted it but she’d felt wasted, unused, when she’d finally accepted it would be untenable for her to remain on a trading floor controlled by her husband or work on another in competition against him.
Now she didn’t have that special mind any more. It had been stolen from her – invaded – and when she forced herself beyond the horror of Gerald’s killing and the numbing ebb and flow of exhaustion and the terrifying, unbelievable unreality of what was happening to her – ghosts didn’t exist! spiritual possession was nonsense! – Jennifer’s overwhelming feeling was of outrage, of being mentally raped.
She’d lost Gerald, whom she’d adored. She wasn’t going to lose anything more. She was going to defeat Jane – stop whatever it was being done to her – whatever it took, whatever she had to do to achieve it. She’d never lost anything upon which she’d set her mind in the past and she wasn’t going to lose now.
It took a long time for Jennifer to get to that conclusion. Jane was constantly with her every unsteady step of every weary thought, knowing each thought as it came, jeering and gloating over every one to goad Jennifer into the furious, even shouted, responses that were met with sighs and headshakes from the successive, guarding policewomen.
Bur Jennifer learned in the persistently interrupted, disjointed process.
It was unconscious at first, an impression rather than a proper awareness. Her bone-aching exhaustion triggered it, at Jane’s mockery of how grotesque she would look after the second utterly sleepless night she intended to impose: that and the physical sensation of numbness which Jennifer had imagined to be all part of the same fatigue. Until, that is, she made a different connection. The tingling, like the tingle of knocking the humerus in her elbow, seemed to precede by the merest fraction of a second the sound of Jane in her head. When there was no voice – a momentary gap in the possession – there was no numbness. It wasn’t a positive experiment – Jennifer then hadn’t learned enough.
In the evening of the second day, confronted with the agony of not sleeping again, Jennifer very positively experimented, waiting for a moment of normality when the nurses were fixing another drip before blurting, ‘Please give me something very strong tonight to make me sleep.’
The feeling at once suffused her. ‘ No! ’
Jennifer’s jaw hurt in her determination not to speak.
‘ No! You don’t want it! ’
‘There was a note from the night staff yesterday that you didn’t sleep,’ agreed one of the nurses. ‘You were… distressed.’
‘Please,’ gritted Jennifer, through clamped teeth, careless of the pain from her lip. ‘I need something… so tired… very tired…’
Jennifer’s skin was on fire, worse than ever before.
‘You all right?’ said the second nurse. ‘You’re very red.’
‘Just want to sleep.’ If she said anything about Jane they would dismiss her wanting a sedative as part of the madness: not give her anything.
‘ Say it! ’
Jennifer stayed rigid faced.
‘ Say it, damn you! ’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ promised the first nurse. ‘It should be all right.’
Jennifer’s shaking, which the nurses and the policewomen had become accustomed to, was from the physical effort of hanging on – of staying silent – until the nurses left the room. As soon as the door closed behind them Jennifer said, ‘Beat you.’ She spoke very quietly, her head sunk on her chest. The nearest policewoman looked, aware of the mutter but not hearing the words.
‘ You won’t, not again. ’
‘We’ll see.’ Jennifer was euphoric, wanting to laugh.
‘ Laugh then.’
Jennifer tightened her mouth again. ‘Another mistake. Warned me against it.’ Jennifer tried but couldn’t stop the moan at the screech of anger that pounded agonizingly through her head. ‘Beat you,’ she managed. ‘Beat you again.’
‘ You can’t drug me out. They can’t drug me out. ’
‘Why are you so frightened then? So angry?’
There was another echoing scream, as loud as before.
‘So angry, Jane? Lost control, haven’t you? Lost control to me.’ She wasn’t going to laugh aloud but she was still buoyant at the excitement of fighting back.
‘ Not going to do you any good though, is it? Still won’t be able to convince anyone you’re not mad. Still the rest of your life in a mental asylum ’
Jennifer shook her head. ‘I’ll find a way, like I found this way.’
Jennifer brought her head up at the arrival of two new policewomen for the night-shift change-over.
‘Anything?’ asked the newly-arriving sergeant, ignoring Jennifer.
The departing sergeant said, ‘Spent all afternoon mumbling to herself. Totally off her head.’
‘ Listen to them! ’
‘I’m not off my head!’ shouted Jennifer.
None of the women bothered to look at her.
‘ Jennifer Stone’s
A stupid drone
So much off her head
Might as well be dead. ’
‘Shitty poetry,’ dismissed Jennifer.
‘ I thought it was funny. ’
Jennifer went to speak but quickly stopped, halted by the entry of the nurse who’d changed the saline drip. Now she carried a kidney bowl covered by a cloth.
‘ I’ll over-ride it! ’
‘The doctor says it’s OK. That you need to get some sleep.’
‘ Waste of time! ’
‘Please,’ said Jennifer, offering her free arm, sighing at the prick of the needle going into her arm. ‘Thank you. Thank you so very much.’
Jennifer never fully lost consciousness. It was like the sort of half-asleep awareness she’d sometimes had when she knew she was dreaming and stayed like a spectator, refusing properly to wake up. Except this wasn’t a dream but the distant, frenzied voice of Jane trying to get through the sedation, becoming even more hysterical when Jennifer refused, as she’d refused with the real dreams.
It was still early, although daylight, when she did surrender. But Jane wasn’t inside her head. Jennifer remained lying as she was, waiting but there was nothing and hurriedly Jennifer began thinking of the day ahead, seizing the respite. Humphrey Perry hadn’t given a time but she expected him to come that morning. With the barrister, he’d said. Jeremy Hall. Nice enough name. But not a QC. It probably wasn’t etiquette to make the protest direct to the man but she would. Bypass Perry completely and if he didn’t like it engage another solicitor. She couldn’t be bothered with niceties as desperate as she was. She’d still do her best not to offend Hall, of course. Make it clear she wanted to retain him as well but insist her defence be headed by the most experienced person. Proudfoot himself, in fact.
She hoped Perry would have already contacted Rebecca. Would they let Rebecca come personally, here to the hospital? No reason why they shouldn’t. It would be better if she could talk to Rebecca direct, rather than relay messages through Perry. She needed to talk to someone besides police and lawyers: needed a friend. Her only friend. She had to make a list, in her head, of the clothes she wanted brought in. Suits, she supposed, for the court appearances when she was discharged from here and from the hospital wing of whatever prison she was sent to. And for the psychiatrists’ meetings. Important she talk to Perry about that today: get things set up immediately. To be declared sane – not totally off her head – and stop being regarded by everyone like the bearded woman in a sideshow. Except, she supposed, that when everybody at last believed her she’d be considered even more of an oddity.
A lot to think about: think about and get under way. End the whole terrible nightmare. It was good, being able to think like this. Think clearly, logically, as she’d always been able to think: to have her mind back. When would it start again, the chanting and the mockery? A distracting question: not important. What was important was getting everything she had to do established in her head. Not to forget anything. Good to feel better. And she did feel better. Not fully rested, because she hadn’t rested fully. But enough. Sufficient to be able to work things out as she was working them out now. She wasn’t shaking, either. Her hands and arms were throbbing from the cuts but not badly. Wouldn’t need painkillers. Just another sedative, that night. Knew how to get it now. How to beat Jane.
The numbness warned her. ‘ No you don’t. ’
‘I had a wonderful night’s sleep.’
‘ You heard me. ’
‘Not a sound.’
‘ Liar. ’
‘She’s awake. At it again.’
Jennifer shuffled herself upright at the policewoman’s voice. The day-shift sergeant was at the door, looking enquiringly at the yawning pair getting up stiffly from the easy chairs in which they had spent the night. The new arrivals positioned themselves with their backs to Jennifer, so that she didn’t hear the muffled exchanges, but she was conscious of the looks from all of them. For the first time they didn’t appear patronizing. One smiled and nodded at something one of the others said.
‘What?’ demanded Jennifer.
‘Superintendent Bentley is coming to see you this morning,’ announced the day sergeant.
‘What about?’
Instead of replying the woman said, ‘How is the voice?’
‘Jane’s started.’
‘Sure,’ said the sergeant and smiled sideways at the other newly-arrived policewoman, who smiled back.
‘What is it?’ insisted Jennifer, exasperated.
‘You’ll have to wait for the superintendent.’
‘ I’m as curious as you are! ’
‘Stop it!’
The policewoman remained smiling. The sergeant said, ‘That damned voice again?’
‘You know it is!’
‘Do I?’
‘ They’re taking the piss out of you. Jennifer.’
Jennifer fought back a response, grateful for the entry of the nurse with washing water and the repeated announcement that the police were coming to see her. ‘And your lawyer. He asked me to tell you.’
When she began her make-up Jennifer realized her hands were shaking again, although not as badly as the previous morning. Today there were no smudged lines and the swelling on her lip had gone down enough to complete the colouring. She managed her hair more successfully than the previous day, too. Her eyes were still ringed, although not as darkly as before. She was glad there was no sensation to warn her of Jane, easily able without interruption to call to mind everything she wanted to tell Humphrey Perry.
She actually smiled when the shiny domed solicitor came into the ward, ahead of another man who politely held the door for the policewomen to leave. Perry remained expressionless introducing Jeremy Hall, who did smile back although very briefly.
‘The police are coming to see me,’ announced Jennifer, at once.
‘We know,’ said Perry. ‘That’s why we’re here. To talk to you first.’
‘There are things I want to sort out with you-’ Jennifer began, but Perry cut across her.
‘… We want to establish something at once, Mrs Lomax.’
‘ They don’t give a fuck about what you want ’ Jennifer’s skin began to burn.
‘I want, in fact, to hear your story,’ said Hall.
The voice was very deep, more resonant than the solicitor’s – an actor’s voice, almost – and it was not until she concentrated fully upon the man that Jennifer realized how big he was, broad as well as tall. She decided, surprised, that he reminded her of Gerald. Younger maybe, but only by a few years. Same blue eyes and the direct, talking-only-to-you concentration. She could even find a similarity in the voice, although Gerald’s hadn’t been so deep. It registered mostly with her in the self-assured, unhurried way in which Hall actually spoke, a person confident of his own ability. Unlike everyone else he wasn’t frightened of her, expecting her without warning to do something violent. Not that he would have had any cause to worry, as obviously fit as he was. A sportsman, she guessed. What sport? An active, energetic one to have a build like that. Rugby maybe.
The two men took the chairs vacated by the policewomen.
‘ Why don’t you try to compare the size of their dicks? ’
Jennifer jumped but managed to hold back from replying. The effort made the shake worsen, momentarily. ‘Hear what, exactly?’
‘It was this voice that made you go to London?’ coaxed Hall.
‘Jane, yes.’
‘You couldn’t stop yourself?’
‘It wasn’t me. It was Jane, using my body.’
‘Your husband hadn’t been home the previous night?’
‘No. He stayed away two or three nights a week, on average. But he was always home at weekends. That was the arrangement.’
‘Was there any other arrangement, Mrs Lomax?’ intruded Perry.
‘ They’re out to trick you! ’
‘Jane says you’re trying to trick me.’
Perry sighed, audibly. The other man didn’t. Perry said, ‘You didn’t answer my question.’
‘I didn’t understand it.’
‘Were there any difficulties in your marriage?’ demanded Hall, directly.
‘ What have we got here? ’ Jane’s voice was excited.
‘I still don’t understand,’ insisted Jennifer. A feeling began, a faint nausea, deep in her stomach.
Perry sighed again, more loudly. ‘Were you and your husband happily married? Or did he spend two or three nights away from home for other reasons?’
‘No!’ said Jennifer, as forcefully as she could. ‘Gerald was not having an affair.’
‘ You sure? I’m not! ’
Jennifer shook her head but didn’t speak.
‘I am going to do my best to defend you against a charge of murder, Mrs Lomax-’ said Hall.
‘That’s one of the things I want to discuss with you-’
‘Please hear your counsel out,’ broke in Perry, again. ‘We have to get things clear in our mind before the police interview.’
‘ See! Don’t give a fuck.’
‘Make your point,’ demanded Jennifer, to the younger man. She wouldn’t be bullied.
‘ You will be.’
‘If I am going to do that, defend you, you have to be completely honest with me.’
Jennifer succeeded with a half smile. ‘I know it’s bizarre. Preposterous. But I am possessed by Gerald’s first wife, Jane. She thinks Gerald and I conspired in her murder. Which, of course, we didn’t. The inquest verdict was that she died from an inexplicable overdose of insulin.’
‘ You did! You did! ’
Hall refused to respond to Perry’s look. Instead he stayed upon Jennifer and said, ‘You know full well that is not a viable defence. It is, as you say, preposterous. Unless, of course, you expect a lesser charge to which we can plead diminished responsibility. Which would result in a custodial care sentence, with reviews until you could be declared recovered. And then released back into the community
…’ He paused. ‘Released after a comparatively limited term of imprisonment.’
The heat Jennifer felt was more from anger than from Jane’s presence. Her first impulse was to shout at the man but she stifled the urge. Instead, calmly, she said, ‘How much opportunity have you had to discuss this case with Mr Perry?’
‘Not a great deal,’ conceded Hall. It had, in fact, been less than two hours and that included their conversation on the way to the hospital in the car. It was proving more difficult than he’d expected to get rid of this voice-in-the-head nonsense but she’d obviously prepared it for a long time so he supposed he had to expect some resistance.
‘What has he told you about how I intend to plead.’
‘Not guilty.’
‘Not guilty to murder. And not guilty to any lesser charge,’ Jennifer insisted.
‘ It’s no good. He doesn’t believe you.’
‘Yes,’ accepted the barrister.
‘What has Mr Perry told you about psychiatrists?’
‘That you wish to undergo psychiatric examination and assessment.’
Jennifer let her anger go at last. ‘So what the hell’s all this about diminished responsibility and short sentences! I will plead not guilty to a charge of murder – and only to a charge of murder, nothing less – and be declared sane and be found not guilty.’
‘Mrs Lomax,’ said Perry, patiently. ‘That is not an option. No court – no judge – will accept it. Any of it.’
‘Make them!’
Hall had been sitting almost languidly, one leg triangled over the other: as always the chair appeared too small. Now he put both feet firmly on the ground and leant towards her to emphasize what he intended to say. ‘There are other circumstances in which a charge of murder could be proceeded with-’
Then why are we having this discussion!’ demanded Jennifer, uncaring how often she interrupted.
‘You expect to be declared sane?’ said Hall.
‘I am sane!’ She was irritated by Perry sitting there, taking notes with that ridiculous silver pencil.
‘If you were declared sane – and a court accepted that opinion from psychiatrists – there would be prosecution evidence from sixteen witnesses of your having stabbed your husband to death. The mandatory sentence for murder is life imprisonment. In the circumstances of this case I have to warn you a judge’s recommendation could be for that term to be a minimum of twenty years.’
‘ Got you, one way or another. ’
‘Why should I want to murder a husband I adored?’ pleaded Jennifer.
‘Here comes the man who believes he knows?’ said Perry, as Bentley came forcefully into the ward.
‘It’s time for us to have a proper conversation, Mrs Lomax,’ declared the murder squad detective, confidently.
The tiny room became as crowded as it had been for the magistrate’s hearing. Hospital tables were moved in again, one almost completely occupied by recording equipment. By apparent prearrangement Malcolm Rodgers became its operator, plugging leads into the mains supply and quietly mouthing into the microphone to test sound levels. Satisfied, he transferred the microphone to the table already positioned over Jennifer’s bed.
‘What’s going on?’ demanded Jennifer.
‘ I can hardly wait. ’
‘Shut up!’ said Jennifer, forgetting herself.
The heavily breathing Perry breathed out again, looking at Hall before saying, ‘We have agreed to a formal police interview, in our presence.’
‘Without discussion with me?’ Jennifer was aware of Rodgers hurriedly identifying the tape, her by name and the place and date at which it was being made.
‘Is there any reason for you to refuse?’ demanded Bentley, at once.
‘ You’re like some experiment, under their microscope. ’
The need to concentrate – an awareness of challenges she refused to anticipate despite the lingering nausea – made it easier to ignore the voice, like turning down a volume.
‘My last legal advice was against making any statement,’ she reminded, stiffly, looking at Perry as she spoke.
‘This isn’t a statement,’ insisted Bentley. ‘It is an interview, to further our enquiries.’
Jennifer looked to her two lawyers for help. When neither spoke she said, ‘But able, according to your official caution, to be presented in any prosecution against me.’
‘I will permit nothing that will endanger your defence,’ promised Hall.
‘ Ask him how many times he’s defended in a murder case! ’ demanded Jane.
Jennifer reminded herself she hadn’t needed any specific reason to insist upon a senior practising, top-of-his-profession barrister to replace Jeremy Hall but if she had this could have provided it. It wouldn’t stop with Hall and she didn’t give a damn about offence, either. She’d get rid of him and the stick-thin idiot with a head like an egg to whom the length of a pencil lead seemed so important.
‘ Who do you know who’s better? ’
‘It could still be produced in court?’ persisted Jennifer. They were treating her like an idiot – like a mad woman – and she wouldn’t allow that. Wasn’t mad, wasn’t mad, wasn’t mad.
‘Yes,’ agreed the detective.
‘I assure you-’ began Hall.
‘I’m not impressed by your assurances,’ snapped Jennifer. ‘Which we’ll discuss after this meeting. I want a nurse… a doctor… someone independent from all this.’
‘Mrs Lomax-’ tried Perry.
‘Get someone or get out!’
‘ They’ll think it’s the madness coming out.’
The assembled men regarded her solemnly, doing nothing.
‘You,’ isolated Jennifer, pointing to Perry with her unrestricted hand. ‘Go and get someone.’
Rodgers snapped off the recording as the solicitor left the room. Hall said, ‘This really is most unnecessary, whatever it is you want.’
Jennifer looked at him but refused to speak. There was some awkward foot scuffing from everyone except Bentley, who came close to overemphasizing the leg-stretched, arms-folded, seen-it-all-before condescension.
Within minutes, less maybe, Rodgers returned with Peter Lloyd. Jennifer guessed the physician would have been given an explanation from the detective inspector but before anything further could be said she gestured with the unencumbered arm and said, ‘Turn the tape back on: give a time and the circumstances.’
‘This really isn’t…’ persisted Hall. He wasn’t sure of himself, not in control any more, and appeared disorientated.
‘Do it!’
Rodgers did, formally re-establishing the interview. He did so looking uncertainly towards Bentley for guidance but before the senior detective could say anything Jennifer said to the doctor, ‘I want you to listen, to everything that’s said. I’ll call you to court to testify on my behalf, if this tape is tampered with: to swear to everything that’s going to be said.’
‘ He’ll think it’s paranoia: all part of your hearing-voices paranoia. ’
‘I really have more important-’ started the doctor.
‘No you don’t! It’s my life you’re trying to save, although not medically. Listen…!’ Jennifer turned directly to address the microphone in front of her. ‘The making of this tape is being independently witnessed by Dr Peter Lloyd, of St Thomas’s hospital…’
‘Very impressive, Jennifer,’ said Bentley. ‘You sure you can keep it up?’
‘Keep what up?’
‘Voices in the head, telling you what to do.’ It wouldn’t be difficult breaking this arrogant bitch down, any more than it had been to beat Lomax’s replacement fuck. Hall would probably cut him off, before he got a full confession but it wouldn’t matter. He’d have enough. Sometimes things were almost too easy.
‘I don’t choose to continue with this interview, despite the agreement of my lawyers. Who will not be my lawyers after today,’ announced Jennifer, talking directly into the microphone once more.
‘ Go on! I didn’t expect it to be as good as this.’
‘You’re right to be scared, Jennifer. I’m on to you. Know what your plan was,’ smiled Bentley.
‘I didn’t say you could call me Jennifer.’
She was breaking, Bentley recognized: trying to hide behind pomposity. ‘Hurt like hell, didn’t it, finding out about Gerald and Rebecca?’
‘ Woweeeee!!! ’
Jennifer had assuaged the guilt of her affair with Gerald – and the never-quite-lost feeling after Jane’s death – by knowing, positively, really knowing, not simply convincing herself, that her marriage to Gerald was invulnerable: complete, unendangered, absolutely and totally invulnerable. Which it had been, she determined, fighting back: had to be. It was a trick, a cheap trick to get her to admit something, anything, that wasn’t true. Wouldn’t work. Whatever they wanted – expected – it wouldn’t work. To Hall she said, ‘Why are you allowing this! Stop it!’
‘ I don’t want it to stop. Gerald was screwing your best friend, Jennifer! And you didn’t even know it, any more than I knew he was screwing you. Oh this is wonderful! Perfectly wonderful. ’ The hysterical laughter echoed in Jennifer’s head.
Before Hall could speak, Bentley went on, ‘That’s it, isn’t it, Jennifer? You found out your husband was having an affair with Rebecca Nicholls and worked out a perfect defence for a minimal sentence so that you could kill him in front of her. That’s why you stood at the window, covered in his blood, laughing down at her. You wanted her to see, didn’t you…?’
‘ NO!’ The denial wailed from Jennifer as she snatched her hands up, to cover her ears, to stop hearing the words. The drip rattled against its frame and she felt the needle tear out of her uninjured arm and then the warmth of the blood. ‘Stop it! Go away! You’re lying: all of you lying.’ She slumped back against the pillows, the room misting in front of her, her bruised lips moving but forming no words.
‘This can’t go on!’ protested Lloyd.
‘No,’ said Hall. It can’t. I’ve allowed more than I should have done. It has to stop now.’
Bentley wheeled upon the lawyer, only just stopping himself from telling the man to go to hell. The bitch had got away with it by faking the collapse, like she was trying to get away with murder by faking insanity.
‘ Get up. Say something. ’
Jennifer didn’t hear the words. Lloyd pushed through to Jennifer’s bedside, more fully opening the half-lidded eyes. ‘She’s not properly conscious. And she isn’t faking it…’ He became aware the tape was still operating. ‘I am formally warning you this woman’s health would be seriously endangered by attempting to continue this interview, which she isn’t mentally capable of responding to anyway.’
Rodgers wasn’t quick enough stopping the tape to prevent it registering Bentley’s hand-slap of frustration against the table top.
It didn’t, however, record Jeremy Hall saying to Humphrey Perry, ‘We made a mistake. A very bad mistake.’