The Silent Patient Read online

  “Well, fire away.”

  “Did Alicia ever mention seeing a doctor?”

  “A doctor?” Barbie seemed surprised by the question. “You mean a shrink?”

  “No, I mean a medical doctor.”

  “Oh, well, I don’t…” Barbie hesitated. “Actually, now that you mention it, yes, there was someone she was seeing.…”

  “Do you know the name?”

  “No, I don’t—but I remember I told her about my doctor, Dr. Monks, who’s just incredible. He only has to look at you to see what’s wrong with you straightaway, and he tells you exactly what to eat. It’s amazing.” A long and complicated explanation of the dietary demands by Barbie’s doctor followed, and an insistence I pay him a visit soon. I was starting to lose patience. It took some effort to get her back on track.

  “You saw Alicia on the day of the murder?”

  “Yes, just a few hours before it happened.” Barbie paused to gulp some more wine. “I went over to see her. I used to pop over all the time, for coffee—well, she drank coffee, I usually took a bottle of something. We’d talk for hours. We were so close, you know.”

  So you keep saying, I thought. But I had already diagnosed Barbie as almost entirely narcissistic; I doubted she was able to relate to others except as a function of her own needs. I imagined Alicia didn’t do much talking during these visits.

  “How would you describe her mental state that afternoon?”

  Barbie shrugged. “She seemed fine. She had a bad headache, that was all.”

  “She wasn’t on edge at all?”

  “Should she be?”

  “Well, given the circumstances…”

  Barbie gave me an astonished look. “You don’t think she was guilty, do you?” She laughed. “Oh, honey—I thought you were smarter than that.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t—”

  “Alicia was no way tough enough to kill anyone. She wasn’t a killer. Take it from me. She’s innocent. I’m a hundred percent sure.”

  “I’m curious how you can be so positive, given the evidence—”

  “I don’t give a shit about that. I’ve got my own evidence.”

  “You do?”

  “You bet. But first … I need to know if I can trust you.” Barbie’s eyes searched mine hungrily.

  I met her gaze steadily.

  Then she came out with it, just like that: “You see, there was a man.”

  “A man?”

  “Yes. Watching.”

  I was a little taken aback and immediately alert. “What do you mean, watching?”

  “Just what I said. Watching. I told the police, but they didn’t seem interested. They made up their minds the moment they found Alicia with Gabriel’s body and the gun. They didn’t want to listen to any other story.”

  “What story—exactly?”

  “I’ll tell you. And you’ll see why I wanted you to come over tonight. It’s worth hearing.”

  Just get on with it, I thought. But I said nothing and smiled encouragingly.

  She refilled her glass. “It started a couple of weeks before the murder. I went over to see Alicia, and we had a drink, and I noticed she was quieter than usual—I said, ‘Are you okay?’ And she started crying. I’d never seen her like that before. She was crying her eyes out. She was normally so reserved, you know … but that day she just let go. She was a mess, honey, a real mess.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She asked me if I’d noticed anyone hanging around in the neighborhood. She’d seen a man on the street, watching her.” Barbie hesitated. “I’ll show you. She texted this to me.”

  Barbie’s manicured hands stretched for her phone, and she searched through her photos on it. She thrust the phone at my face.

  I stared at it. It took me a second to make sense of what I was seeing. A blurred photograph of a tree.

  “What is it?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “A tree?”

  “Behind the tree.”

  Behind the tree was a gray blob—it could have been anything from a lamppost to a large dog.

  “It’s a man. You can see his outline quite distinctly.”

  I wasn’t convinced but didn’t argue. I didn’t want Barbie to get distracted. “Keep going.”

  “That’s it.”

  “But what happened?”

  Barbie shrugged. “Nothing. I told Alicia to tell the cops—and that was when I found out she hadn’t even told her husband about it.”

  “She hadn’t told Gabriel? Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I got the feeling he wasn’t all that sympathetic a person. Anyway. I insisted she tell the police. I mean, what about me? What about my safety? A prowler’s outside—and I’m a woman living alone, you know? I want to feel safe when I go to bed at night.”

  “Did Alicia follow your advice?”

  Barbie shook her head. “No, she did not. A few days later, she told me she’d talked it over with her husband and decided she was imagining it all. She told me to forget it—and asked me not to mention it to Gabriel if I saw him. I don’t know, the whole thing stank to me. And she asked me to delete the photo. I didn’t—I showed it to the police when she was arrested. But they weren’t interested. They’d already made up their minds. But I’m positive there’s more to it. Can I tell you…?” She lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper. “Alicia was scared.”

  Barbie left a dramatic pause, finishing her wine. She reached for the bottle. “Sure you don’t want a drink?”

  I refused again, thanked her, made my excuses, and left. There was no point in staying further; she had nothing else to tell me. I had more than enough to think about.

  It was dark when I left her house. I paused a moment outside the house next door—Alicia’s old house. It had been sold soon after the trial, and a Japanese couple lived there. They were—according to Barbie—most unfriendly. She had made several advances, which they had resisted. I wondered how I’d feel if Barbie lived next door to me, endlessly popping over. I wondered how Alicia felt about her.

  I lit a cigarette and thought about what I had just heard. So Alicia told Barbie she was being watched. The police had presumably thought Barbie was attention-seeking and making it up, which was why they had ignored her story. I wasn’t surprised; Barbie was hard to take seriously.

  It meant that Alicia had been scared enough to appeal to Barbie for help—and afterward to Gabriel. What then? Did Alicia confide in someone else? I needed to know.

  I had a sudden image of myself as a child. A little boy close to bursting with anxiety, holding in all my terrors, all my pain; pacing endlessly, restless, scared; alone with the fears of my crazy father. No one to tell. No one who’d listen. Alicia must have felt similarly desperate, or she’d never have confided in Barbie.

  I shivered—and sensed a pair of eyes on the back of my head.

  I spun around—but no one was there. I was alone. The street was empty, shadowy, and silent.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I ARRIVED AT THE GROVE THE NEXT MORNING, intending to talk to Alicia about what Barbie had told me. But as soon as I entered reception, I heard a woman screaming. Howls of agony echoing along the corridors.

  “What is it? What’s going on?”

  The security guard ignored my questions. He ran past me into the ward. I followed him. The screams grew louder as I approached. I hoped Alicia was okay, that she wasn’t involved—but somehow I had a bad feeling.

  I turned the corner. A crowd of nurses, patients, and security staff were gathered outside the goldfish bowl. Diomedes was on the phone, calling for paramedics. His shirt was spattered with blood—but not his blood. Two nurses were kneeling on the floor, assisting a screaming woman. The woman was not Alicia.

  It was Elif.

  Elif was writhing, screaming in agony, clutching at her bloody face. Her eye was gushing blood. Something stuck out of her eye socket, plunged into the eyeball. It looked like a stick. But it wasn’t a stick. I knew at once what it was. It was a paintbrush.

  Alicia was standing by the wall, being restrained by Yuri and another nurse. But no physical restraint was necessary. She was totally calm, perfectly still, like a statue. Her expression reminded me sharply of the painting—the Alcestis. Blank, expressionless. Empty. She stared straight at me.

  For the first time, I felt afraid.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “HOW IS ELIF?” I was waiting in the goldfish bowl and caught Yuri once he returned from the emergency ward.

  “Stable.” He sighed heavily. “Which is about the best we can hope for.”

  “I’d like to see her.”

  “Elif? Or Alicia?”

  “Elif first.”

  Yuri nodded. “They want her to rest tonight, but in the morning I’ll take you to her.”

  “What happened? Were you there? I presume Alicia was provoked?”

  Yuri sighed again and shrugged. “I don’t know. Elif was hanging around outside Alicia’s studio. There must have been a confrontation of some kind. I’ve no idea what they were fighting about.”

  “Have you got the key? Let’s go and have a look. See if we can find any clues.”

  We left the goldfish bowl and walked to Alicia’s studio. Yuri unlocked the door and opened it. He flicked on the light.

  And there, on the easel, was the answer we were looking for.

  Alicia’s painting—the picture of the Grove going up in flames—had been defaced. The word SLUT was crudely daubed across it in red paint.

  I nodded. “Well, that explains it.”

  “You think Elif did it?”

  “Who else?”

  * * *

  I found Elif in the emergency ward. She was propped up in bed, attached to a drip. Padded bandages were wrapped around her head, covering one eye. She was upset, angry, and in pain.

  “Fuck off,” she said when she saw me.

  I pulled up a chair by the bed and sat down. I spoke gently, respectfully. “I’m sorry, Elif. Truly sorry. This is an awful thing to happen. A tragedy.”

  “Too fucking right. Now, piss off and leave me alone.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “That bitch took out my fucking eye. That’s what happened.”

  “Why did she do that? Did you have a fight?”

  “You trying to blame me? I didn’t do nothing!”

  “I’m not trying to blame you. I just want to understand why she did it.”

  “’Cause she’s got a fucking screw loose, that’s why.”

  “It had nothing to do with the painting? I saw what you did. You defaced it, didn’t you?”

  Elif narrowed her remaining eye, then firmly closed it.

  “That was a bad thing to do, Elif. It doesn’t justify her response, but still—”

  “That ain’t why she did it.” Elif opened her eye and stared at me scornfully.

  I hesitated. “No? Then why did she attack you?”

  Elif’s lips twisted into a kind of smile. She didn’t speak. We sat like that for a few moments. I was about to give up, then she spoke.

  “I told her the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “That you’re soft on her.”

  I was startled by this.

  Before I could respond, Elif went on, speaking with cold contempt. “You’re in love with her, mate. I told her so. ‘He loves you,’ I said. ‘He loves you—Theo and Alicia sitting in a tree. Theo and Alicia K I S S I N G—’” Elif started laughing, a horrible shrieking laugh. I could picture the rest—Alicia goaded into a frenzy, spinning round, raising her paintbrush … and plunging it into Elif’s eye.

  “She’s a fucking nutter.” Elif sounded close to tears, anguished, exhausted. “She’s a psycho.”

  Looking at Elif’s bandaged wound, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was right.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  THE MEETING TOOK PLACE in Diomedes’s office, but Stephanie Clarke assumed control from the start. Now that we had left the abstract world of psychology and entered the concrete realm of health and safety, we were under her jurisdiction and she knew it. Judging by Diomedes’s sullen silence, it was obvious so did he.

  Stephanie was standing with her arms crossed; her excitement was palpable. She’s getting off on this, I thought—being in charge, and having the last word. How she must have resented us all, overruling her, teaming up against her. Now she was relishing her revenge. “The incident yesterday morning was totally unacceptable,” she said. “I warned against Alicia being allowed to paint, but I was overruled. Individual privileges always stir up jealousies and resentments. I knew something like this would happen. From now on, safety must come first.”

  “Is that why Alicia has been put in seclusion?” I said. “In the interest of safety?”

  “She is a threat to herself, and others. She attacked Elif—she could have killed her.”

  “She was provoked.”

  Diomedes shook his head and spoke wearily. “I don’t think any level of provocation justifies that kind of attack.”

  Stephanie nodded. “Precisely.”

  “It was an isolated incident,” I said. “Putting Alicia in seclusion isn’t just cruel—it’s barbaric.” I had seen patients subjected to seclusion in Broadmoor, locked in a tiny, windowless room, barely enough space for a bed, let alone other furniture. Hours or days in seclusion was enough to drive anyone mad, let alone someone who was already unstable.

  Stephanie shrugged. “As manager of the clinic, I have the authority to take any action I deem necessary. I asked Christian for his guidance, and he agreed with me.”

  “I bet he did.”

  Across the room, Christian smiled smugly at me. I could also feel Diomedes watching me. I knew what they were thinking—I was letting it get personal, and letting my feelings show; but I didn’t care.

  “Locking her up is not the answer. We need to keep talking to her. We need to understand.”

  “I understand perfectly,” Christian said with a heavy, patronizing tone, as if he were talking to a backward child. “It’s you, Theo.”

  “Me?”

  “Who else? You’re the one who’s been stirring things up.”

  “In what sense, stirring?”

  “It’s true, isn’t it? You campaigned to lower her medication—”

  I laughed. “It was hardly a campaign. It was an intervention. She was drugged up to the eyeballs. A zombie.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I turned to Diomedes. “You’re not seriously trying to pin this on me? Is that what’s happening here?”

  Diomedes shook his head but evaded my eye. “Of course not. Nonetheless, it’s obvious that her therapy has destabilized her. It’s challenged her too much, too soon. I suspect that’s why this unfortunate event took place.”

  “I don’t accept that.”

  “You’re possibly too close to see it clearly.” Diomedes threw up his hands and sighed, a man defeated. “We can’t afford any more mistakes, not at such a critical juncture—as you know, the future of the unit is at stake. Every mistake we make gives the Trust another excuse to close us down.”

  I felt intensely irritated at his defeatism, his weary acceptance. “The answer is not to drug her up and throw away the key. We’re not jailers.”

  “I agree.” Indira gave me a supportive smile and went on, “The problem is we’ve become so risk averse, we’d rather overmedicate than take any chances. We need to be brave enough to sit with the madness, to hold it—instead of trying to lock it up.”

  Christian rolled his eyes and was about to object, but Diomedes spoke first, shaking his head. “It’s too late for that. This is my fault. Alicia isn’t a suitable candidate for psychotherapy. I should never have allowed it.”

  Diomedes said he blamed himself, but I knew he was really blaming me. All eyes were on me: Diomedes’s disappointed frown; Christian’s gaze, mocking, triumphant; Stephanie’s hostile stare; Indira’s look of concern.

  I tried not to sound as if I was pleading. “Stop Alicia painting if you must. But don’t stop her therapy—it’s the only way to reach her.”

  Diomedes shook his head. “I’m beginning to suspect she’s unreachable.”

  “Just give me some more time—”

  “No.” The note of finality in Diomedes’s voice told me that arguing further was pointless. It was over.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  DIOMEDES WAS WRONG ABOUT IT SNOWING. It didn’t snow; instead it started raining heavily that afternoon. A storm with angry drumbeats of thunder and lightning flashes.

  I waited for Alicia in the therapy room, watching the rain batter the window.

  I felt weary and depressed. The whole thing had been a waste of time. I had lost Alicia before I could help her; now I never would.

  A knock at the door. Yuri escorted Alicia into the therapy room. She looked worse than I expected. She was pale, ashen, ghostlike. She moved clumsily, and her right leg trembled nonstop. Fucking Christian, I thought—she was drugged out of her mind.

  There was a long pause after Yuri left. Alicia didn’t look at me. Eventually I spoke. Loudly and clearly, to make sure she understood.

  “Alicia. I’m sorry you were put in seclusion. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  No reaction.

  I hesitated. “I’m afraid that because of what you did to Elif, our therapy has been terminated. This wasn’t my decision—far from it—but there’s nothing I can do about it. I’d like to offer you this opportunity to talk about what happened, to explain your attack on Elif. And express the remorse I’m sure you’re feeling.”

  Alicia said nothing. I wasn’t sure my words were penetrating her medicated haze.

  “I’ll tell you how I feel. I feel angry, to be honest. I feel angry that our work is ending before we’ve even properly begun—and I feel angry that you didn’t try harder.”

  Alicia’s head moved. Her eyes stared into mine.

  “You’re afraid, I know that. I’ve been trying to help you—but you won’t let me. And now I don’t know what to do.”

  I fell silent, defeated.

  Then Alicia did something I will never forget.

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