Page 12 of No Safe Place

Wednesday | Afternoon

Field

Field was so engrossed in responding to emails on her phone, she almost didn’t register the door to the family room opening. When she looked up, in came a man who, to Field, looked like the walking stereotype of a shrink.

Grey cords, even in this weather. Shirt neatly tucked in, a tie that was old in the Noughties. A brown leather weekend bag, monogrammed with his initials. If it was winter, she’d put money on him wearing a tweed jacket with elbow patches.

‘Dr Dawes?’ she asked.

‘Yes, that’s me. Call me Simon. You must be Detective Field.’

Field got to her feet, and they shook hands. ‘Where have you come from?’

‘Cambridge.’ He let out a shaky breath, and eyed the mismatched furniture. ‘Sorry if I’m a bit—’

Field sat back down, and he followed her lead.

‘Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, or a water?’

‘No, thank you.’ He put his hands on his knees. ‘I expect I should find out what room David is in.’

He spoke with clipped vowels and pinpoint precision, and Field’s own South London twang felt conspicuous in comparison. If she didn’t watch herself, she’d end up using her customer-service voice.

‘Simon,’ she said. ‘I appreciate you’re keen to see David, but it’d be helpful to have a quick word.’

Simon pushed his glasses higher up his nose and frowned. ‘With me?’

Field offered a reassuring smile. ‘It’s nothing formal. It’s just helpful to build up a picture of David. The more we know about him the better.’

Simon sank back into his chair with a sigh.

‘Penny said you were David’s mentor?’ Field offered.

‘That’s right. We met when he was on his very first placement. For the last five years, I’ve been his therapist.’ He smiled at her confused expression. ‘Oh yes, DCI Field. A lot of therapists are in therapy. It’s practically mandatory.’ He folded his arms. ‘So. How can I help?’

Field turned to a new page in her notebook. ‘I didn’t know anything about OCD, before this morning,’ she said. ‘That might be a useful place to start, before we speak about David.’

‘Ah. Yes. Well, for a condition half the population claims to have, OCD is very little understood,’ Simon said, his tone reassuring. ‘It’s partly why it’s such a difficult illness to treat. Why don’t you tell me what you do know?’

It was like being put on the spot at school.

‘Well, I know some people wash their hands to excess. Or check the house before they go out, flick on light switches.’ Field knew enough not to say anything about keeping things tidy or lining pencils up in a row. ‘Like I said – I don’t know anything, really.’

‘What you’ve described there are the compulsions , Detective. It goes a lot deeper than that, I’m afraid.’

It wasn’t a rebuke. She felt uncomfortable, the room warmer than a moment ago – but she did need to understand this stuff. For the case. ‘How would you explain it? To a lay person, I mean.’

He puffed out his cheeks. ‘Okay. Take your handwashing example. A person may be convinced that their hands are dirty, even though they have just washed them and can see quite plainly that their hands are clean.’

Simon looked down at his own palms. His tone was patient, not patronising.

‘They know that thinking their hands are dirty is irrational, but the anxiety is building. If they move about the house with these dirty hands, how many surfaces might they touch? What might they contaminate? What if that previous handwash wasn’t thorough enough?’

He looked up at her, over the top of his glasses.

‘So? They wash their hands again. And performing that compulsion brings relief – albeit temporary relief – from the anxiety. It’s like taking paracetamol for a headache.

But—’ he held up an arthritic finger ‘—and this is the crucial part, the relief that the compulsion brings reinforces the idea that there was actually something wrong in the first place.’

Field nodded, her impatience biting at her. She needed to move on to practical and tangible questions. Who were David’s friends? How had he seemed in the past few weeks?

But Simon Dawes wasn’t done.

She suspected that this speech was something Dawes had delivered before, for an audience of students, maybe. He was expressive, hands constantly moving, illustrating his points.

‘Now this pattern of thinking, the decision to perform the compulsion – it can take place in seconds.

Imagine spending almost every waking moment of the day, bargaining with yourself.

If I act out this compulsion – wash my hands, check the gas again, perform that ritual, avoid touching that, say that phrase out loud, ask my partner for reassurance – then I can dampen down the anxiety enough to go about my day.

‘And they’re not always big things. They can be tiny, seem insignificant on their own. But the whole cycle can be playing on a loop, multiple times a minute, hundreds of times an hour – with little to no respite.’

‘That sounds exhausting.’ Field spoke quietly.

Where could you escape to, she wondered, if you were under attack from your own thoughts?

‘Quite,’ he agreed.

They sat in silence for a moment.

‘I don’t think I could do it.’ Field sat back in her chair. ‘Your job, I mean.’

‘Not my job anymore.’ Simon sighed. ‘I got out years ago, took the academic route. David could have done the same. Any university would have bitten his arm off. Cushty teaching job, contributing to papers, wood-panelled office.’

She was glad he’d brought them back to David. It felt like terra firma, compared to the last five minutes.

Field cleared her throat. ‘Why didn’t he go the academic route?’

Simon hesitated. ‘Well, he always did solid research, and he taught modules at KCL. But he always kept an active practice, had patients. It was like he needed to be doing the doing, you know?’

‘I know a few coppers like that, to be fair,’ Field said. ‘Would rather die of a heart attack during a drugs raid than ride a desk.’

Was that her? Would she be one of those old hands who had to be managed out?

Simon carried on. ‘Some psychologists avoid treating OCD, you know? Don’t like it.’

‘Really?’

He leaned towards her. ‘You give a lot of yourself to OCD patients. You’re always searching for the real fear.

The obsessions might manifest in any of those things we discussed – but there’s always something deeper at play.

You deal with all the anxiety and the compulsions and at the same time, you have to work back to where it all comes from in the first place.

‘And what is the difference between healthy fear, and what’s OCD? There’s no clear line.’ He raised his hands to the ceiling. ‘We can’t promise them they won’t get sick, or their family member won’t get hit by a car.’

Her head was reeling. She was too tired for this level of philosophical conversation.

‘But David …’ She hesitated. ‘He was good with OCD patients?’

‘Oh yes.’ Simon nodded emphatically, like a proud father. ‘One of the best.’

Field opened her mouth, then closed it again. An image of Toby as a teenager came to her unbidden.

No.

She turned over a new page in her notebook, even though the previous one was still blank, and gripped the pen more firmly. ‘Were you aware of David and Penny’s separation?’

For the first time, Simon looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, yes. I’d spoken to both of them, as it happens.’ He uncrossed and recrossed his legs.

‘She didn’t want to come to the hospital,’ Field said, gently. ‘That’s unusual, in my experience.’

‘She hasn’t always had an easy time of it,’ Simon said. The warmth was gone from his voice.

Field examined his posture, the new hunch of his shoulders.

She waited for him to continue.

‘Penny wouldn’t wish David any ill, whatever was going on between them. She gave you my details, didn’t she?’ He waited for Field’s nod. ‘Well, then.’

Field wasn’t sure the erudite doctor had quite made his point, but she let it drop.

From then on, the rest of the conversation was perfunctory, and straightforward. A list of colleagues it might be useful to speak to. David’s mood, his favourite pubs. He wasn’t dating. He hadn’t had any issues at work.

They spoke for another ten minutes, and as far as Simon Dawes was concerned, there was no reason for anyone to wish David harm.

‘That’s been really useful, thank you, Simon.’ Field drew the conversation to an end, feeling less perturbed than she had at the beginning.

‘Of course, if there’s anything else I can do …’ He got out of the low seat with a slight groan.

‘Well, actually, I do think we need to speak to Penny again today. Briefly.’

His expression darkened. Was that protectiveness?

‘But it may help her to have you there, for support.’ Field held the door open for him. ‘I’ll let you spend some time with David. I’m going to head back to the station for a few hours.’

‘But you want me back at the house later, when you speak to her again?’ he asked.

‘I think it might help.’ Field gave an apologetic shrug.

Simon picked up his bag, and Field registered that if he’d come from Cambridge with a bag that size, he might be planning to stay in the area.

‘Are you heading back home today?’ she asked.

‘I was thinking of staying with Penny, for support. That is, if she would like me to,’ he said stiffly. ‘So I suppose I shall see you later.’