Page 49 of No Safe Place

Friday | Morning

Callum

Callum stretched out on the bed, feeling the aches in each limb at a time.

He remembered being awake for a few hours last night. He’d spent some time speaking with Dr Maxwell, been given a higher-than-usual dose of his normal meds, then went back to sleep.

Slowly, it felt like he was coming back to himself.

The last time he was sectioned was twelve years ago – when he was twenty.

His nan got sick, and then they lost Paige, and everything became too much.

He didn’t remember being admitted to the adult unit, or his first few weeks there.

David immediately took Callum back on as a patient.

Lily visited, once he was up to seeing people.

There were just so many compulsions, and they were so contradictory that he was entirely unable to function. It mostly felt like it was happening to someone else.

Callum sat upright. Being sucked into memories wasn’t going to help. David’s usual words rang in his ears:

OCD-brain wants you to dwell on those times, to obsess over them – rather than focusing on tackling today.

At their next session, David would praise Callum for recalling his voice, his advice, despite everything. CBT is alive and kicking . One of his favourite phrases whenever Callum showed the faintest sign of resisting a compulsion.

Callum hoped someone had seen David’s name on his file, and put a call in. He’d forgotten to ask Maxwell.

Callum closed his eyes. He was tired. Dog-tired.

A hangover from the sedative.

Closing his eyes brought back images of blood and the sound of Sam’s gasping breaths.

His eyes flicked open.

It didn’t make any sense. He hadn’t seen Sam for years, hadn’t spoken to her – although she was probably friends with Lil on Facebook. Then she was outside his house.

What if they think I did it?

His brain went into overdrive and within seconds he had lived an entire lifetime as a guilty man. What if Sam never woke up, or she didn’t remember who attacked her? What if he went to prison? What if he died in prison? What if he had done it, but he couldn’t remember doing it? What if—

Two knocks on the door.

Dr Maxwell edged his way into Callum’s room like he was intruding on a private moment – which, in a way, he was.

Callum sat up, and Maxwell took the hard plastic chair opposite the bed.

‘The police are here.’ Maxwell spoke in a very soft, very gentle way. The way you might address someone with advanced Alzheimer’s, Callum thought. ‘They want to speak to you.’

He rubbed his head, trying to clear the last of the sedation-fog. ‘Okay.’

‘I’ve been asked to explain that nothing you say will be admissible in evidence. They can’t do a proper interview until you’ve been signed off by the unit.’

Callum didn’t know whether to feel guilty, angry or relieved.

Being fucking batshit does have the odd advantage , Lily always said.

‘But they need to talk with you, to establish what happened.’

He wanted to ask Maxwell about Sam, but he was scared of the answer. If she was fine, surely they’d have told him that? He’d know by now.

Which meant maybe she wasn’t fine.

Callum stared at his feet in the unfamiliar, cheap plimsoles. ‘Who’s here, then? It’s not that bloke in the suit, is it?’

His anxiety spiked at the memory of the hands on him, pressing him into the car bonnet, the ground.

‘It’s two women,’ Maxwell said. ‘And if you’re not comfortable, you can stop at any time. The interview will be here, on the ward.’

‘Okay. Will the room have a number on it?’

‘No.’ The doctor didn’t blink. ‘Your friend Lily suggested the dining room.’

Lily. Always one step ahead, taking care of him so he didn’t have to take care of himself. His cheeks flushed, as he remembered her putting him to bed.

‘She’s here, and she’ll be able to sit in on the interview with you.’

‘Okay,’ Callum breathed. ‘Great.’ He picked up the cup on the bedside table. His mouth was dry as dust. Swallowing the water was difficult. ‘Let’s do this.’

Maxwell got up from his plastic chair. ‘I do mean it – if you need to, just stop the interview. And if there’s anything I can do while you’re here, please ask.’

‘Okay.’ If Callum could cry any more, he would have welled up at the kindness.

Instead, he walked out of the room, wincing in the doorway, and followed Maxwell down the hall.

Lily was already sitting at one of the dining tables. She looked pale, dark circles under her eyes. He knew it wasn’t his place anymore, but he still worried about her.

As they waited for the police, Callum’s lawyer repeatedly told him everything was going to be fine. Lily agreed that everything was going to be fine .

It was a good job he was deliberately not counting how many times it was all going to be fine, because he’d be struggling to keep up by now.

The room smelled faintly of minced beef and onions. The view from the windows, of the grounds and the footpaths and King’s in the distance – was reassuringly familiar, even from the second floor, instead of the fifth.

Maxwell returned with two women – the police. One was the kind middle-aged detective from that morning. She had the authority of a headmistress or a traffic warden.

She re-introduced herself, sticking her hand out for him to shake. ‘Mr Mulligan, I’m DCI Field. We met yesterday.’ She gestured behind her. ‘This is DS Wilson.’

He nodded at them, and they sat down opposite him.

DS Wilson took out an A4 pad and a pen, then waited, eyes on Field.

‘Great,’ Field said, briskly. ‘So, Mr Mulligan—’

‘Callum is fine.’

‘So, Callum. I’m going to ask you eight questions.’

Callum nodded, sensing Lily’s interference there too.

‘There’ll be no more than eight, although if I don’t feel we’ve got to the bottom of something I might ask you to expand on your answer.’

‘Okay.’

Field paused, and broke eye contact. ‘Before I do that, though, there’s something we need to tell you.’

Sam. She was dead.

He looked at Lily – she looked nervous, unsure.

‘There was another incident in the area in the early hours of Wednesday morning. Unfortunately, the victim of that attack has passed away.’

He’d forgotten – the policewoman at the door, asking questions, wanting to know if their CCTV camera was real. Why wasn’t it real? If it was real, the police could see who stabbed Sam. They would have seen it wasn’t him.

‘So, Sam wasn’t the first person they attacked?’

Field ignored his question. She looked like she was choosing her words carefully. ‘I’m really sorry to tell you this, Callum. It was Dr David Moore who was attacked, on Wednesday. He passed away this morning.’

The room seemed to bend in and out of focus, and he thought he was slipping out of his chair. Callum turned to Lily and saw his own shock mirrored back at him.

David.

‘David? No.’ Callum heard his words but wasn’t conscious of speaking them. ‘No. David isn’t – he can’t be.’

Lily had gone very still.

‘I’m sorry,’ Field said.

The other detective, Wilson, lowered her head.

‘But – I have a phone appointment with him on Tuesday.’ Callum’s voice came out in a whine. ‘He’s—’

Callum didn’t know how to end that sentence.

Field’s voice stayed low and calm. ‘He was attacked on Ancona Road, while walking home. We found the cover sheet of the Disordered Approach to Diagnosis paper he published in 2010, at the scene.’

She pressed on, like this conversation was a plaster she needed to rip off.

‘I’m sorry to tell you, Callum, but Sam also died of her injuries.’

It was too much, and Callum didn’t know if they were waiting for him to say something.

Did they think it was him ?

‘We’ll give you some time, Callum, to gather your thoughts.’ Field stood up.

Through the fog of the medication and the shock, it finally hit him. David and Sam. If it was a coincidence, it was a big fucking coincidence.

‘I’m sorry for your loss.’