Page 53 of No Safe Place

Friday | Afternoon

Field

Maxwell’s office was barely bigger than a supply cupboard. Field’s glass box at the station was palatial, in comparison. They’d had to relocate when the patients started filing in for lunch.

‘Callum is settled now,’ Dr Maxwell said with a sigh, dropping into his chair. ‘What happened to a few gentle questions?’

Wilson squirmed, but Field stayed still in her hard plastic chair.

‘This is a double murder investigation,’ she answered, finally.

‘Yes,’ Maxwell replied, with forced politeness. ‘And that’s an extremely traumatised young man, whose mental health was already in a precarious state, to put it mildly.’

‘You signed him off for interview,’ Field snapped, wound up by his tone. ‘You claimed he wasn’t “too anxious” to talk to us.’

‘No, I did not claim that,’ Dr Maxwell said, his fist clenched on the desk. ‘Callum is always anxious. Patients with OCD can’t choose to switch off. He was facing his anxiety, because he wanted to help you.’

Field didn’t speak and the doctor held out a packet of custard creams. She shook her head, and he gave a little sigh, as if offended.

His officious attitude was pissing her off. His assumption that she was totally ignorant, a stone-hearted copper who couldn’t fathom doing his job, even though she’d been called out to help hundreds of ordinary people with psychosis or delusions or depression, over the years.

Behind the desk was a wall of thick patient files, organised alphabetically in neatly labelled brown folders.

Everything in the room was old or badly repaired.

The computer monitor was chunky and the blinds on the small window hung at an odd angle.

The cords to straighten them were curled neatly on the windowsill, patiently waiting to be reattached.

‘How is he?’ Field asked, finally, accepting a biscuit.

‘Bottom line is: he’s coping. Still counting, but I think with his usual medication and some rest, he’ll be okay.’

There were no photos on his desk, although there were personal touches. A few thank-you cards, a stress ball in the shape of a llama.

‘And you’re convinced he’s genuine?’ Field asked.

‘Yes.’ The lines between his eyebrows deepened.

‘Because—’ Field paused. ‘Callum had the same therapist for a long time. My understanding is that he was one of Moore’s private patients, so you don’t have access to those notes, is that correct?’

A curt nod.

‘So, with all due respect, Doctor, you don’t have much experience of Callum to draw on, do you?’

Wilson shot her a sharp look.

The doctor exhaled fussily and shook his head.

‘I’ve carried out an assessment. Callum is lucid.

He’s witnessed something incredibly traumatic.

Add the news about Dr Moore to that, and he’s now grieving.

Overall, his emotional response is completely in keeping with what I’d expect to see.

’ Maxwell smiled, expression cold. ‘I’m not going to sit here and pretend to know anything about running a murder investigation.

I’d appreciate it if you’d extend me the same professional courtesy. ’

She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.

‘I’ve also spoken to Callum about his experience at his house, before he was brought here,’ Maxwell said. ‘You should know that he would find it potentially triggering, dealing with that officer again.’

Field saw no point in lying. ‘DS Riley is on desk duty for the rest of this case.’

To his credit, Maxwell just nodded. ‘I’ll let Callum know. Are we done?’

Maxwell and Wilson got to their feet, but Field stayed in her uncomfortable chair.

‘No. I’ve been told you’re considering releasing him.’

‘Releasing?’ Maxwell scoffed. ‘I think you mean discharging. This is a hospital. Your lot seem to have forgotten that.’

‘ My lot haven’t forgotten anything,’ she said, coldly. ‘We haven’t forgotten the knife wounds of our two victims.’

He stared down at her. ‘Providing nothing changes over the next couple of days, I’m going to suggest Callum is discharged on Sunday. I’m going to recommend beta blockers for the panic attacks he’s been having, but otherwise his prescription will remain unchanged.’

She almost didn’t catch herself. Nearly snapped at him.

There was a thick folder of crime scene photos in her work bag that she would love to slap down on the chaos of his desk. Ten, fifteen years ago, they’d already be out, and she’d have been forcing Maxwell to really look at them.

‘Is there anything else?’ Maxwell rooted around on his untidy desk.

‘I want to have him assessed,’ Field said. ‘Independently.’

‘And you can,’ Maxwell said, moving to the door. ‘You can assess him at his home, because unless you’re arresting him, you can’t detain him here.’

Field was still pissed off when they got back to the car. She had the post-mortems down the road in a few hours, but DI Bellamy was going to accompany her, so Wilson was driving back to the station.

Field grabbed her bag from the boot and waved her off.

It was a relief to be alone for a while. Plus, it made sense for Wilson to go back. She could relay the news, kick-start the new lines of inquiry.

Lily was Patient A. They’d need to look into her boyfriend, her relationship with Callum – her non-existent alibis.

Paige Jacobs had died a few years after the trial. Riley was already working on tracing her family, and pulling the road traffic collision reports from the incident.

Possibly most significant, there’d been no attack last night. Two stabbings in the space of twenty-four-hours and then just – nothing. Either the attacker couldn’t get to their next victim, or they only ever had two intended targets.

Field walked in the opposite direction of both the Maudsley and King’s – rubbing her forehead to try to ease some of her tension. When she arrived, Ruskin Park was full of laughing children, picnicking students and NHS workers on their lunchbreaks.

Field found a bench in the shade and checked her emails.

The blood-spatter experts definitively agreed that Samantha Hughes had been stabbed directly outside Mulligan’s house. What wasn’t definitive from their perspective was whether Callum Mulligan stabbed her.

In trying to save Sam’s life, Callum’s clothes had become so drenched in blood, and so smeared, that it was impossible to tell whether he had been near her when the wounds were inflicted.

There were microscopic airborne particles, apparently, but as Sam had sustained an arterial wound, they could have been deposited in trying to save her life, rather than in taking it.

But either way – it didn’t matter. Callum wasn’t injured – they’d photographed his chest and hands, and Field had studied the images. Callum had no injuries.

‘Perfect alibi,’ Field mumbled, flicking onto the next email.

The droplets of blood that they presumed belonged to the attacker had been sent to Teddington for processing, and fast-tracked. They should have the results on Sunday – Monday at the latest.

Even in the shade of the oak tree, the afternoon sun felt laser-targeted on her back, and she could feel her neck burning.

The phone rang.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ she muttered. She debated putting the phone next to her on the bench and not answering, but the super had a view of her calendar – he’d know that she was free. ‘Afternoon, guv.’

‘Field,’ he said. ‘I’ve got five minutes. Give me the headlines.’

She told him they had four of the five names. Good progress being made processing the scene. Several new lines of inquiry. Zara Ayres establishing a good relationship with David Moore’s wife. Mr and Mrs Hughes being kept up to date by Herts police.

‘But no suspect?’ he barked.

She gritted her teeth. ‘The trial was anonymous, and well over a decade ago. Forensics is the best chance we have of catching him, Sir. I’ve fast-tracked—’

‘I saw that. I approved it. But what if he’s on a mission? Why’s he stopped at two?’

She still had a horrible feeling that it was because Callum was in hospital.

‘It’s early days, sir—’

‘Yes, it is. I’ll level with you, Field. I’ve got the chief super breathing down my neck already. If you haven’t made progress by Monday morning, at the case review meeting – I’ll have to reassign this to MIT2. Your team can support, of course.’

She could hear the super breathing down the phone, as his words sank in. She said she understood, and then they said a polite but tense goodbye.

The burning sensation in her face was nothing to do with the sun.

If she had to hand this case over to Raynott’s MIT – or worse, work under them – she might as well just quit there and then.