sitting opposite her. She tried not to make snap judgements, jump to hasty conclusions that would ultimately prejudice her findings. But it was difficult.
The woman seemed to be only physically present. The small eyes in her large, bovine face swept the room, searching for anything of interest, a small smile playing at the corners of her wet, fleshy lips. Her hair was greasy and tied back, her body lumpen and shapeless inside the regulation itchy grey jogging suit. Marina picked up her pen, made a note.
‘Joanne,’ she said. The woman slowly brought her face back down to earth, fixed her vacant smile on Marina. She continued. ‘Joanne, do you know why you’re here?’
Joanne shrugged.
Marina persisted, her voice low and steady. ‘Joanne, I need you to tell me that you understand why you’re here. Can you do that?’
Joanne’s eyes washed in and out of focus, eventually settling on Marina. ‘Because of the men,’ she said slowly.
‘That’s part of it, yes,’ she continued. ‘The men. But that’s not the whole reason why you’re here, is it?’
‘Because of the men,’ Joanne insisted, her voice rising. ‘Because they wanted me to stop seeing my men.’
Marina nodded. ‘The men. Right. But the men weren’t the real problem, were they? No one wanted to stop you seeing the men. No one was telling you to stop that, were they?’
‘They said I couldn’t see my men again. That I couldn’t meet them off the computer. That I couldn’t go out any more. Then they brought me here.’
‘And why couldn’t you go out any more, Joanne? Why didn’t they want you to meet your men?’
Joanne’s eyes rolled backwards, her features darkened. Thinking. And not very pleasant thoughts, Marina reckoned.
‘Oh,’ Joanne said eventually. ‘You mean the babies.’
‘That’s right,’ said Marina. ‘The babies.’
‘You were the first person we thought of,’ DC Anni Hepburn had said when Marina had arrived the previous night. ‘To be honest, you were the only person we thought of.’
‘I don’t know whether to be flattered or not,’ Marina had replied.
Anni had phoned her a couple of days previously. Marina had met her when they worked together as part of the unit headed up by Phil Brennan, Marina’s husband, in Colchester, Essex. They had become close friends and had kept in touch when Marina and Phil moved to Birmingham, even working together on another case Marina had become involved in. Now Anni had returned the favour.
They had met in the Garden Café at the Minories Art Gallery in Colchester. Anni had arranged the location specially, knowing it was one of Marina’s favourite places to eat in the town. Anni had to admit that she liked it too. Hidden behind high-brick, secret-garden walls and with its unexpected pieces of architecture jumping out at surprising intervals, it reminded her of a mini Portmeirion just off the high street.
‘You trying to tempt me back by bringing me here?’ Marina had asked.
Anni laughed. ‘I should know better, shouldn’t I?’ Her smile faded as she passed over a folder. ‘Her name’s Joanne Marsh,’ Anni said, ‘and we need an assessment.’
Marina removed the documents, scanned them. ‘I think I’ve heard of her.’
‘I’m sure you have. She’s not what you’d call low profile.’
Marina looked up. ‘Where’s she being kept presently?’
‘Finnister. Just up the road.’
Marina nodded. Finnister was a secure hospital for the criminally insane just outside Norfolk. It specialised in rehabilitative and therapeutic treatment and housed almost exclusively female inmates. Marina only knew it by reputation. And what she had heard she had her doubts about.
‘And that’s where we’re going?’
‘First thing in the morning.’ Anni smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye. ‘So tonight is our own. No husbands, boyfriends or kids. Let’s hit the town.’
‘And doing that is supposed to make me want to come back here to live?’
Anni
The woman seemed to be only physically present. The small eyes in her large, bovine face swept the room, searching for anything of interest, a small smile playing at the corners of her wet, fleshy lips. Her hair was greasy and tied back, her body lumpen and shapeless inside the regulation itchy grey jogging suit. Marina picked up her pen, made a note.
‘Joanne,’ she said. The woman slowly brought her face back down to earth, fixed her vacant smile on Marina. She continued. ‘Joanne, do you know why you’re here?’
Joanne shrugged.
Marina persisted, her voice low and steady. ‘Joanne, I need you to tell me that you understand why you’re here. Can you do that?’
Joanne’s eyes washed in and out of focus, eventually settling on Marina. ‘Because of the men,’ she said slowly.
‘That’s part of it, yes,’ she continued. ‘The men. But that’s not the whole reason why you’re here, is it?’
‘Because of the men,’ Joanne insisted, her voice rising. ‘Because they wanted me to stop seeing my men.’
Marina nodded. ‘The men. Right. But the men weren’t the real problem, were they? No one wanted to stop you seeing the men. No one was telling you to stop that, were they?’
‘They said I couldn’t see my men again. That I couldn’t meet them off the computer. That I couldn’t go out any more. Then they brought me here.’
‘And why couldn’t you go out any more, Joanne? Why didn’t they want you to meet your men?’
Joanne’s eyes rolled backwards, her features darkened. Thinking. And not very pleasant thoughts, Marina reckoned.
‘Oh,’ Joanne said eventually. ‘You mean the babies.’
‘That’s right,’ said Marina. ‘The babies.’
‘You were the first person we thought of,’ DC Anni Hepburn had said when Marina had arrived the previous night. ‘To be honest, you were the only person we thought of.’
‘I don’t know whether to be flattered or not,’ Marina had replied.
Anni had phoned her a couple of days previously. Marina had met her when they worked together as part of the unit headed up by Phil Brennan, Marina’s husband, in Colchester, Essex. They had become close friends and had kept in touch when Marina and Phil moved to Birmingham, even working together on another case Marina had become involved in. Now Anni had returned the favour.
They had met in the Garden Café at the Minories Art Gallery in Colchester. Anni had arranged the location specially, knowing it was one of Marina’s favourite places to eat in the town. Anni had to admit that she liked it too. Hidden behind high-brick, secret-garden walls and with its unexpected pieces of architecture jumping out at surprising intervals, it reminded her of a mini Portmeirion just off the high street.
‘You trying to tempt me back by bringing me here?’ Marina had asked.
Anni laughed. ‘I should know better, shouldn’t I?’ Her smile faded as she passed over a folder. ‘Her name’s Joanne Marsh,’ Anni said, ‘and we need an assessment.’
Marina removed the documents, scanned them. ‘I think I’ve heard of her.’
‘I’m sure you have. She’s not what you’d call low profile.’
Marina looked up. ‘Where’s she being kept presently?’
‘Finnister. Just up the road.’
Marina nodded. Finnister was a secure hospital for the criminally insane just outside Norfolk. It specialised in rehabilitative and therapeutic treatment and housed almost exclusively female inmates. Marina only knew it by reputation. And what she had heard she had her doubts about.
‘And that’s where we’re going?’
‘First thing in the morning.’ Anni smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye. ‘So tonight is our own. No husbands, boyfriends or kids. Let’s hit the town.’
‘And doing that is supposed to make me want to come back here to live?’
Anni
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