come to the hospital alone.
He moved his chair closer to the bedside. ‘So, Darren,’ he said, voice matching Imani’s tones, ‘what happened?’
Darren Richards’ eyes widened, filled with shock. The fear subsided as his eyes emptied, became blank. Give nothing away in front of the law, thought Phil. Old habits dying hard.
‘I dunno,’ said Darren Richards.
‘Oh, come on, Darren,’ said Phil, ‘you must have known what happened. You were there.’
Darren Richards closed up again. ‘I don’t remember.’
Maybe there was another reason he wasn’t talking, thought Phil. A much more obvious one. ‘I’m sure you don’t want to remember,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it’s very painful to remember. What you’ve been through is enough to horrify anyone.’
‘So if you know what I’ve been through, why d’you want me to go through it again?’
‘To find out who did it. Stop them doing it again.’
‘I didn’t do it,’ said Darren Richards quickly. Too quickly: it was like the sudden exertion tired him out. He flopped back on the bed.
Phil kept on. ‘No, I don’t believe you did. But I’m sure you saw it. You saw the person who did it. And I need you to tell me all that you can about them.’
Darren, against his better judgement, was remembering. Phil could see it in his eyes. He had to get him to talk before he clammed up once more.
‘Come on, Darren, please. Help me here.’ Phil glanced at Imani, the cue for her to speak.
‘We’ll catch him, Darren,’ she said. ‘We’ll bring Chloe and Shannon’s killer to justice. We’ll do it for them, for their memory. But for us to do that you have to help us. I know it’s difficult, I know it’ll hurt but we need your help. Please.’
‘Just tell us now,’ said Phil. ‘Get it out of the way and you can get on with forgetting.’
‘Please,’ said Imani.
‘What did he look like?’ said Phil, leaning forward. ‘Can you remember? Did you get a good look at him? Was it a him?’
Darren began breathing heavily. His eyes spun, focusing in and out, fighting the urge to remember. Phil checked his heart monitor: the graph had started to speed up. They waited.
‘Skull,’ he said eventually, his voice cracked and broken, the word sounding like it was dragged from him.
Phil and Imani shared another glance. Puzzlement, this time. ‘Skull?’ repeated Phil. ‘You mean he was thin? Like you could see his bones through his skin?’
Darren shook his head. ‘No… skull…’
Imani leaned forward. ‘Like make-up?’
He shook his head.
‘A mask?’ she said. ‘Is that what you mean? A skull mask?’
Darren shook his head once more. ‘No. A mask. Yes. Not a skull mask. Just looked like a skull mask.’
‘What then?’ asked Phil.
Darren frowned, concentrating. ‘Gas… mask…’
Phil understood. ‘Gas mask. He wore a gas mask.’
Darren nodded.
‘And this gas mask,’ said Phil, ‘it had round eyes? Pale and close-fitting?’
Darren nodded.
‘And it looked like a skull.’
Darren shuddered. Closed his eyes.
‘Right,’ said Phil. He could feel they were starting to get somewhere.
‘So how did you get there, Darren? Into that building?’
‘Dunno,’ said Darren, his eyes remaining closed.
‘No idea at all?’
Darren shook his head. ‘Just woke up there. In that chair…’ He shuddered once more.
The shudder threatened to turn into a more prolonged shake. Phil and Imani knew they had to get him to open up more before they lost him.
‘What’s the last thing you remember?’ asked Imani.
‘Goin’ to Wayne’s,’ said Darren, his voice reduced to a tired tremble.
‘Wayne,’ said Phil. ‘And were you drunk when you were off to Wayne’s?’
Darren shook his head.
‘High?’
Darren shook his head. ‘Nah, man.’ Irritated now.
‘Okay,’ said Phil. ‘You were on your way to Wayne’s. Your friend Wayne.’ He made a mental note to check Darren Richards’ file for the name, follow it up. ‘And the
He moved his chair closer to the bedside. ‘So, Darren,’ he said, voice matching Imani’s tones, ‘what happened?’
Darren Richards’ eyes widened, filled with shock. The fear subsided as his eyes emptied, became blank. Give nothing away in front of the law, thought Phil. Old habits dying hard.
‘I dunno,’ said Darren Richards.
‘Oh, come on, Darren,’ said Phil, ‘you must have known what happened. You were there.’
Darren Richards closed up again. ‘I don’t remember.’
Maybe there was another reason he wasn’t talking, thought Phil. A much more obvious one. ‘I’m sure you don’t want to remember,’ he said. ‘I’m sure it’s very painful to remember. What you’ve been through is enough to horrify anyone.’
‘So if you know what I’ve been through, why d’you want me to go through it again?’
‘To find out who did it. Stop them doing it again.’
‘I didn’t do it,’ said Darren Richards quickly. Too quickly: it was like the sudden exertion tired him out. He flopped back on the bed.
Phil kept on. ‘No, I don’t believe you did. But I’m sure you saw it. You saw the person who did it. And I need you to tell me all that you can about them.’
Darren, against his better judgement, was remembering. Phil could see it in his eyes. He had to get him to talk before he clammed up once more.
‘Come on, Darren, please. Help me here.’ Phil glanced at Imani, the cue for her to speak.
‘We’ll catch him, Darren,’ she said. ‘We’ll bring Chloe and Shannon’s killer to justice. We’ll do it for them, for their memory. But for us to do that you have to help us. I know it’s difficult, I know it’ll hurt but we need your help. Please.’
‘Just tell us now,’ said Phil. ‘Get it out of the way and you can get on with forgetting.’
‘Please,’ said Imani.
‘What did he look like?’ said Phil, leaning forward. ‘Can you remember? Did you get a good look at him? Was it a him?’
Darren began breathing heavily. His eyes spun, focusing in and out, fighting the urge to remember. Phil checked his heart monitor: the graph had started to speed up. They waited.
‘Skull,’ he said eventually, his voice cracked and broken, the word sounding like it was dragged from him.
Phil and Imani shared another glance. Puzzlement, this time. ‘Skull?’ repeated Phil. ‘You mean he was thin? Like you could see his bones through his skin?’
Darren shook his head. ‘No… skull…’
Imani leaned forward. ‘Like make-up?’
He shook his head.
‘A mask?’ she said. ‘Is that what you mean? A skull mask?’
Darren shook his head once more. ‘No. A mask. Yes. Not a skull mask. Just looked like a skull mask.’
‘What then?’ asked Phil.
Darren frowned, concentrating. ‘Gas… mask…’
Phil understood. ‘Gas mask. He wore a gas mask.’
Darren nodded.
‘And this gas mask,’ said Phil, ‘it had round eyes? Pale and close-fitting?’
Darren nodded.
‘And it looked like a skull.’
Darren shuddered. Closed his eyes.
‘Right,’ said Phil. He could feel they were starting to get somewhere.
‘So how did you get there, Darren? Into that building?’
‘Dunno,’ said Darren, his eyes remaining closed.
‘No idea at all?’
Darren shook his head. ‘Just woke up there. In that chair…’ He shuddered once more.
The shudder threatened to turn into a more prolonged shake. Phil and Imani knew they had to get him to open up more before they lost him.
‘What’s the last thing you remember?’ asked Imani.
‘Goin’ to Wayne’s,’ said Darren, his voice reduced to a tired tremble.
‘Wayne,’ said Phil. ‘And were you drunk when you were off to Wayne’s?’
Darren shook his head.
‘High?’
Darren shook his head. ‘Nah, man.’ Irritated now.
‘Okay,’ said Phil. ‘You were on your way to Wayne’s. Your friend Wayne.’ He made a mental note to check Darren Richards’ file for the name, follow it up. ‘And the
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