Chapter Thirty-Six

Dr Carter’s telephone voice made him sound like a giant, but in the flesh, he was shorter than Jennifer in his wrinkled off-white suit. His vice-like handshake left Jennifer in no doubt that what he lacked in height he made up for in strength of character.

His office was exactly how she imagined it to be. A spacious but cosy grandfatherly room, with a hint of cigar smoke, featuring wood-panelled walls and a well-stocked bookshelf. The wall facing the street had two windows, and crooked venetian blinds filtered the afternoon light. Jennifer itched to straighten them until they were both the same level.

Dr Carter gestured towards the buttoned leather chair. ‘Please, have a seat.’ He paused, his eyes returning to the windows. ‘Would you like me to lower the other blind and switch on the lamp?’

‘No, that’s fine, thank you.’ Jennifer tried to contain her smile. Only a doctor dealing in the complexities of the human mind would notice her discomfort and understand the reasons behind it. She wondered if it was some kind of test, or if the pleasant pink-faced man was just good at his job.

Dr Carter sat back in his leather chair, his cheerful face a direct contrast to the oil painting of men in battle, which was hung on the wall overhead. He reminded Jennifer of Colonel Sanders with his pointed white beard and thatch of grey hair, and she developed a sudden craving for KFC. She brought her mind back to the task in hand, and hoped to commit his every word to memory.

‘Thank you for seeing me at such short notice,’ she said, sitting on the edge of the leather sofa.

‘I was happy to do so. Do you understand what I meant on the phone when I said I was grateful for the opportunity to repay a debt?’

Jennifer nodded. ‘You mentioned my mother helped your family in the past.’

He steepled his fingers together, paling his lips as he pressed them against his teeth ‘That, my dear, is an understatement.’ Dr Carter reached for a framed photo on his desk and turned it to face her. A young blonde woman sat in her graduation cap and gown, clutching a ribboned certificate. She had the same small stature as Dr Carter, and her features encompassed the same determined expression.

‘This is Amelia. My wife and I had almost given up when God blessed us with her.’ Dr Carter’s face clouded over as he stared at the photo, drifting back to another time. ‘She was six years old when she disappeared. We thought she had been kidnapped while she played in the garden. My wife and I … we were hysterical. Your mother arrived at our door, and the warmth and respect she conveyed is something I will always remember. She arranged for a team of officers to search the streets and beyond, but she felt drawn to our back garden. She couldn’t explain it but she seemed to know that Amelia had not gone far. She squeezed through a gap in the fence to next door, and found a disused shed at the bottom of their garden. She found Amelia in an old chest freezer. She must have gone exploring and gotten trapped inside. She was blue and limp when your mother pulled her out. Elizabeth resuscitated her until the ambulance came. She could have died.’ Dr Carter paused, as if to give the memory respect.

‘My wife and I were very upset when we read of Elizabeth’s passing, and I was always left with a sense of regret that I didn’t thank her properly.’

‘I’m sure my mother received enough reward in finding your daughter. But having said that, I’m very grateful for any information you can give me on Bertram Bishop.’

Dr Carter made the transition from father to professional as he straightened in his chair. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that until you process the correct documentation this remains between us.’

‘That goes without saying. I’m nothing if not professional,’ Jennifer said, unable to prevent her eyes flicking back to the blinds. They really were getting on her nerves.

‘Bit too bright in here, don’t you think?’ Dr Carter said as he got up and walked to the half-drawn blind, releasing it to the bottom of the ledge. Switching on the lamp, he returned to his chair. ‘So tell me, what are your concerns about Mr Bishop?’

Jennifer warmed to Dr Carter even more. ‘I don’t know if you’ve seen the newspapers, but we believe there may be a connection between Bertram and some recent deaths in the area. His whereabouts are unknown and frankly I’m at a loss as to what I’m dealing with, given his lack of history with the police.’

‘And forensically? Sorry, I fancy myself as a bit of an armchair detective,’ Dr Carter said.

Jennifer sighed. This wasn’t meant to be a two-way exchange, but she would have to give something if she wanted to gain his trust.

‘I can’t really say. But it’s only a matter of time until he slips up, and when he does I want to be ready for him.’

Dr Carter nodded as if to say he could read between the lines. The evidence was thin, and made his disclosure all the more important. He took a deep breath and his voice slowed, as if the words weighed heavy on his tongue.

‘Where to start? Bert is a fascinating character, but highly delusional. My colleagues believe his problems stem from the death of his twin brother, but I think it goes back much further than that.’

‘How did his twin die?’ Jennifer asked.

‘A tragic accident. Bert and his brother … what was his name now…?’ Dr Carter took a manila folder from his desk drawer and flicked through the paperwork. ‘Here it is … Callum. They were climbing a tree when Callum fell to his death. Unfortunately, Bert’s mother spent the rest of her life blaming him. Given what Bert has told me about her, it would seem she had several undiagnosed mental health issues herself, anxiety, possibly Munchausen’s … she was not a well woman.’

‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.’ Jennifer shrugged at the doctor’s raised brow. ‘Armchair psychiatrist.’

Dr Carter’s mouth twinged upwards in a smile. ‘Quite.’

‘Bert seems to have an affinity for ravens, can you tell me anything about that?’

‘Bert compensated for his parents’ apathy by inventing a personal guardian in the form of a raven. It helped him when he was growing up to feel there was someone out there, guiding him. The meaning of his name hasn’t helped. It has only enforced his conviction further.’

‘His name? It’s Bert Bishop, isn’t it?’

‘Yes it is, but the actual meaning of Bertram is raven. In contrast, his brother’s name Callum meant dove. He once told me his mother was surprised to hear the meanings, but I believe it was just another way to enforce her favouritism. That woman had a lot to answer for.’

Jennifer held back a gasp as the memory of the white bird in the forest returned. Was it the spirit of Callum coming back to save her? She rubbed her hand, tracing her finger over the scar that remained. Her eyes returned to the doctor. ‘Has anyone traced the history of the land?’

He shook his head. ‘Much like the police, we deal in fact. To encourage the delusions would only exacerbate his condition. My role was to assist him in coping with life in the real world.’

Just because it’s your world doesn’t make it the real world, Jennifer thought. She would have enjoyed debating the subject, but time was precious.

‘True,’ she said, ‘but we always ensure we have the whole picture when dealing with something as serious as this. His mother is dead, isn’t she? How did she die?’

Dr Carter flicked through the paperwork before pushing it back into the folder and returning it to his drawer. ‘A heart attack,’ he said, discreetly casting a glance over the clock on the wall.

Jennifer itched to take a copy of the folder, but their conversation would have to suffice until the official channels were adhered to.