Dead Memories (D.I. Kim Stone #10)(64)

That was the image that would never leave him.

He dropped down to the bench, lowered his head. And cried.





Eighty-One





It was almost nine when Kim parked outside the yellow front door.

The rage was still surging around her body, ingrained in her blood, being kick-started by her heart every time it passed through.

‘You gonna behave yourself?’ she asked Barney as she knocked on the door she knew so well.

He looked up and looked back at the door, which she took for a yes.

Ted Morgan opened the door and smiled, just as he’d been doing since she was six years old and she’d first been sent to him for counselling.

‘You’re late,’ he said.

‘I’m sorry about the…’

‘I meant, I expected you earlier in the week,’ he said, standing aside. She stepped in, Barney followed and Ted closed the door behind them.

‘Where are we sitting?’ he asked.

‘Kitchen,’ she answered.

‘Aah, I see,’ he said.

‘See what?’ Kim asked, taking a seat at the dining table.

‘It’s that kind of chat,’ he said, filling the kettle. ‘It’ll be instant tonight,’ he said. ‘I’m not wasting Colombian Gold on a drink you’re probably not going to finish.’

‘Ted, have you finally lost it?’

He chuckled. ‘Oh, my dear, I’ll explain it to you later. First, tell me why you’re here,’ he said turning towards her.

‘You’ve seen the news?’

‘Of course.’

‘And you know what the deaths mean?’

‘Obviously. The first one was a copycat of you and Mikey, the second was reliving the death of Keith and Erica, which is why I expected you sooner. How are your memory boxes holding up?’

‘Intact,’ she said, and missed off the word, barely.

‘There was a third incident this evening.’

‘The girl in the park?’

Kim nodded, unaware it had made the news already.

‘There was little detail. Is this one linked to you?’

Kim nodded. ‘Foster family number five.’

He turned, frowning. ‘The one you’ve never talked about and the one I always remember.’

She nodded. ‘Why do you always remember it?’

He placed the cups on the table as Barney lapped greedily at the plastic water bowl he’d put on the floor.

‘When you came to me after foster family five you were different to all the other times. There was a hardness in you that hadn’t been there before. Despite everything that had happened to you it was like family five taught you how to hate.’

‘Go on,’ Kim said.

‘Up until that point I’d always had hope that I could help you; that somehow we’d make a breakthrough and I could help you heal.’

Kim felt pieces of her anger break away in the company of this man whose only aim had been to try and help her.

‘But when you came to see me after that family, I felt that you had stepped beyond my reach. That I couldn’t get to you any more.’

She guessed his assessment was probably right.

‘I almost hit someone at the crime scene,’ she admitted. ‘A constable.’

‘But you didn’t, so surely that?…’

‘Only because Bryant stopped me. I would have hit him, Ted.’

‘I’m tempted to ask what the constable did but it’s not his actions that matter, is it?’

She shook her head. ‘Well, it puts Bryant’s theory to bed,’ she said.

‘Which is?’

‘That I’m repressing my feelings about it all and acting like it’s happening to someone else.’

‘Hmm… not necessarily. Has there ever been a time when you’ve used that technique as a coping mechanism? Pretended that something that’s happening to you is actually happening to someone else?’

She swallowed and nodded.

‘So, if it got you through before there’s no reason why you wouldn’t use that technique again. Disassociation is the correct term and people often use it in childhood in cases of sexual—’

‘Move on, Ted.’

‘But there’s no easy answer for this one, I’m afraid. If you allow your emotions out, your memory boxes will collapse and engulf you. We’re not talking one or even two traumatic memories to deal with; we’re talking all of them at the same time because you can’t pick and choose. You can’t open one memory box and ignore the others. Not when you’re being faced with recreations of the incidents themselves, because it’s kind of in your face.

‘So, the only way for you to behave is to stifle your emotions, block the memories and swallow them down.’

‘So, that’s okay?’ she asked, feeling vindicated.

‘Not really,’ he said, sipping his drink.

‘Oh,’ she said, reaching down to stroke Barney’s head.

‘Because you’re compounding hurt on top of hurt on top of anger. Imagine a cupboard door full of clothes and yet you just keep buying new ones. You open the cupboard door and just throw the garment in without looking and then slam the door closed. Eventually, what’s going to happen?’