Lucy was remanded in custody, her case committed to Crown Court. She’d have to wait for more details from her solicitor, but accepted the decision without any fight. So many emotions clouded her thoughts. Patrick was really dead. Pain gripped her chest as she thought about Siobhan and Rory. Would they ever forgive her? Would she ever forgive herself?
She was still in a daze. Followed the women in the line as they were inducted into the prison. Slamming doors and the echo of footsteps invaded her ears. A strange smell of bleach and mould hung in the air. She couldn’t believe she’d ended up here.
When she was asked for a list of people who she wanted on her visiting order, her heart sank. She didn’t know who would still want to be associated with her. Rory’s name was one of the first she did include, because they had grown close. Rory might not want to see her, but their brief telephone conversation made her think otherwise. She also listed her parents and sister. At court she couldn’t bear to see the pain on her parents’ faces. When she had spoken to her father in the cells at the court, she told him she’d understand if they couldn’t visit. It was the first time she saw him cry.
There was a TV blaring in the cell next to her. She looked at the empty bed across from her, dreading the time when another inmate would be joining her. For now, she was alone with her thoughts. Lucy had not pleaded guilty in court. She would have done, but her solicitor convinced her otherwise. Wrapping her hands around her knees, she rocked back and forth on the hard bed she would now be sleeping in. She didn’t want to keep everything bottled up inside anymore. Maggie and Mark, along with her solicitor, had encouraged Lucy to speak with Dr Moloney. After a little persuasion, Lucy had agreed.
The doctor who had seen her, following her arrest, believed that the head injury sustained during the assault, as well as the systematic abuse she’d suffered over the years, could have caused selective memory loss. It wasn’t uncommon for trauma of this nature to induce a psychological barrier, so the doctor suggested that Lucy speak with a psychologist while she underwent some further tests.
Lucy was awaiting the results of the MRI. She had sporadic flashbacks of the evening. Wasn’t sure whether her fantasies of Patrick’s death had crossed over into reality and, somehow, she was remembering things she wished had happened rather than what actually happened.
The guard came to collect her, unlocking the cell door and stepping inside, and Lucy followed behind with her head down. The coldness of the prison gave her permanent goose bumps, and she hated the green walls closing in on her each day she had to remain inside. Her solicitor was attempting to get her bail, but this would take time, if it was even possible, so she had to do what was asked until they had an answer from the judge. The female prison guard was one of the friendlier ones. She used to listen to her female offenders complain about their treatment in custody. The name-calling from guards, the shoving, abuse, and derogatory behaviour – Lucy was now experiencing all of this. What made it worse was the fact that the guards knew she was a probation officer. This placed Lucy in a vulnerable position with the guards themselves, but also with other prisoners. She had managed to keep it secret so far, but it was only a matter of time before one of the prison officers let it slip. Most prisons were privately owned now, with inexperienced staff for whom confidentiality was a word they failed to adhere to. Especially if it meant a few extra pounds to take home at the end of the month. Lucy used to have three prison officers on her caseload for this very thing.
Lucy was led to one of the legal visit rooms. It was small but at least out of earshot of others. She sat quietly waiting for Dr Moloney to arrive. The room had two separate entrances, one where prisoners were brought through and the other where visitors entered. The large table in the middle of the room took up the majority of the space and two chairs were bolted to the floors on each side. Plastic windows surrounded the room like a fishbowl.
Lucy was reminded that she was one of them. Not long ago, she would have been arriving through the other door. She watched as another prison officer escorted the young, goth-looking woman down the hall. She seemed familiar. On entering the room, the woman held out her hand. ‘Lucy Sherwood? Or would you prefer I use your married name? I understand you only used your maiden name for work?’
‘Sherwood is fine.’
‘OK, so – hello, Lucy. I’m Dr Kate Moloney. I’m not sure if you remember me? We’ve only met briefly on a few occasions.’
Lucy stood up and shook her hand. She remembered the soft Irish accent and kind face.
‘Hello, Dr Moloney. I knew you looked familiar, but unfortunately my memory isn’t so great at the moment.’
‘That’s OK. Have a seat, Lucy. We don’t have much time today, I’m afraid. Have they told you why I’m here?’
‘Yes. My solicitor said you were going to assess me? Ask questions about the night I mur … I mean Patrick was murdered … to see what I can remember.’
‘Yes. You’re partially right. I will be assessing your state of mind at the time of the offence. I also want to walk you through exactly what happened. The police may have done this, when they first interviewed you, but given the trauma you suffered – I’ve seen the photos of your injuries – it’s unlikely that you’d have been able to give them any specific details of that night. How does that sound?’
‘Yes, that’s fine. That day … I mean, that afternoon, or whenever it was … it’s still not clear to me. I have these flashbacks sometimes. But I’m not sure if they’re things I wished would happen, or if they actually happened. Does that make sense?’
‘It does. You have to remember that you have been through a great trauma yourself, so your brain has gone into protective mode.’
‘I’ve heard of people who have blocked out whole events. What I’m worried about is when all that information surfaces. How will I be able to cope?’
Lucy shifted in her seat and rubbed her forehead. Her breathing quickened, and her face had flushed slightly. A bead of sweat had formed where her hairline and forehead met.
‘Take your time, Lucy. We don’t have to finish everything today. I have a few visits prebooked with the prison. Look at me and take a few deep breaths. You can start wherever you feel comfortable, all right?’
Lucy nodded. Taking a few deep breaths, she closed her eyes. Began to recount the details as they flickered through her mind. ‘I remember being upset, although I’m not exactly sure why. I felt betrayed about something. I remember Patrick’s face, he was in my face … shouting. Close up. He was always angry with me. I think he punched me. I hit my head on something hard. I don’t specifically remember waking up.’ Lucy wrung her hands together repeatedly. She felt as if she were somewhere else, in a different body looking down on the interview room from above.
‘You’re doing great, Lucy. Can you remember anything else?’
Lucy rubbed her face in frustration. ‘I can’t … I just can’t … well, except … I thought I saw someone.’
Dr Moloney sat up in her seat.
‘You think you saw someone? Or you did see someone?’
‘Arrrghhhhh … I don’t know!’ Lucy twisted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes wild. ‘Maybe it was Patrick. I just don’t know!’ Guilt tormented her.
‘OK, breathe, Lucy. It’s OK. Don’t push yourself. I want you to do something for me.’
Lucy looked at the small notebook Dr Moloney placed in front of her. She swallowed and glanced nervously out of the window at the guard.
‘It’s OK. I cleared this with the Governor.’
Lucy skimmed through the notebook. ‘What do I have to do?’
‘Well, sometimes this helps people in similar situations. Whenever you have one of your flashbacks, write down what you remember. No matter what it is. Whether you believe it to be real or not. Do you think you can do that?’
‘Yes. What about my nightmares?’ Lucy’s hand was shaking as she picked up the book.
‘Anything and everything. I’ve left my telephone details in the front. Add me to your list of calls and then if you need to speak before we next meet, you can call me. It doesn’t matter what time.’
Lucy looked at Dr Moloney blankly. ‘Why? Why are you trying to help me?’ Her hands were shaking. ‘You work for the police. So how can I trust you?’
‘I’m not a police officer. I’m a consultant in a civilian capacity. If you feel uncomfortable or don’t want to do it, that’s fine. I just want to help you unscramble the flashbacks. However, it may also prove your innocence. OK?’
Lucy got a sense that Dr Moloney wasn’t trying to trick her. ‘OK. I’m not saying I will do this. But I’ll think about it.’ Dr Moloney gave Lucy a reassuring smile. The sound of keys jangling and doors being unlocked made them both turn towards the doors. A prison officer shouted, ‘Time’s up!’ and stood out of the way so Lucy could get by.
Lucy turned to look at Dr Moloney over her shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
‘You’re welcome, Lucy. I’ll see you next week.’
As Lucy was escorted back to her cell, looking like a lost child in prison uniform, Dr Moloney busily scribbled notes. Something told Kate that Patrick’s murder wasn’t as straightforward as they all believed. What was Lucy Sherwood hiding? Or more importantly, who was she protecting?