The Devil's Landscape

Eight

‘Clements! You useless son of a... What d’you think you’re doing?’ Donovan slammed his fist against the alarm button on the wall, filling the air with deafening whoops and rushed over to help Barrowman. He freed him from Lawler’s grip using sheer brute strength before slamming Lawler’s arm back down on the chair arm and securing him tightly. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked Barrowman, getting a weak nod in reply before turning on Clements to continue his tirade.

‘Sorry Nate, I thought these two got on,’ mumbled Clements, still sitting on the floor nursing his jaw. ‘I wasn’t expecting it. Bastard took me by surprise, took a swing at me and grabbed the doc by the throat.’

Donovan raised his voice to be heard above the whoop of the siren and sound of running feet. ‘Nothing ever takes you by surprise in this place, Clements Have you got that? You expect anything and everything at all times.’

Clements nodded.

‘Get out of my sight. This isn’t over.’

Barrowman sat massaging his throat and feeling disorientated.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Donovan asked, putting a hand on his shoulder and trying to look into his eyes.

‘Yeah... fine.’ Barrowman looked past him at the help arriving and then at Lawler who seemed to be looking at everything as if he were a disinterested party, an onlooker instead of a participant. There was no sign of the murderous violence he had displayed only a few moments before. Lawler saw him turn to look directly at him but the stare had gone. In fact, his expression was quite different, not one Barrowman recognised immediately although there was something vaguely and unsettlingly familiar about it. It was... as if... as if... He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but then it came to him. It was the look that passed between people who shared a secret, the fleeting glance that passed between two office colleagues who were having an affair. He found this bizarre in the extreme, not just unsettling, but scary.

The three attendants who had arrived, two with shields and batons, one wielding a Taser stun-gun, were stood down as Groves followed them into the room. He was full of apologies.

‘My God, I’m so sorry,’ he exclaimed. ‘This should never have happened. I’ve called an ambulance. We’ll get you off to hospital as quickly as possible.’ He ushered Barrowman out of the room with his good arm resting lightly on the small of his back.

Without understanding why, Barrowman felt the urge to decline. ‘No need,’ he said, ‘no real damage done. Let’s go easy on the drama for all our sakes.’

Groves looked at him as if he couldn’t quite believe his ears... or his luck. ‘Well, if you’re absolutely sure...’

‘I am. Mind you, a drop of that malt of yours wouldn’t go amiss right now?’

‘Absolutely.’

Groves visibly relaxed and Barrowman knew that the man must have been looking ahead in trepidation to what the inspection team might make of what had happened just before their arrival.

A knock came to the door and Nathan Donovan came in. He placed the blood samples on the desk in front of Barrowman. ‘Thought you might need these.’

‘Thanks,’ said Barrowman, adding sincerity to the word with a look and smile.

‘No problem.’

Groves said, ‘Nathan, we’re having a debriefing session, perhaps you should join us.’ He turned to Barrowman, ‘What exactly happened?’

‘I’d just taken a blood sample from Lawler and Clements moved in to secure his free arm. Lawler suddenly caught Clements with a swing of his forearm. I saw it happen. The blow was enough to knock him off balance and he landed on the floor. Clements didn’t get up. I was looking at him to see if he was alright when Lawler caught me by the throat.’

‘Clements didn’t get up?’

‘He was still on the floor when I arrived,’ said Donovan.

‘As opposed to helping Dr Barrowman?’

‘He was sitting there rubbing his jaw.’

‘How hard did Lawler hid Clements?’

‘Hard enough to knock him off balance,’ said Barrowman.

‘But not enough to knock him out?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘I don’t think so either,’ said Donovan. ‘He was just sat there watching events when I arrived. There’s hardly a mark on him.’

‘You probably know him better than I do. Do you think he froze?’ asked Groves.

Donovan looked doubtful. ‘No... I don’t,’ he said with plain meaning. ‘Clements isn’t the biggest guy on earth, but Lawler was still secured to the chair — he only had one arm free. If Clements had got off his backside and waded in, I’m sure he and Dr Barrowman could have put an end to Lawler’s nonsense before he tried to rip out anyone’s throat.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Groves. ‘Not exactly what I wanted to hear.’ He paused for a full five seconds before saying to Barrowman, ‘Clements is a fairly new member of staff; he’s a bit different; he was seconded to us after our existence became no longer a secret.’

Barrowman could see an attempt to improve things before the investigation but didn’t say so.

‘Different?’ he asked.

‘Our people here have to be screened thoroughly for suitability before being appointed.’

‘And you don’t think he was?’

‘Oh no, nothing like that,’ said Groves. ‘He was subject to the same scrutiny as all the others and had signed the Official Secrets act. By different I simply meant that he has a qualification in art therapy,’ said Groves, clearly making an effort to keep judgement out of his voice.

‘He’s been giving lessons to Lawler,’ said Donovan.

‘Ah,’ said Barrowman.

‘And instead of Clements influencing Lawler...’

‘Clements will be cleaning Lawler’s shoes by the end of the month,’ said Groves. ‘A weak personality in thrall to a strong one. I haven’t seen this involve a member of staff before — it’s usually been something between prisoners as was the case when Sutton and Lawler ruled the roost at Broadmoor. I was there at the time — the axis of evil as some of the staff called it. Their word was law. A whole wing danced to their tune’

‘How many prisons was Barrowman in before he ended up here?’

‘Just Broadmoor.’

Barrowman asked why Sutton hadn’t been transferred to Moorlock.

‘He died in Broadmoor. Cerebral haemorrhage.’

Barrowman raised an eyebrow.

‘No suspicious circumstances,’ said Groves. He noticed that Barrowman kept feeling his throat. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to have a hospital check-up?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Good,’ said Groves cautiously tip-toeing up to a new question. ‘Dare I ask where this leaves your research?’

Barrowman looked at the samples he’d taken from Lawler. ‘I may have all I need here. If not... I’ll be back. Lawler is something else, science should know about him.’

Groves applauded his dedication.

‘Just don’t have Clements riding shotgun on me.’

‘Absolutely not, although he’ll be difficult to get rid of without concrete evidence. The best I can do is probably keep him and Lawler apart. After all, the other inmates should be given the chance to benefit from his artistic skills.’

Barrowman sat in his car for a few minutes, his fingers alternately squeezing and releasing the steering wheel as he struggled with being an emotional mess. The adrenalin rush from the Lawler incident had dissipated, leaving him feeling confused, exhausted and depressed, but also strangely angry with himself. He didn’t seem to be in control of anything. He should have gone to hospital but he hadn’t. Instead, he had sought to cover the incident up, dismissing it as a minor blip in proceedings when it had been anything but. He could have died. Why? he wondered, why had he done that? Why had he stopped official procedure taking its course? Was his research really so important that nothing should be allowed to interfere with it? Were the secrets that Lawler held really worth risking absolutely everything for? The answers, when they came, brought with them a feeling of calm that settled over him like the morphine-induced relief given to those in severe pain. They were yes and yes again. Nothing must stand between him and Lawler.

Barrowman was ten minutes into the drive home when he managed to turn his thoughts to the evening seminar. He hadn’t been lying when he’d given this as the reason for cutting short his time with Lawler, although he hadn’t reckoned on it triggering the nightmare it had. His friend from his time in Scotland, Dan Glass, really was speaking tonight about his research on epigenetic changes and hormone levels in teenagers and Barrowman had volunteered to be the member of staff to take the guest speaker out for supper afterwards. He had been looking forward to catching up on news of contemporaries and talking about the old days over a few beers but now... He couldn’t pull out now, he decided. If he did, it would demand explanations he didn’t want to give.

He did his best to put all other thoughts out of his mind and concentrate on the evening ahead. He even managed a smile as he recalled animated discussions over pints of Belhaven Best beer in Bannermans bar in the heart of Edinburgh’s old town. Pubs had been important in student days. Looking back now as he approached his thirties he suspected that many ideas in young minds might well have stayed there if expression had been confined to formal seminars and scientific meetings where established scientists ruled the roost, speaking long and loud of the road well-travelled and perhaps discouraging thoughts of any venture into uncharted side roads.

The smile faded as reality insisted that times had changed. Things would not be the same this evening. They couldn’t be. He and Dan had been students in these far-off days, free to speak about the first thing that came into their heads and argue without restraint, but circumstances were different now. He wouldn’t tell Dan anything about what he was working on. He couldn’t. He couldn’t risk telling anyone anything about it. He had too much to lose. The history of science was littered with the wrong people getting the credit for the ideas and discoveries of others.

He would say nothing until his work was safely in print, then he would speak of little else as the invitations rolled in. With one single publication in Nature he would secure his future in academe and more importantly a place in medical history as the man who explained the basis for psychopathic personality and how the condition might be reversed. No one was going to take that away from him. No one.

Thinking about Dan and the old days however, had given Barrowman an idea. Dan was still a pal and he might be useful. He had a favour to ask.