Mindgame (5 page)

STYLER: She's not related?

FARQUHAR: I hardly think so.

STYLER: Well, anyway, at this time Easterman was running the family wine shop in Bootham Gate — just in the shadow of York Minster by some horrible irony. What nobody knew was that he had adapted some of the cellars, the ones furthest under ground, to his own horrendous end.

FARQUHAR: He had turned them into a torture chamber?

STYLER: Yes. He picked up hitch-hikers, some of them students at the university. He drugged them and took them down there. And then he played with them.

A dozen victims. Maybe more. I don't suppose you want me to go into the details.

FARQUHAR: You want to save them for your book?

STYLER: Well, it was the usual thing. Sexual humiliation. Torture. Rape. For each one of them a long, drawn-out death. He cut up the bodies when he'd finished with them. Some of them he took home in pieces and buried in his mother's garden. Of course he kept souvenirs. He also cannibalised some of the corpses. He liked to eat…

FARQUHAR: The liver.

STYLER: Yes. Things only came to a head when his neighbours started asking questions about the state of his lawn. It's hard to imagine what took them so long. By the end his garden must have looked like an archaeological dig. Anyway, the neighbours must have asked one question too many because one night he attacked all of them, killing Mrs Barlow at number twenty-nine and mutilating the Bundies at thirty-three. Then he walked into York police station and gave himself up.

FARQUHAR: But not out of remorse?

STYLER: Remorse never came into it. He pleaded guilty. He was found unfit to stand trial and was sent here.

FARQUHAR: All of which is accurate, more or less, but still doesn't answer my original question.

STYLER: Which was?

FARQUHAR: Why did you choose him? For your book?

But before STYLER can answer, the door opens and PLIMPTON comes back in carrying a tray with a single sandwich, a tea-pot, tea-cup and small jug of milk.

It looks like your dinner's finally arrived.

STYLER: Thank you.

FARQUHAR: (
To PLIMPTON
.) What took you so long?

PLIMPTON: There was no one in the kitchen.

FARQUHAR: You didn't see Cookie?

PLIMPTON: I told you. Cookie's gone home.

FARQUHAR: Oh yes.

PLIMPTON: I did the best I could. (
To STYLER
.) I thought you might have gone.

STYLER: No. I'm still here.

PLIMPTON: I can see that. But I thought…

FARQUHAR: Mr Styler decided to stay for dinner.

STYLER: Yes.

FARQUHAR: So you managed to rustle something up on your own?

PLIMPTON: No. Borson did it.

STYLER: Borson?

PLIMPTON: Yes.

STYLER: I thought he was on security.

PLIMPTON: He is. But he came into the kitchen while I was there and when I told him what Dr Farquhar wanted, he insisted on making the sandwich.

FARQUHAR: And what did Borson put in the sandwich?

PLIMPTON: Liver.

A long pause.

STYLER: It's very kind of you. But I'll just have the tea.

FARQUHAR: You don't like liver?

STYLER: Not especially.

FARQUHAR: It must have been left over from lunch. Isn't that right, Nurse Plimpton?

PLIMPTON: I don't know. I didn't have lunch.

FARQUHAR: (
Solicitous
.) Why not?

PLIMPTON: (
With a shudder
.) I was in B-wing.

FARQUHAR: And how was Borson?

PLIMPTON: He didn't say anything. I told him you wanted a sandwich for your guest and that was what he gave me.

FARQUHAR: (
To STYLER
.) Left-overs. You'll have to forgive us.

STYLER: I don't mind left-overs, really I don't. But I'm beginning to wonder if I shouldn't go back to my hotel. They're expecting me for dinner.

PLIMPTON: Did you tell them you were on the way? I mean, did they know you were coming here and that afterwards you'd be returning for the night?

STYLER: Yes.

FARQUHAR: Then we mustn't disappoint them. (
To PLIMPTON
.) You'd better ring them and tell them Mr Styler will be spending the night here with us.

PLIMPTON: But he wants to leave. (
To STYLER
.) Don't you, Mr Styler?

STYLER: Well, to be honest, I do feel a bit uncomfortable about spending the night in a place like this. Nothing personal…

PLIMPTON: There you are.

STYLER: I'm booked in overnight. I could come back tomorrow.

FARQUHAR: I'm afraid I can't see you tomorrow.

STYLER: No?

FARQUHAR: I'm busy tomorrow.

PLIMPTON: No you're not. All your morning appointments have been cancelled. (
To STYLER
.) Dr Farquhar could see you tomorrow at nine o'clock.

FARQUHAR: Nurse Plimpton. Don't you think you're taking your responsibilities a little far? Anyway, I don't remember opening my appointments book to you.

PLIMPTON: I'm just trying to be helpful, Dr Farquhar.

FARQUHAR: If you want to be helpful, you could go down to Easterman and see if he's awake.

PLIMPTON: What?

STYLER: You're going to let me see him?

FARQUHAR: No. Not necessarily.

PLIMPTON: You don't want to see him.

FARQUHAR: (
Annoyed
.) Nurse Plimpton…

PLIMPTON: Please, Mr Styler, listen to me. Easterman is a monster. He's not mad like the other patients here. He's evil. He knows what he does and he gets pleasure from it. Even here at Fairfields.

FARQUHAR: (
Threatening
.) …be careful what you say…

PLIMPTON: You can't write a book about Easterman. He's different to all the others. You don't want to be in the same room as him. You don't want to be anywhere near him. Because he'll play with you…like the devil. And then he'll break you down. He'll destroy you.

FARQUHAR: Nurse Plimpton, you are pushing me perilously closer towards disciplinary action.

PLIMPTON: (
Muttered
.) What more can you do to me?

FARQUHAR: You can go now.

PLIMPTON: What?

FARQUHAR: Just go. I'll call you back if I need you.

A pause.

PLIMPTON: Shall I take the sandwich?

FARQUHAR: Leave the sandwich.

PLIMPTON: But he doesn't want it.

FARQUHAR: He wants it.

PLIMPTON: He said not.

FARQUHAR: He may change his mind.

A pause. PLIMPTON takes one last despairing look at STYLER, then leaves the room.

Dinner.

STYLER: Actually, I'd quite like a cigarette.

FARQUHAR: Let me pour you some tea. (
He pours
.) It's Lapsang Souchong. (
Pause
.) Milk?

STYLER: No, thank you.

FARQUHAR: Eat. You must be famished.

STYLER: I am hungry, yes.

FARQUHAR: Well there you are, then. STYLER: Right.

FARQUHAR offers the plate. STYLER picks up the sandwich. Thinks for a moment. Dismisses the foolish thought that was going through his head and bites into the sandwich.

FARQUHAR: How is it?

STYLER: (
Mouth full
.) Good.

FARQUHAR: Not too dry?

STYLER: No.

FARQUHAR: Sometimes, when the meat comes out of the freezer, it can be a little dry.

STYLER: Are you going to let me see Easterman?

FARQUHAR: No.

STYLER: What?

FARQUHAR: You still haven't persuaded me that there would be any point to it. Oh yes, you've done a certain amount of research. But what you've told me anyone could have found out in a half an hour in a newspaper library. Why Easterman? That's what I want to know. Why Easterman as opposed to Sprintz or Chaplin, Morganstone, Netley, Borson or any of the other patients here.

STYLER: Borson?

FARQUHAR: What?

STYLER: You said Borson… You said Borson was a patient here.

FARQUHAR: Yes.

STYLER: But Borson was the name of the man at the gate. He was also in the kitchen.

FARQUHAR: That's a different Borson. It's quite a common name.

STYLER: I wouldn't have said that.

FARQUHAR: There are two Borsons. It's a coincidence.

STYLER: Another coincidence.

FARQUHAR: Just answer my question, Mr Styler. Tell me what's so different about Easterman, why he of all people
should appeal to you. Believe me when I say that your entire future — the future of your book — depends on your answer.

STYLER: Well. (
Pause
.) Every serial killer I've ever studied has been screwed up as a child. Jeffrey Dahmer was ignored by his parents. So was Ted Bundy. Peter Kürten…

FARQUHAR: (
Interrupting
.) This is all very familiar.

STYLER: Yes. But that's why Easterman is different. He had a wonderful childhood. His father, despite what you say, was devoted to him. His mother adored him. Right up to the time when the killings began there isn't a hint of deviancy in Easterman's life.

FARQUHAR: Go on.

STYLER: It was Socrates, wasn't it, who said that nobody ever does wrong willingly…by which he meant that if they really knew what they were doing, they would choose not to do it. Well, Easterman finally proves him wrong.

FARQUHAR: On the face of it…

STYLER: That's the point of my book. It's not a whodunnit. It's a whydunnit. Why did Easterman do what he did? What turned this golden boy into this…revolting beast?

FARQUHAR: Now you sound like your own back-cover blurb. How's the sandwich?

STYLER: Good.

STYLER takes another bite.

FARQUHAR: So do you have any clues? Any answers to your ‘whydunnit'? Any first thoughts?

STYLER: It's hard to say, not having met him. But… (
Pause
.) Given his looks, given his family background, given the
lack of any apparent conflict in his life, I wonder if there wasn't some sort of sexual problem.

FARQUHAR: Do you?

STYLER: Well, it's just a thought. But he lived with his mother and she was his first victim. His girlfriend, Jane Plimpton, was number two. After that, the great majority of his victims were male. Young men and boys. So — and I know this is a little simplistic but — maybe he was a homosexual. Maybe he was unable to come to terms with his sexuality and that was what started the psychosis, what triggered him off…

FARQUHAR: So he was a mummy's boy.

STYLER: I didn't say that.

FARQUHAR: He killed nineteen people because he couldn't cope with being gay?

STYLER: Where did you get that figure from?

FARQUHAR: I think your theory, Mr Styler, is pathetic.

STYLER: I've annoyed you.

FARQUHAR: (
Annoyed
.) No. I'm not annoyed. But quite frankly I wouldn't say there was much mileage in a book about someone who tortured and mutilated his way through the entire city of York just because he was too scared to ‘come out'.

STYLER: Let me meet him and maybe I'll find out for myself.

FARQUHAR: You really think…? You really think that — what was it you asked for — six one-hour sessions with Easterman and you'll be able to find out more than we have in the constant, intensive therapy of the past thirty years?

STYLER: I didn't say that.

FARQUHAR: (
Getting up
.) No, Mr Styler. I think I've had enough of this.

STYLER: What?

FARQUHAR: You think you can just walk into my office because you've had a best-selling novel optioned by Hollywood as well as two boilers out of your mother's pot. You think you're some kind of expert because you've got two gaudy paperbacks on the shelves of the True Crime department at your local library.

STYLER: Dr Farquhar…

FARQUHAR: You know, Mr Styler, I recognised you for what you were from the moment you walked into my office. You're Mr Television. When they need an opinion on Newsnight or Panorama, you're the expert they wheel in at fifty quid an hour plus a G and T with Jeremy Paxman. Fred West hangs himself. Myra Hindley is turned down for parole. Let's go over to Mark Styler who's ready with an instant opinion and a quote from Socrates. Nurse Plimpton was right about you. You're a fake. I don't know why I've wasted so much time with you.

STYLER: Wait…

FARQUHAR: Go on. Get out of here. Go back to your hotel.

STYLER: Easterman killed my mother.

A pause.

FARQUHAR: What?

STYLER: That's why I want to write a book about him. That's why I want to understand him. He murdered my mother.

FARQUHAR: There were never any victims called Styler.

STYLER: She went back to her maiden name after my father died. Victoria Barlow. She was Easterman's neighbour. He killed her.

A long pause.

I was away when it happened. I was a student. But that day I came home for a visit. The first thing I saw was the smoke. Easterman had set fire to his own house. But first he had gone into hers. I tried to go in. But they stopped me. They held me back…

FARQUHAR: (
Gently
.) Why didn't you tell me this before?

STYLER: Because… (
Pause
.) It was after what he did to my mother that I moved to London. My poor, beautiful, kind mother. The police asked me to identify the body. They tried to hide the worst of it but…the way he'd slashed at her. I couldn't identify her. I couldn't recognise her. It was as if some wild animal…

FARQUHAR: And you wanted to meet Easterman. Why? What were you going to do if you found yourself in the same room as him? Did you want to kill him?

STYLER: No. I wanted to understand him. That's all. I thought, if I wrote about him, I might be able to…

FARQUHAR: What?

STYLER: (
Surprising himself
. ) …forgive him.

FARQUHAR: Forgive him?

STYLER: Yes.

FARQUHAR: You really think you could do that?

STYLER: Yes.

A pause. FARQUHAR picks up the telephone.

FARQUHAR: (
Into the telephone
.) Nurse Plimpton. Could you come back please?