Cut You Dead (Dr. Samantha Willerby Mystery #4) - A J Waines Page 0,9
zoo.
Carol grabs my wrist and marches me off to the bathroom. She stands me in front of the mirror on the wall, then offers me the small one from her handbag. I try to line them up to see the back of my head. My hand is trembling the whole time, so the image is blurred at first.
Then I see what you’ve done.
It hits me like a cannon ball in the stomach. There’s a chunk missing at the back. My hair’s all one length and now there’s a bit where it only reaches my collar. About six centimetres wide. You bastard! I let out a piercing scream, the sound bouncing back from the tiles at me.
‘My hair – my beautiful hair!’ All strength drains from my limbs and I drop the mirror. It smashes and I sink to the floor on top of the cascade of glass splinters.
‘It must have happened on the bus… I didn’t feel a thing… I had my scarf around my neck, so that must…’ My babbling dries up.
Carol’s mouth is moving. ‘Just stupid kids… a silly game…’
She prattles on, but her words float above me.
My hair. My luscious golden hair that reaches down to my waist. It’s my pride and joy. I’ve put up hundreds of selfies on Instagram and get tons of likes and comments. Everyone says how gorgeous it is. It’s taken me over a decade to get it to look like this. Now it’s soddin’ ruined.
Carol grabs my arm and is more or less propping me up. ‘You’ll need a really good hairdresser to sort that out…’
Her words fill me with dread. I cradle my remaining hair in my hands as though afraid it will all fall out. ‘No… no…’ It’s the only word I can utter. Over and over again. I’m in a total nightmare. This is the worst thing, like, ever. I’ve been violated.
I can’t. I simply can’t get it all cut off.
Sam
The Present
As soon as I caught Terry approaching, I swivelled towards the sink and started filling my glass with water. He came up behind me.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘Work stuff.’
I turned round to face him, holding my glass to my chest. He was standing very close. There was an intensity about him that was hard to describe. As I stared into his lagoon-blue eyes, his pupils seemed to sizzle. It was like stepping into a shallow pool and finding the shimmering water up to my waist by the second step. Then I wondered if he was scrutinising me that intently because he knew I’d been snooping.
I cleared my throat. ‘Everything okay?’
He nodded absently, but didn’t elucidate. ‘Tell me about this project you’re starting. What exactly has Claussen asked you to do?’
Since we’d last spent time together, I’d missed his soft velvety tones. He had the kind of lie-back-and-relax voice you’d expect to hear in a Baileys advert.
We returned to the sofa. On the way, I noticed he’d taken his shoes off and was padding around in his socks.
I explained the details.
‘And she wants you to look for evidence of grandiose delusions?’ He twisted in my direction, his elbow on the back of the sofa.
‘Yes. Did you know one of the earliest documented cases of homicidal delusions involved King Charles VI of France in the fourteenth century?’
He smiled, folding his knees up, looking settled and comfortable, as though he could listen to me for hours. I took another slug of wine. It was slipping down a treat. ‘The king thought he was made of glass and went on killing sprees to stop people harming him.’
‘Seriously?’
Terry seemed genuinely animated, so I carried on. There weren’t many people in my circle I could rattle on with about this kind of subject. To be honest, there weren’t many people in my circle – full stop.
‘A serial killer was recently convicted in America,’ I said, ‘a guy who believed he was Kojak, the TV detective from the 1970s. The only thread the police could find linking his murders was the fact that he left behind a cherry lollipop beside the corpses. When he was finally caught, he told them he shaved his head before every attack.’
‘You’re kidding me.’
‘It’s a fascinating area to explore.’ I tossed my hair back, sensing Terry’s eyes on me.
‘Are these psychopaths we’re talking about?’
‘No. Psychopaths don’t tend to have hallucinations or delusions. These individuals are suffering from psychosis – they’re out of touch with reality, but they’re not psychopaths. And most people with delusions don’t actually kill.’