A Blind Lamb to the Slaughter
Silvia had gone over Jack's regression tapes several times on Thursday night. Jack had been dazed and Silvia had taken him home. She'd also called Elsee at Jack's request. She was waiting for them when they arrived. She hadn't told him very much, it was not ethical. She'd overstepped the mark as it was, the tapes· were evidence of sorts. But evidence of what?
Silvia tried to sleep on Thursday but when she closed her eyes she kept seeing little rabbits flashing plastic smiles at her and asking her if she wanted some juice. When she said no they got out magic sticks and she woke up and so it went on.
She wriggled and turned, wriggled and turned, until finally she gave up and went downstairs again to listen to the tapes.
She knew what the formal analysis was but some things just weren't right. Silvia was scribbling on a screen some ideas and thoughts and the complex diagram she was drawing had three main schools of thought; schizophrenia, unlikely but can't be ruled out yet, false reality creation which Jack believed but he was acting out in the real world. The last alternative was a drug induced hypnotic state.
Silvia woke up on Friday morning slowly and found she slumped on her desk in her study.
"You shouldn't be working so hard," John, her husband shouted from the hall.
“I’ve put you some coffee out in the kitchen, I’ve got to go now, and I’m late. But we need to talk.” Sylvia shouted.
His answer came with a slam of the door.
“Shit, why the fuck have I come here at all?"
She got up slowly from the desk, her hair was a mess and her eyes felt like someone had been using a hairdryer on them all night, her skin felt like sandpaper.
She wandered into the kitchen, the usual mess confronted her: piles of takeaway boxes, unwashed pans and dishes, dirty surfaces and the bin had opened its mouth to display its contents. Silvia sighed. She checked her watch, running late again. She cerealed showered and drove the short distance to the station.
“Jees, what time do you call this Silvia? Good afternoon." Reggie quipped.
“Found any farmers wandering around yet with pieces of metal Reggie?"
Reggie flushed slightly and walked off.
Silvia went to her office, boiled the kettle, made some tea and started going through her messages.
She called Martin Shaw.
“He's busy right now," Goldentooth barked at her.
"Is he now? Well, tell him I've got something for him and we'll see how busy he is."
"What is it?"
Silvia hung up.
About five minutes later, Shaw appeared looking harassed. "What is it?"·
“I thought you might be interested in some developments in the McMahan case.
“Yeah, like what?"
“Sit down, Martin, why don't you?"
"I'm in a hurry so make it fast."
“I’ve done the regression analysis with Robinson. The results aren’t entirely conclusive, but it seems likely that he definitely had some deluded aberration about killing someone or something."
“What do you mean someone or something?"
"I can't be more specific than that."
“That's what we pay you for to be specific."
“Okay, he thinks he killed a white rabbit that was threatening his life and the lives of many others."
“A white fuckin' rabbit..."
“Martin I can't be convinced as to what happened to him. One thing is sure, whether drug induced or he was placed in some real world virtual reality simulation, he was acting out some sort of personal psychosis."
“What sort of goddam psychosis?"
“I can't be absolutely sure yet. He was acting out and trying to resolve a personal cognitive dissonance."
“Stop talking the mumbo at me right, you’re not in England now."
“In essence the guy has always felt I failure, since his parents could only ever afford T2. He's always secretly craved adoration from others; he's always wanted to be a hero, a saviour. In his trance he thought he was a hero, someone killing for the sake of others. He was acting out a classic masculine dream, as an all-powerful defender and provider. He wants, well, respect and care. "
“So what you are telling me is this guy has a screw loose? He wants to get respect by killing people in his dreams and he's sensitive so he does it slowly. I smelled weirdo, wacko when I first laid eyes on him. I'm telling you, this nice guy persona thing is bullshit, the guy is a murderer and dreams about murder."
“Don't tell me you've never dreamt about killing your wife." Shaw ignored the question.
“Why the fuck didn't you tell me yesterday, we should have brought him in.”
“I wasn’t sure yesterday, I had to analyse the tapes, in any case this will have to be verified by someone else and furthermore it doesn't prove he killed anyone, it just implies it's a possibility."
"But taken together with the blood, if you were to testify as a professional, it would near prove he did something. Then we could get a conviction. Let me remind you the blood you said was inconclusive turned out to be definitely belonging to Jack Robinson. So the last time you said something was, it wasn't right?"
“I couldn't do that; I wouldn't be testifying as a professional I would be telling a professional lie, you know that. In any case we still don't have a decent motive."
“Well, maybe we haven't thought of one yet, but how do you explain the blood goddam it?"
“I can't, but neither can you, and we don't have a motive worth a dime."
“We can get this guy; I don't have the time for niceties right now. This town is becoming the joke of the state. Let's bring this guy down. It's instinct. I don't trust the son of a bitch. "
“Only by me lying in court, I know about the pressures..."
“No lady. You don't you have no fuckin’ idea. You better think about this very carefully, or you might find yourself wondering what you'll do with yourself."
“I'm sorry?" Silvia said incredulously, "Are you threatening me?"
“No, lady I'm giving you good advice. I suggest you think about it very hard.”
Shaw picked up the telephone.
"Bring Robinson in now."
“Do yourself a favour, lady."
Shaw walked out and slammed the door.
“Twice on one day," Silvia said aloud,"I can't believe this, any of this." About twenty minutes later Silvia’s viewcom rang, Goldentooth’s ugly face appeared on the screen.“You're sure as hell up to your neck in the pigshit now, lady, Robinson ain’t there. He’s done a runner. What the fuck did you do with him, lady?”