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“I requested her file, while I was still a GP,” Elijah continues, unabashed. “A doctor needs to know patient history, a crap excuse but it worked. And it read like a horror story. When those foster parents were arrested, she was covered in bruises. She had more than twenty healed fractures. She’d been starved, force-fed salt when she complained. That kid had been deliberately deprived of sleep, made to stand for hours facing a wall until she collapsed of exhaustion—that’s the start in life Maggie had. And the people who did that to her will get out of prison before me, that’s how fucked up our society is now.”
Adam doesn’t reply. It seems even sadistic killers have their morals.
“Sandra brought her to the surgery for the first time when she was four. And I knew. The thought that she could hide who Maggie’s father was? It was ridiculous.” He grins. “She looked just like Romilly did at that age. And she was such a sweet kid. Confused. Starved for affection. I notice things like that—that desperation, need for love. And I gave it to her.”
“You abused her?”
“No. No, I didn’t,” he says firmly. “I’m no pedophile, Adam. But we played together. Hide-and-seek. Jigsaw puzzles. Silly games that I would often play with Rom. Her attachment disorder was so pronounced, a little went a long way.”
The guard comes in with two mugs of hot black coffee, putting them down on the table.
“Thank you,” Elijah says sweetly. He turns back to Adam. “I’d already seen the signs. The telltale delusions, an early susceptibility to mental illness. She was fascinating.”
He takes a sip from his coffee, not looking away. “She fixated onto things, people, even at that age. I’m amazed she was managing to hold down some semblance of normal life, frankly.”
Adam remembers what Jamie told him about the state of her house, the mess, the dirt. “I’m not sure she was,” he replies. “How did she know? That you were her father?”
“She didn’t. But we’d already forged a friendship, so I wrote to her from prison, and she came to see me. Such love, such trust in her eyes. Even before I told her. After that, it was easy. She had my blood in her veins, a natural predisposition to violence. Just needed a few pointers in the right direction.”
It’s hard for Adam to hide his disgust. But he needs to know the truth. “What changed?” he asks.
“Her adoptive father died. That man was a major stabilizing influence in her life. Incredible how much difference a loving parent can make.” Elijah looks up, smiling. “But he died, six months ago, sudden heart attack, and from that moment I could see how Maggie was coming apart at the seams. I was more important than ever. I was the only man left in her life.” He laughs. “The only man, of course, apart from you.”
Adam recoils. “Me?” he growls. “What the fuck did I have to do with it?”
“I convinced her that Romilly was still in love with you, despite the divorce. That including you in our little plan would be the ultimate revenge for what she had done. In Maggie’s head, Romilly is the reason I’m in here. The reason we can’t be together—in the outside world.”
Adam feels the disgust swell. He swallows it down. “You told her to kill.”
“Yes. And who.” He lifts a hand, cuffs jangling, and points at Adam. “She was always obsessed with signs. Little pieces of information the universe would throw out to guide her way. And from that I knew I could complete my plan.”
Adam shakes his head. This was fucked up, too fucked up. “But why? Why try to get to twenty?”
Elijah ignores his question. “Did you do what I thought you would? After you were last here?”
Adam stays silent. He knows Cole’s referring to his patient files, now an investigation of their own. Detectives slowly disseminating information, cross-checking patient notes against cause of death. It was long and drawn out and boring.
“We’re looking,” he replies.
Elijah nods with satisfaction. “I knew you’d go there. To the old surgery. I knew all she’d have to do was wait.”
“For me.”
“Yes. For you, Adam.” His eyes go down to Adam’s arms, now covered by his shirt. He reaches forward slowly; the guard takes a step and stops him. He smiles again, the leer of a snake, of an alligator denied his kill. “How far did she get, Bishop?” he says slowly. “With her needles and her scalpel? Did you scream? Cry? Before they saved you?”
Adam feels the cold again, the dread returning to his bones. The flash of metal, the steel of the blade against his skin.
“How did you know?”
“About your phobia? I didn’t. Maggie told me—after those routine jabs. But how much you were affected … We hadn’t known it would work so well.” Elijah continues with a grin. “And I rather liked the idea. What she did. No father like their son-in-law, do they?”
“Most fathers-in-law don’t arrange for them to be tortured!” Adam shouts. Then he stops. He closes his eyes for a second. He will not give him the satisfaction of letting him see his fear. He will not.
He needs to focus on why he’s there. The victims. Justice.
“How many are there, Elijah?” he says.
The doctor chuckles softly. “Are you scared, Bishop? That it’s more than three? That it’s hundreds, like Shipman?” Adam stays quiet and Elijah sighs. “Do you know how long I was a doctor? Before they arrested me?”
