The Psychopath: A Maitland Noir Thriller #1, page 1
The Psychopath
By
IAIN MAITLAND
Three Ways Press
Published by Three Ways Press
Copyright © Iain Maitland 2025
ASIN (eBook): B0G1N8M37Z
ISBN (Paperback): 9798274207409
ISBN (Hardback): 979827407805
Iain Maitland has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
The Psychopath is a work of fiction.
It was first published in 2017 as Sweet William.
All characters, scenes and situations are from the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
For Tracey.
Contents
Part One The Escape
1 11.10pm, FRIDAY 30 OCTOBER
2 11.25pm, FRIDAY 30 OCTOBER
3 12.19am, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
4 12.57am, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
5 1.12am, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
6 1.36am, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
7 1.37am, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
8 6.55am, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
9 7.42am, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
10 9.00am, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
11 9.02am, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
12 11.07am, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
13 11.15am, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
14 12.03pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
15 2.12pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
16 2.35pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
17 4.35pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
18 5.00pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
19 5.12pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
20 5.20pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
21 5.21pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
22 6.26pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
23 6.32pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
24 6.34pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
25 6.39pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
26 6.41pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
Part Two The House
7 6.46pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
28 6.52pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
29 6.58pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
30 7.06pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
31 7.07pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
32 7.19pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
33 7.21pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
34 7.23pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
35 7.31pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
36 7.33pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
37 7.39pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
38 7.40pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
39 7.49pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
40 7.53pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
41 8.25pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
42 9.09pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
43 11.10pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
44 11.42pm, SATURDAY 31 OCTOBER
45 12.23pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
46 1.07am, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
47 2.08am, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
48 3.09am, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
49 4.11am, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
50 5.35am, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
51 10.40am, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
52 11.20am, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
53 12.32pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
54 1.00pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
55 2.15pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
56 3.22pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
57 3.30pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
58 4.24pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
Part Three The Departure
59 4.56pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
60 5.16pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
61 5.17pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
62 5.19pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
63 5.20pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
64 5.33pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
65 5.34pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
66 5.36pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
67 5.37pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
68 5.40pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
69 5.42pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
70 5.58pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
71 6.02pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
72 6.10pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
73 6.32pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
74 8.27pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
75 8.35pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
76 8.57pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
77 9.17pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
78 9.36pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
79 9.52pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
80 9.59pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
81 11.44pm, SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER
Author’s Notes
Author’s Acknowledgements
About The Author
Part One
The Escape
1
11.10pm, FRIDAY 30 OCTOBER
If I move, even ever so slightly, this stair will creak and they will hear me. They’re all around me and one of them will cry out, that’s for sure. Bound to. Then I’m done for. I’ll never get another chance like this to get away. And I need to go tonight, come what may. No matter what.
If I turn my head oh-so-slowly to the right and look up, I can see three doors on the first-floor landing just above me. All shut. Ainsley is in the room at this end, closest to the stairs. He’ll be sitting there now, rocking gently back and forth and mumbling to himself. He’s sharper than you’d think, though. If he hears me, he’ll shout out, “Who’s there?” at the top of his thin, whiny voice. And he’ll do it over and over, each time louder than the last.
Sprake is in the middle room. He’ll be staring out of the window across the lawn. Absolutely motionless, he’ll be. I know. I’ve seen him. He sits that way for hours at a time. Like he’s in a trance. If I get out of here, I’ll have to stay round the side of the building to get away. If Sprake sees me he’ll start shouting and banging on the walls with his fists. He turns quickly, that one. He’s mad, proper mad. I’ve seen him biting his toenails until they bleed.
The last room on this landing is mine. It’ll be ‘was mine’ in a few minutes. I’ll be glad to see the back of it, to tell you the truth. I’ve been in the annexe for six months now and you can only take so much, even if you’re not locked and bolted in like you are in the big house. You’re still not free, whatever way you look at it.
All of my weight is on this step. I’m four steps down now. Nine to go. Then four to the corridor and away with a bit of luck. Security’s piss-poor at the best of times, but it’s been non-existent during the renovations. And it just about disappears in the annexe at this time of night when we’re all supposed to be drugged up and in bed. Those who take the medication probably are. But I’ve been tucking my tablets under my tongue and spitting them out afterwards when I go to the toilet. They never notice. They think we’re all stupid.
I’ve got to move my left leg down ever so carefully onto the next step. To do that, I’ve first got to shift all of my weight over to the right foot. I daren’t move the right foot yet. It’s got the creak waiting underneath it. I can feel it there ready to screech out.
There, I’ve done it. I’m on the next step. And all without a single sound.
They wondered why I spent so much time moving up and down these stairs over and again. I spent ages on each step, just rocking to and fro. They think I’m as mad as hell. I’m not, though. I know which stairs creak and which ones don’t. That’s why I’m going to get away tonight and the rest of these stupid bastards will be rotting here for years to come.
The next three steps don’t creak at all. I know. I’ve tested them.
One.
Two.
Three.
There. I’m now just five steps from the bottom. Easy as pie that was.
Smith the warden is at the bottom of the stairs, sitting in his so-called office on the left. He’s supposed to be security but he’s short and fat and bald and looks seventy if he’s a day. He’ll be sitting there with his back to the door, the lamp on and his paper spread out. Humming to himself and jangling his keys, he’ll be. I know.
I’ve heard him night after night. World of his own, the lazy pig.
He’ll never notice me slipping by; not if I’m quiet.
On the right is the residents’ lounge. We’re ‘residents’ nowadays out of respect. ‘Human Rights’, that’s what we’ve all got. The press don’t call us residents, mind. Nor the locals. They call us psychos – and worse. They don’t respect our human rights at all. There’s always a huge hoo-hah whenever someone new arrives, especially if they’ve been in the papers like me. We’ve had demonstrations at the gates even though we’re medicals not criminals. That’s official, that is. Medicals.
There won’t be any of us residents in the lounge at this time of night. It’s way too late. I know who will be in there, though. Maureen Fucking Spink and her crony, Fat-Arsed Eileen. That’s my names for them, by the way, not anybody else’s. They’ll be smoking. They’re not supposed to, it’s a fire hazard. That’s why they hide away in there. And they’ll be talking quietly under their breath about us.
Spink will be out of that lounge like a shot if she hears anything. And she won’t hold back, I can tell you. I’ve seen her hit Tosser Gibson when no one was looking. Really hit him, not just pushing and pulling him about like she does with the rest. She thought no one was around at the time. But I was and I saw it all. I keep my eyes open, see? Eyes open, mouth shut, that’s me. I take it all in. I’m clever like that. I’m smart. Dead smart. Just you wait and see how smart I am.
These final few steps don’t creak at all, except for the second to last one. I move down. Onto step five, then four and then three. I pause, miss step two to get to one and then I’m on the ground floor. Corridor straight opposite and down there at the end to the left is the unlocked side door.
There’s no one down that corridor. Nobody to hear me. Just walk along and open that side door and I’ve another corridor and a locked door, maybe two locked doors, to get through after that and then I’m out and running for the wall and freedom.
I’ve never seen much beyond the side door to be honest. I only dared open it and look down the next corridor once. Couldn’t risk being spotted checking it all out. It will be quiet there though for sure. No one about. Once I’ve gone through the side door, I can force open as many other doors as I have to and I’m away – too late for Spink or anyone else to stop me.
I pause.
Draw breath.
Think for a moment.
I’m leaving because of William. My little boy. My wife died, you see. ‘A tragedy’, the papers called it – ‘a shocking waste of a young mother’s life’. That was the quote. Horrible it was. Really horrible. And they blamed me for it. That’s why I’m in here. One year in the big house, six months in the annexe so far. Lots more to come if I stayed.
The judge didn’t send me to prison, though. I fooled him good and proper. I’m smart. I told you, didn’t I? Sectioned and assessed under what’s called section 37, that’s what I got. A cushy enough number. Being here’s better than prison, I can tell you. Easier to get out, too. You just wait.
Since the wife died, her sister and the husband have been bringing up my little William. I’ve got to go and get him now, though. Tonight. Right now. It has to be this weekend, see? Halloween. It’s the time the family gets together at Aldeburgh in Suffolk. Nice, quiet, back-of-your-arse Aldeburgh.
Just the sister-in-law and her husband, his fat old father and that bitch of a mother. And my lovely little William. Saturday night they go to the Halloween carnival parade on the seafront. I move in from the shadows. I take William. I move out and off we go to a new life. And it’ll leave the sister-in-law and that husband back where they started. Childless.
As I told you, I’m smart.
Dead smart, me.
You’ll soon find out just how smart I am.
Me and the little one can get away somewhere. Europe. France, maybe. It’s nice there, especially in the south. I’ve seen pictures. And it’s very sunny, so I’m told. I can get a job cleaning or something, and we can start a new life together. I’ve worked it out in my head. Got it all planned. I’ve thought it through good and proper.
I wait. Listening for old Smith in his room. I’ve got to be careful.
Still waiting. Yes, and still listening.
Have to be patient. Be sure. Feel absolutely certain.
It’s okay. He’s quiet, not moving at all. He must be reading. Just like I told you he would be. I take two steps. One to the door, which is open no more than an inch.
He’s not there.
Smith.
Must have gone for a smoke.
The second step takes me to the corridor. I want to run, just go as fast as I can. I daren’t, though. Not yet. I force down the panic surging up inside of me.
I hear a door open.
Voices. Women’s voices.
It’s Spink and her fat-arsed mate coming out of the residents’ lounge.
I wait. There’s nothing I can do. If they turn and come towards this corridor, I’m fucked. Well and truly. I’ve no reason to be here. No reason at all. Not at this time of night. They’ll know what I’m doing. They’ll shout out.
Spink? I could take her if I had to. Easy. But I couldn’t keep both of them quiet. And Old Smith as well. Not three of them. He’s got some sort of truncheon he carries round with him. From when he was in the force. He’s the sort who’d use it too.
They’ve turned left. To the bottom of the stairs. Thirteen steps up and another turn onto the landing, that’s what. No, sounds like they’ve stopped. They’re saying something about someone. Me, probably. Can’t make it out. They’re speaking softly. One of them chuckles. A piss-taking sound, that. They’ve said something nasty about me for sure. They don’t like me much. I don’t kow-tow to them like the rest of the dribblers.
I can hear them at the top of the stairs.
It’s eighteen steps down this corridor. I have to walk normally. Not panic. Eighteen. Seventeen. Sixteen. Fifteen. Fourteen . . .
Spink will go to Ainsley’s room first.
Opening his door.
Checking him.
Spink will stand there looking at Ainsley.
Maybe say something clever to him, wanting to make Fat-Arsed Eileen laugh.
“And h-h-how are you, Mr Ainsley?” mocking his stutter, most likely.
I walk, one step at a time, down the corridor, slowly, quietly, so I can hear what’s happening upstairs. Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven. Ten. Spink and Fat-Arsed Eileen will then move to the next room.
Checking on Sprake, I wouldn’t wonder.
I pause, wait, straining to hear.
I know Sprake, the stupid fucker. He’ll try and engage them in conversation. Like he’s normal. But what he says is gibberish. I know. He talks to me sometimes. You can’t understand a word. Spink and her mate will listen and she’ll smile and nod for a moment or two, taking the piss. Then she’ll put on that sneering smile of hers and say, “Well, we can’t stand here all night chatting with you, Mr Sprake”, and all with that exaggerated politeness. She’ll snigger and slam the door in his face and they’ll all have a right good laugh at the poor confused prick.
I’m more than halfway to that side door. Nine . . . eight. . . seven . . . six . . . five . . . four . . .
They’ll turn and go to my room. Spink will be thinking of something clever to say to me. She tries hard to make me react, I’ll give her that. Very hard. But it never works, not with me. I just smile and act polite, like nothing ever bothers me. She’ll have some snide comment ready as she walks up, puts her hand on the handle and opens the door.
I take the final steps to the side door, three . . . two . . . one . . .
I put my hand on the handle, pull down, step through. Breathe a sigh of relief. Ready to break down the next door . . . and the next . . . and the next. No matter what, no matter how many doors, I have to get away.
Now.
Tonight.
To get my sweet William.
Smith is leaning against a wall at the far end of the next corridor. He’s near a half-open window, smoking, just like I said, and he’s looking at something on his mobile phone, turning it first this way and then that. He glances up and I see the shock on his face as he recognises me.
I look at him and his keys.
The keys to my freedom.
And I give him a lovely big smile.
2
11.25pm, FRIDAY 30 OCTOBER
“All done?” the young man asks, rolling over and putting his glasses next to the newly opened paperback on the bedside table.
“Almost,” the young woman replies, walking into the room and pushing the door to behind her. “He struggled a bit, as usual, but then nodded off . . . his levels are still high, a bit more than yesterday. We just need to pack all the paraphernalia in the morning – and find Mr Jolly.”
“I think you’ll find Mr Jolly’s here, ready and waiting for you.”
“Ha ha, not now, Rick, exhausting day, long drive tomorrow – what time do you want to leave?” She sits down on the side of the bed.
He reaches out for her, “I don’t know, Nat. My dad really wanted us to go up tonight to get the place ready. If they’re going to arrive at lunchtime, we should get there for, what, eleven, just to freshen things up? So how about we leave at eight and stop on the way to get something to eat?”
“Seriously?” She lays down, pushing his hands away, “Not now . . . I want Will to lie in as long as possible and then check him again and get him jabbed and fed before we leave at . . . ten.”
“Nine.”
“Nine-thirty at the earliest, and you’re doing the ‘freshening up’ if we get there before them. I want everything calm and peaceful, otherwise he’ll just get agitated and fretful and it’ll be hell for all of us, especially with your mother, sitting there taking it all in. Have you told them about Will yet?” He shakes his head.
