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Conversations with a Psychopath
Behind locked doors
Bright Sunday mornings, such as the one this week, sometimes trigger memories of my working life at Broadmoor Special Hospital in my early twenties.
This was often the day of the week when security checks were done. I remember a particular Sunday when I was recently qualified and in charge of the ward. During a routine security check, we found photos of young children in their underwear cut out from a clothes catalogue in a patient’s bedroom.
The patient was a psychopath. And he had a hospital parole card. This allowed him access to roam other parts of the institution, that were normally off-limits. It allowed him to work in the main kitchen, a role of high status and trust. Having a parole card did not necessarily mean the patient was nearing a discharge date (although it might), yet it was certainly a mark of privilege within Broadmoor’s high, red-brick walls. They were not given out lightly. Trust had to be gained over several years for a parole card to be considered and countersigned by God i.e. the consultant psychiatrist. Any misdemeanour could jeopardise it. And it was certainly a big deal to remove a patient of their hard-won privileges.
If I remember correctly, the patient also happened to be a paedophile who had murdered his little sister. She’d had the fatal misfortune…
