3.AlCETIS

Chapter 3:ALCETIS

Alcetis is the heroine of a Greek myth. A love story of the saddest kind. Alcetis willingly sacrifices her life of her husband, Sometimes, dying in his place when no one else will. An unsettling myth of self – sacrifice, it was unclear how it related to Alicia's situation. The true meaning of the allusion remained unknown to me for some time. Until one day, the truth came to light...

But I'm going too fast. I'm getting ahead of myself. I must start at the beginning and let events speak for themselves. I mustn't colour them, twist them, or tell any lies. I'll proceed step by step, slowly cautiously. But where to begin? I should introduce myself, but perhaps not quite yet; after all, I am not the hero of this tale.It is Alicia Berenson's story, so I must begin with her – and the Alcetis.

The painting is a self – portrait, depicting Alicia in her studio at home in the days after the murder, standing before an easel and a canvas, holding a paintbrush. She is naked. Her body is rendered in unsparing detail: strands of long red hair falling across bony shoulders, blue veins visible beneath translucent skin,fresh scars on both wrists. She's holding a paintbrush between her fingers. It's dripping red paint– or is it blood? she is captured in the act of painting – and yet the canvas is blank ,as is her expression. Her head is turned over her shoulder and she stares straight at us. Mouth open, lips parted. Mute.

During the trail, Jean–Felix Martin, who managed the small Soho gallery that represented Alicia, made the controversial decision, decided by many as sensationalist and macabre, to exhibit the Alcetis.The fact that the artist was currently in the dock for killing her husband meant, for the first time in the gallery's long history, there were queues outside the entrance.

I stood in line with the other prurient art –lovers, waiting by the neon red lights of a sex–shop next door. One by one, we shuffled inside.Once in the gallery, we were herded towards the painting,like an excitable crowd at a fairbackground making its way through a haunted house. Eventually, I found myself at the front of the line – and was confronted with the Alcetis .

I stared at the painting, staring into Alicia's face,trying to interpret the look eyes, trying to understand – but the portrait defide me. Alicia stared back at me – a black mask – unreadable ,impenetrable. I could divine neither innocence nor guilt in her expression.

Other people found her easier to read.

'Pure evil, ' whispered the woman behind me.

'Isn't she?' her companion agreed. 'Cold –blooded bitch. '

A little unfair, I thought – considering Alicia's guilt had yet to be proven.But in truth it was a foregone conclusion. The tabloids had cast her as a villain from the start : a femme fatal, a black widow. A monster.

The facts such as they were, were simple : Alicia was found alone with Gabriel 's body; only her fingerprints were on the gun. There was never any doubt she killed Gabriel.Why she killed him, on the other hand, remained a mystery.

The murder was debated in the media and different theories were espoused in print and radio and on morning chat shows. Experts were brought in to explain, condemn, justify Alicia's actions. She must have been a victim of domestic abuse, surely,pushed too far, before finally exploding? Another theory involved a sex–game gone wrong – the husband was found tied up, wasn't he? Some suspected it was old– fashioned jealousy that drove Alicia to murder – another women, probably? But at the trail Gabriel was described by his brother as a devoted husband, deeply in love with his wife. Well, what about money? Alicia didn't stand to gain much by his death; she was the one who had money, inherited from her father.

And so it went on, endless speculation – no answers, only more questions – about Alicia's motives and her subsequent silence. Why did she refuse to speak? What did it mean? Was she hiding something? Protecting someone? If so,who?And why.

At the time, I remember thinking that while everyone was talking, writing, arguing and about Alicia, at the heart of this frantic, noisy activity there was a void – a silence. A sphinx.

During the trail, the judge took a dim view of Alicia's persistent refusal to speak. Innocent people, Mr Justice Alverstone pointed out, tended to proclaim their innocence loudly – and often. Alicia not only remained silent, but she showed no visible signs of remorse. She didn't cry once throughout the trail — a fact made much of in the press — her face remaining unmoved, cold. Frozen.

The difence had little choice but to enter a plea of diminished responsibility: Alicia had a long history of mental health problems, it was claimed, dating back to her childhood. The judge dismissed a lot of this as heresay— but in the end allows himself to be swayed by Professor Lazarus Diomedes, Professor of Forensic Psychiatry at Imperial college,and clinical director of the Grove ,a secure forensic unit in north London.Professor Diomedes argued that Alicia's refusal to speak was an itself evidence of profound psychological distress — and she would be sentence accordingly.

This was a rather roundabout way of saying something that psychiatrists don't like putting bluntly:

Diomedes was saying Alicia was mad.

It was the only explanation that made any sense: why else tie the man you love to a chair, a shoot him in the face at close range?And then express no remorse,give no explanation, not even speak? She must be mad.

She had to be.

In the end, Justice Alverstone accepted the plea of diminished responsibility, and advised the jury to follow the suit. Alicia was subsequently admitted to the Grove - under the supervision of the same Professor Diomedes whose testimony had been so influential on the judge.

The truth is, if Alicia weren't mad — that is, if her silence were merely an act, a performance for the benefit of the jury – then it had worked. She was spared a lengthly prison sentence – and if she proceeded to make a full recovery, she might well be discharged in a few years. Surely now was the time to begin faking that recovery? To utter a few words here and there, then a few more; to slowly communicate some kind of remorse?But no. Weeks followed week,month followed month, and then the years passed – and still Alicia didn't speak.

There was simply silence.

And so, with no further revelation forthcoming, the disappointed media eventually lost interest in Alicia Berenson. She joined the ranks of other briefly famous murderers; faces we remember, but whose name we forget.

Not all of us, it must be said. Some people – myself included – continued to be fascinated by the myth of Alicia Berenson and her enduring silence. As a psychotherapist, it was obvious to me that she had suffered a severe trauma surrounding Gabriel 's death; and this silence was a manifestation of that trauma. Unable to come to terms with what she had done, Alicia stutterd and came to a halt, like a broken car. I wanted to help start her up again – help Alicia tell her story, to heal and get well. I wanted to fix her.

Without wishing to sound boastful, I felt uniquely qualified to help Aliris Berenson. I'm a forensic psychotherapist,and used to working with some of most damaged, vulnerable members of society. And something about Alicia's story resonated with me personally – I felt a profound empathy with her right from the start.

Unfortunately,I was still working at Broadmoor in those days,and so treating Alicia would have — should have —remained an idle fantasty, had not fate unexpectedly intervneed.

NNearly sixy years after Alicia was admitted, the position of forensic psychotherapist became available at The Grove.As soon as I a saw the advert, I knew I had no choice. I followed my gut — and applied for the job.