Stranger in the Woods: A tense psychological thriller

by Anni Taylor

  I knew now where those bruises on Jessica had come from. Camille said that Peyton had grabbed Jessica.

  The prosecutor flipped through his notes, looking through his tabs. “I have a statement from you, Ms Keenan, in which you say that you became intrigued with what was going on between Jessica and Peyton after that. Can you explain?”

  “Yes,” Camille answered. “It seemed that it could be a secret romance. Jess didn’t react when Peyton got a bit rough with her. And the stuff they talked about in the conversation I overheard seemed to me like two people who were doing things in secret—”

  The defence lawyer objected, but again, the judge allowed Camille’s words to stand.

  “I’ll make the point here,” said the prosecutor, “that we have an earlier statement from Isla Wilson, in which she gave an account of an entire bag of medication going missing from her cottage. This medication was her round of epilepsy drugs, which were vital to prevent seizures. It could be surmised that a campaign of terror was being mounted in order to force Miss Wilson to leave. First the stolen medication and then the very threatening scarecrow hung from a noose outside the cottage. To that end, it appears that Mrs McGregor and Peyton Chandlish were worried about Isla Wilson staying at Braithnoch, lest she start remembering—”

  The defence lawyer objected again. The judge overruled the objection.

  “As I was saying,” said the prosecutor, after thanking the judge, “Mrs McGregor and Peyton Chandlish appeared to be worried that Isla would remember events from the previous time she spent in Scotland—events that had been wiped from her memory by her illness. Camille Keenan overheard Mrs McGregor saying to Mr Chandlish that he didn’t need to worry because Isla hadn’t seen his face last time. This suggests that Isla was either drugged, unconscious or sleeping at the time that Peyton had contact with her.”

  The prosecutor referred to his notes. “Ms Keenan, earlier we heard the testimony of a parent of one of the children who used to come to your house for piano lessons. Ms Lee Dunning. She stated that her child, Mia Dunning, then aged nine, had felt uncomfortable on a number of occasions when you had left the room and Peyton Chandlish had taken over the lessons. Ms Dunning stated that she spoke to you on one occasion about her misgivings concerning Peyton. Is this correct?”

  “Yes,” Camille said.

  “What did she say?”

  “She said Mia felt that Peyton had sat too close to her and touched her arms and hands and face more than was necessary.”

  “Ms Dunning said that you brushed her misgivings off. Is that correct?” the prosecutor asked Camille.

  “No, I wouldn’t say that. I listened, and I said that I wouldn’t allow Peyton to take over her lessons again. I’d only done it in the past when I’d had to take a phone call or something like that. Peyton was often at my house during the afternoons I held piano lessons. I thought he was there to spend time with me. Obviously not.”

  Camille looked more miffed than horrified.

  The prosecutor nodded encouragingly. “Did Peyton ever give Mia a piano lesson after Ms Dunning had the talk with you?”

  “No,” said Camille firmly. “He did not. I didn’t allow it.”

  “We’ve heard the testimony from your daughter, Stella, via video,” continued the prosecutor. “She tells that Peyton gave her sleeping pills on a number of occasions.”

  The prosecutor read out a list of things that Stella said Peyton had done to her. Tears sprung into Camille’s eyes.

  I hadn’t heard the details before. My stomach twisted.

  “Did you have knowledge that Peyton was giving Stella sleeping medication?” asked the prosecutor.

  “No,” Camille stated. “I saw the bottle a couple of times. He just said that they were for himself. He said that Jess had given them to him.”

  “Did you have knowledge that Peyton was doing the things to Stella that I just read out?”

  She shook her head. “I never saw any of that.”

  “So, you didn’t know that Peyton was molesting Stella?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Lastly, Ms Keenan,” said the prosecutor, “what was your relationship with Peyton during the past few years up until the time of his death?”

  She wiped tears away from her face with her palms, sniffing. “It’s…complicated. I was happy in my marriage to Rory. I honestly loved Rory. But I’d always had a silly infatuation with Peyton. When he started paying me a lot of attention—coming around and chatting with me, I guess I felt flattered. We kissed a few times. We…slept together six times in the past four years. That was all. I shouldn’t have. I regret it.”

  “Thank you, Ms Keenan,” said the prosecutor, “that’s all.”

  The defence then cross-examined Camille, trying to tear down her statements, asking if she was just making things up about Jessica in order to gain a plea deal for herself because she was up on child endangerment charges. Camille denied this vehemently. The defence also questioned Camille relentlessly about her affair with Peyton and her failure to report him when Stella had said he’d molested her.

  The session in court was done for the day. All of the witnesses for the prosecution had been called.

  Everyone filed out.

  Mum hugged me as we walked out into the rain-soaked street. “Are you all right? My heart was in my mouth the whole time you were up there on the stand.”

  “I feel like I want to vomit,” I answered truthfully.

  “Let’s get you away from here,” she said. “I wonder if anywhere here does peppermint tea?”

  Alban—standing with Kirk Flanagan in the street—glanced my way. I couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking. I’d just testified against his wife. He looked troubled, angry.

  Greer joined Mum and me at a small café. Mum ordered me a light lunch that I barely ate.

  We headed back to Greer’s after that to avoid the press, who were out in force on the streets. They hadn’t been allowed in the courtroom and now they were looking for any morsel they could find.

  Mum took over the kitchen that night, making us all a curry. We sat with big bowls of korma watching a comedy. But I couldn’t focus on the movie. I dreamed of the church that night, over and over again, waking up in a sweat each time.

  The three of us headed back into court at ten in the morning. At least this time, I wouldn’t have to testify.

  The defence was meant to begin their case with their own set of witnesses that the prosecutor already knew about, but a surprise witness took the stand first. Jessica.

  A buzz of shocked voices spread around the courtroom, growing so loud that the judge had to call for quiet. No one had expected Jessica to testify.

  Greer whispered to me that the prosecutor’s case against Jessica must be strong for Jessica and her defence lawyer to have decided to do this.

  I watched Jessica take uncertain steps to the stand, her back and head bent forward as if blown by a cold wind.

  After she was sworn in, she straightened herself rigidly, hands folded over each other, spots of high colour in her cheeks.

  The defence lawyer began by giving the date that Peyton abducted Elodie and asked Jessica why she left the house.

  Jessica gave a deep nod, seeming to gather herself. “I was at home with Elodie, as usual. I realised I didn’t have the ingredients I needed to make a cottage pie. Alban was on his way back from Edinburgh and would be with Elodie soon. And so, I told Elodie I’d run out and grab what I needed to make the pie.”

  “Understandable. It’s a common experience of mothers to realise that they need to run down to the shops for ingredients to make dinner. What time did you go out?” asked the defence.

  “I’m not certain. It was well before dark.”

  “What time would you normally start dinner?”

  “Depending on the dinner, anytime between four and six. But on this day, I realised early that I needed more things to make dinner with.”

  “Okay. And where did you go immediately afte
r you left the house?”

  “I drove towards the Greenmire shops.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I…didn’t get there. I had a phone call. From a friend. This friend sounded panicked and afraid. I…felt that I needed to go and help them. As you do when a friend is in trouble.”

  “Of course,” said the defence lawyer. “Who was this friend, Mrs McGregor?”

  She cast her eyes downward. “Peyton.”

  “Peyton Chandlish?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you explain the entire incident to the court?”

  “Peyton was in a tremendous panic, as I mentioned. He said he’d hit an icy patch somewhere on the A9 and caused an oncoming car to veer off the road. There was a young woman in the car. She was hurt. I told him to call an ambulance. But he was in shock and not responding rationally. He couldn’t even tell me exactly where he was. As a nurse, all I could think was that there was a woman perhaps seriously hurt and she had no one to help her. I knew that Alban would be home for Elodie soon, and so I decided that the only thing I could do was to go and find them and help the woman. I drove along the road towards Inverness, looking out for headlights at the side of the road.”

  I listened intently.

  “So, your training as a nurse took over,” said the defence, “and you wanted to give medical attention to this woman. You were worried that she could even die if you didn’t find her. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did you find them?”

  “Yes, I did. I found the two cars, parked near each other.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “Peyton was dazed and wandering about,” said Jessica. “And the woman was in her car. I examined her in the car. She had a minor head injury and some bruising. She seemed to be in pain. There was an old church at the scene. The woman entered the church and found a horrible old mattress and laid herself down on it. It seemed that she knew her way in there in the dark. I—I wondered if she was living there. There were foods cans and clothing nearby. She looked dirty and unkempt, which makes sense if she was squatting at there and—””

  “Objection,” called the prosecutor. “There is no evidence to say that Ms Wilson was living at the church.”

  The judge overruled the objection.

  “Thank you, my Lord,” said the defence. “Please continue, Mrs McGregor.”

  “Peyton seemed to snap out of his shock,” said Jessica. “And I asked him to call an ambulance, which I thought he did. I couldn’t do any more at the scene, and I had to get home to Elodie and so I left.”

  “Okay, so you assessed the woman for injuries as best as you could. How serious did you consider that her injuries were?”

  “They appeared minor. But I still thought she needed to go to hospital for a proper check.”

  “Did you give the woman sleeping medication?”

  “No. I brought out my medical kit from my car, which contained the medication. I must have dropped it at the scene. It was very dark in the church and hard to see.”

  “Did you observe the woman screaming?”

  “At one point. I…asked her what was wrong, and she simply said she was scared. It seemed like a simple panic attack. I told her that help was on the way.”

  I shook my head silently. How could the intense pain I remembered feeling have come from a panic attack?

  The defence lawyer continued. “We’ve heard the woman concerned—Isla Wilson—on record as saying that you said, ‘Be quiet. You’re not helping yourself’ and ‘I don’t think she’s breathing’. Is that correct?”

  “I might have said something close to the first thing. I was starting to get labour pains at this point and I guess my bedside manner wasn’t as gentle as it normally would be. But I didn’t say the second. She was most certainly breathing.”

  No, Jessica, you did say that second thing.

  But I was starting to doubt myself. Her version sounded so believable.

  Was I wrong? Was it possible that as well as forgetting things, my mind had invented things that didn’t even happen?

  “So,” said the defence to Jessica, “your labour started when you were in the church?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ve heard that Miss Wilson remembers Peyton carrying her and she also remembers seeing a tattoo on his lower neck. Do you know how these two things might have occurred?”

  “Possibly, yes,” said Jessica. “I asked Peyton to carry her out of the church and put her back in her car. I heard rats in the church and didn’t want her left there. She might have seen his tattoo when he lifted her back into her car.”

  “Okay,” said the defence. “And then what happened?”

  “I drove back to Greenmire. The pains became so severe that I had to stop and pull over. I…I gave birth to my daughter Rhiannon on the side of the road.”

  “And I understand that you were approximately eight months pregnant at the time?”

  “Yes.”

  “That must have been extremely painful and terrifying,” said the defence lawyer.

  “Objection, my Lord,” called the prosecution. “Irrelevant.”

  “Overruled,” said the judge. “We’ll wait to see where the defence is taking this line of argument.”

  “Thank you, my Lord,” said the defence, straightening her glasses. “My point is that Mrs McGregor was not in a state to be able to do anything at this time other than focus on the experience of a preterm birth. The labour came on rapidly, without pain relief of any kind, and then Mrs McGregor was forced to give birth alone, at the side of the dark A9.”

  The prosecution remained silent.

  “Is that a correct summary, Mrs McGregor?” asked the defence lawyer.

  Jessica nodded. “Yes. Very painful and very scary. I was worried the baby would die.”

  From the soft murmurs I heard around me, I could tell that many people in the gallery had swung to Jessica’s side. Things hadn’t sounded good for her during the prosecutor’s questioning of his witnesses. But things had now taken a sharp turn.

  Was this the true account and had Jessica just given the answers to all of my questions? Had the pain I’d felt come from a car accident and from the sheer panic I’d experienced afterwards? The panic could have been a seizure. Had I really been so short of money I’d been squatting at the church?

  I understood now why Jessica had taken the stand. She wouldn’t have been able to explain any of that story had she not testified. The prosecutor wouldn’t have allowed her to.

  “Mrs McGregor,” continued the defence lawyer, “on this night, did you find out Isla Wilson’s name?”

  “No. She didn’t tell me her name.”

  “Miss Wilson returned to your property two years later, to undertake a photography portfolio for your husband’s architectural business. Is that correct?”

  She nodded. “That’s all correct.”

  “Did you recognise her as being the same woman from the night of the car accident?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What was going through your mind at the time?”

  “I thought she’d come to do harm to my family. I thought she might be mentally unstable. I was terrified of her.”

  I gasped. I’d had no idea that she was scared of me. I tried to see things from her point of view. A strange woman Jessica had tried to help two years earlier had suddenly reappeared in her life, insisting she’d never been to Scotland before when Jessica knew that she had.

  It explained so much.

  The defence considered Jessica’s words. “And did you ask her to leave or do anything to make her leave?”

  “I spoke to Peyton,” said Jessica. “And he had a few ideas. But I told him not to do anything. I was too frightened of her to ask her to leave. I thought I’d let her to do the photography portfolio and then maybe she’d leave and not bother us again.”

  The prosecutor raised an objection, but the judge overruled it.

  The defenc
e thanked the judge and turned back to Jessica. “You were at the mercy of this woman—Isla Wilson—who was staying at your property, wondering what she planned to do.”

  Jessica nodded again. “Yes.”

  I felt people’s eyes on me. I wondered what my mother was thinking of me right now. Everyone would be believing I’d made it up about not remembering Jessica and that I’d returned to Scotland deliberately to taunt Jessica. I cast a sideways glance at Greer. She looked stricken.

  I trembled. Was that really why I’d returned? What was wrong with me?

  I wanted to run from the courtroom. But I stayed, feeling too numb and burned inside to move.

  “Returning to the night of the car accident,” said the defence, “did Peyton Chandlish know that your daughter, Elodie, was alone that night?”

  Jessica froze, seeming to take several breaths before taking a gulp of water. “Yes. He knew.”

  “How did he know?”

  “I—I told him. I said I had to get back to Elodie because she was home alone.”

  “When did you tell Peyton this?”

  “Soon after arriving at the scene.”

  “At the time that you left the scene, did Peyton know you were having labour pains?”

  “Yes. It was obvious. Also, I told him that labour pains had started coming on fast and I had to get to hospital.”

  “Did you mention that your husband, Alban, was on his way home?”

  “No. I didn’t think to say that. I didn’t have a clue that Peyton…was the monster that he was. I didn’t know.” Tears glistened wetly on her face.

  “Thank you,” said the defence lawyer gently. “That’s the end of my questions.”

  I didn’t know what I should feel. Relief? A sense of closure? I could return to my life in Sydney now and close this chapter of my life.