by Megan Goldin
‘May I ask what it was on?’ I asked more out of curiosity than anything else.
‘Memory, of course,’ he said. ‘It was my area of interest. Implanting memories, to be specific. We know that people forget things, but can people vividly remember events that didn’t happen?’
‘Can they?’ I asked as I followed him out.
‘Unfortunately, when Laura died, I abandoned the research, so I can’t answer that question with complete certainty,’ he said, turning off the auditorium lights as he spoke. ‘What I can tell you is that when you think of memory, think of a Wikipedia page. Memories are constantly shifting, constantly updating and supplanting each other. How we store memories and retrieve them is one of the great mysteries of the human brain.’
He held open the auditorium door to let Joe and me out.
‘You’re saying that memories can be altered over time?’ I asked. ‘That they can be manipulated.’
‘Memories are more fluid than fixed. That scares people. Because memories are our reality. Our inner truth. Our memories define our identity. But what happens when those memories are false? Yes, detective,’ he said. ‘In answer to your question, memories can be created just as easily as they can be erased.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Julie
I lie on my pillow willing myself to open my eyes. No matter how hard I try, I’m unable to comply. Sleep overcomes me like the pull of the tide as I drift into a world of unsettling images; Roxy dead in my arms, blood dripping off the dashboard of a car, trees swaying in a gentle wind at the clearing where Laura’s body was buried.
Through a thick cloud of sleep, I register everything around me. And nothing. A telephone rings until its persistent peal is answered. I hear the hum of a whispered conversation on the landing outside our bedroom. I can’t make out the words. I’m vaguely aware of the bedroom door opening and a still figure watching me sleep. I struggle to open my eyes. They don’t obey.
When I break through waves of sleep to return to the world of the living, I am assaulted by bright rays of sunlight slipping through half-drawn curtains. I hear happy shouts of children riding their bikes on our sloping street as they do most afternoons.
The realisation it is afternoon does what nothing else has done all day: it wakes me up.
‘Alice.’ I imagine her standing alone outside the school, her eyes filled with tears, as nobody arrives to pick her up. I am filled with panic that she is alone, abandoned at school, even though rationally I know the teachers would have brought her to the office to wait.
I pull my legs out of the bed and stand up slowly to get my balance. While I am looking for clothes to throw on for school pick-up, I hear the slam of a car door in the driveway. Alice’s excited voice tells me that she is home. I sink back into bed, relieved.
Alice’s chatter drifts into the bedroom moments later. Her soft face presses against me in a deep embrace. She hands me a picture she has drawn at school. It’s a picture of a woman in bed; me, judging by the woman’s yellow hair. It’s the only joyful colour in an otherwise sombre drawing.
‘It’s to help you get better,’ Alice confides.
Matt comes over to the bed and kisses my forehead. His expression is remote. When he realises I’m watching him, it softens into a forced smile.
‘You’re looking much better today, darling,’ he tells me.
‘How long have I been like this?’ I ask in a husky voice.
‘A couple of days,’ he says.
I have more questions but I’m afraid of the answers, so I lie in bed silently looking at him. He gently brushes my hair away from my face.
‘Come downstairs into the garden, Julie, honey,’ he tells me. ‘It’s a beautiful afternoon. It’ll be good for you to get fresh air.’
Matt helps me out of bed and escorts me towards the bathroom. Even though my legs are weak, I put on a brave front and let go of his hand. I hate being helpless.
‘I’ll shower myself,’ I tell him as we reach the bathroom door.
Once I’ve shut the door and turned on the shower I lower myself onto the marble floor of the cubicle and sit under the stream of water. I am lulled back to sleep by the crackle of spray hitting the tiles.
I jump at a loud knock on the door.
‘Julie, are you alright?’ It’s Matt. He sounds worried.
‘Almost done,’ I call out, trying to sound in control.
I turn off the water and wrap myself in a towel. Matt has laid out clean clothes for me on the freshly made bed. I dress in jeans and a thigh-length woollen sweater the colour of oatmeal. I tie my hair and apply lip gloss. Matt returns to the bedroom to help me downstairs and into the garden. I curl up on a patio armchair and watch Alice on her swing. The leaves create shadows on her face as she propels herself into the air and then swings back down.
I still remember the day we put up the swing. It was Alice’s fourth birthday. Matt straddled the branch like a modern-day Huckleberry Finn to fix the ropes while I stood below instructing him on where to position them. The branch almost buckled under his weight. When he finally came down, I kissed him hard on the lips and told him he’d given me the fright of my life.
Matt’s right. It cheers me up to sit in the warmth of the sun, shrouded by the incandescent sky. The ropes groan against the branches as Alice swings backwards and forwards on the whitewashed timber seat. She lifts her feet up to propel herself higher into the air. When I feel strong enough, I get up to push her.
‘I can do it myself, Mommy.’ She admonishes me in that independent tone she’s learned from school. I stroll to the back of the garden to check the latch on the rear gate is secure. The forest is exploding with life. Summer is around the corner. I should be pleased the cold spell is over, but it leaves me feeling bewildered. How did time slip away without me noticing?
‘Honey, honey?’ It’s Matt’s voice. I look at him, uncomprehending. His tone is soft and caring. Rather than find that consoling, it confuses me. His solicitousness, his attentiveness, seem out of character after days of coldness. I never know what to expect from him anymore.
‘It’s my mother’s birthday and we’re having dinner with her tonight at that new Italian restaurant in town. I’d love for you to join us, but the doctor says you need a few more days of rest at home.’
Matt talks. His lips move. I hear nothing except a loud hum in my ears. When my attention returns back to him, I catch him saying something about bringing back food for me from the restaurant. He asks what I want to order. ‘Nothing,’ I tell him. ‘Nothing.’
And then for no particular reason I burst into tears. He pulls me to him and caresses my hair while whispering in my ear. ‘It’s not good for Alice to see you like this,’ he says.
I stop sobbing. Matt knows that I would do anything for my daughter. She is my life. Without her I am nothing. I walk back to the swing after drying my eyes on my sleeve. Alice looks at me warily.
Later, as Matt and I sit together on the patio, I whisper to him, ‘I’ve been ill. Haven’t I?’ I want to ask him whether I had a breakdown, like the time I lost the baby, or after Roxy was killed.
‘Matt,’ I ask again. ‘What happened to me?’
‘You were found on the road leading to the lake house,’ he answers. ‘You had an asthma attack. A bad one. You didn’t have your asthma spray with you. It seems that when the attack began, you panicked. From what we can figure out, you ran to find someone to help. That only made it worse.’
‘Did I call you on the phone? Are you the one who found me?’
‘No. Your phone battery was dead. You probably forgot to charge it. A park ranger found you lying on the side of the road.’
As he speaks I have an image of a man with a buzz cut wearing a green ranger’s uniform looking down at me. ‘Ma’am, ma’am.’ His face comes close to me, pinched in concern. My eyes blur until I see nothing.
‘The ranger said when he found you your face was drained and your lips were tinged with blue,’ Matt says.
‘He was there by chance to examine a tree hit by lightning in a storm. It was sheer luck that he was in the vicinity and found you in time.’
As he speaks another memory returns. I am running from the lake house down a tree-lined forest road. My chest burns. I am filled with terror. Something frightened me, but I don’t remember what.
‘The ranger called an ambulance. When it arrived, the paramedics put you on a nebuliser and oxygen and took you to hospital.’
‘Was I in hospital for long?’ I have a disjointed recollection of lying on a hospital bed with an oxygen mask over my face while a doctor reassures me. I don’t know whether it was from this hospital admission or a previous one.
‘You were there for one night. The asthma attack wiped you out,’ Matt says. ‘And it gave us a terrible fright. The doctor gave you a sedative yesterday and then this morning. That’s why you’ve been sleeping so much.’ I have another vague memory of a man with grey hair leaning over me with a syringe.
‘I’m sorry about the lake house, Matt,’ I say after contemplating what he told me. I don’t want him to be mad at me for going there behind his back. ‘I was fixing it up so I could bring you and Alice down there in the summer. I was hoping to change your mind about the place.’ He walks off without saying a word. I want to tell him that we need a place of our own where we can be together as a family without Laura’s memory hovering over us.
Later, I stand by the bedroom windows and watch Matt reversing the car down the driveway as he and Alice drive off to the restaurant to meet Anne. I collapse back into bed.
When I awake, it’s dark and the house is ice cold. I have no idea of the time. I stumble downstairs still in my pyjamas to fix myself something to eat. A draught hits me as I enter the dark kitchen. The wind has blown open the French doors in the living area that lead onto the patio. Matt must have forgotten to lock them properly. I step onto the porch to grab the door handle. Alice’s swing whines as the ropes chafe against the tree branches in the wind.
‘You’re not safe, Julie.’ That voice calls out to me again as I bolt the door shut and close the drapes. I feel dread in the pit of my stomach. Something happened at the lake house right before I had the asthma attack. Something that frightened me. I don’t know what.
I walk on the cold kitchen floor in my bare feet. A creak from upstairs sends an electric current of fear through my body. I stop. Another creak makes my throat tighten. I swallow hard. Someone is with me in the house. Lights flicker in the hall even though I’m sure that I didn’t leave any turned on.
I slide my hand along the kitchen counter until I reach the knife block. I silently remove a butcher’s knife. A floorboard creaks loudly. It’s getting closer. My heart beats wildly. I do the only thing that I can do; still gripping the knife with both hands, I open the pantry door with my elbow and hide inside.
Light flickers under the pantry door. The creaks are coming closer. I hold my breath and stand completely still. Ice-cold fear courses through my veins as I wait for the intruder to find me.
All my senses are focused on what’s happening on the other side of the cupboard door. Minutes pass. I hear nothing except my heartbeat. Finally, I muster whatever courage I have left. I leave the pantry with my knife held out and burst into the kitchen. The room is dark and empty.
It feels as if someone is toying with me. Pulling me apart piece by piece.
‘You’re not safe, Julie,’ I tell myself, repeating the warning over and over again as I walk back upstairs holding the knife in front of me. I feel so vulnerable in this house of Laura’s, alone most nights with nothing to protect me except a half-blunt kitchen knife. The knife is just for show. My reflexes are dulled by medication. If I truly want to protect myself then I need a gun.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Mel
Will and I worked out the play in advance. Will would take the lead in the interview, I would hang back. We wanted to keep Matthew West off balance when we hit him with what we had. Matthew West had not yet met Will. My partner was an unknown quantity. We’d use that to our advantage.
West arrived at the police station just before 5 p.m. You could tell he was annoyed. His jaw was tight and he was impatient. We kept him on ice in the downstairs lobby just to get his juices flowing. When he was finally shown upstairs he was antsy as hell.
We’d set it up so that Will was alone in the interview room when West was escorted inside. He’d be expecting to see me. He’d get Will instead.
‘That would be enough to throw anyone off balance!’ joked Will when we’d planned our strategy over a late morning coffee.
The meeting room looked different from the last time West came in, when it had been bright and sunny with the shades all lifted up. This time it was dark and stuffy. The blinds were down and we’d rearranged the table and chairs so that West sat with his back to the window. We’d turned up the thermostat so the room was a couple of degrees hotter than usual. There was no pitcher of water.
‘What was so important that I had to drop everything to come in?’ West was asking Will as I arrived in the room. I was carrying a large file that I passed to my partner. That was in the script too. We wanted him to think that Will was in charge of the case and that I, the detective he knew and trusted, had been demoted in the investigation. I gave Matthew West an encouraging smile as I took my seat at the table alongside Will.
‘I had to cancel meetings to come here,’ West complained, looking to me for support. ‘And then I’m kept waiting for almost half an hour.’ I looked suitably sympathetic and not a little embarrassed by my partner’s lack of tact.
‘I’m real sorry, Professor West, to have messed up your afternoon by asking you to assist our investigation into your wife’s murder.’ Will made no effort to disguise the sarcasm in his voice. Will was unshaven, still tanned from his vacation. He had an arrogant smirk on his face. He spoke slowly with a mocking drawl that obviously grated on West. That, of course, was Will’s intention.
‘Professor West,’ I interjected, feigning discomfort with Will’s lack of manners. ‘I’m sorry for the inconvenience. It’s just that Detective Peters has returned from vacation. When he reviewed the file, he raised a few questions that I didn’t cover when we last met. Also, we’ve since obtained information that we’d like to review with you.’
‘We have here,’ said Will, picking up the remote control to turn on the television, ‘footage of the conference you attended on the weekend your wife disappeared.’ I watched Matthew West’s face closely as Will told him about the video. If Matthew West was in any way concerned we had video footage that might put his alibi at risk, he gave no indication.
Will played the first thirty seconds of Professor West’s speech at the conference on normal speed. He then fast-forwarded the video, slowing it again at the point where Matthew West finished his speech to resounding applause.
‘After the speech, you went to your table and listened to the next speaker,’ Will said, fast-forwarding again with the remote. ‘But here,’ he paused the video, ‘after forty-three minutes, you left the room.’ He played the video in slow motion. It showed Matthew West getting up from his table and walking out of the conference hall.
‘So?’ said Matthew West. ‘I probably went to the men’s room. I’ve already told Detective Carter that I can’t account for every minute of those two days in Charlotte, but I was at the conference all weekend. That I know.’
‘That’s what he told me,’ I said to Will, with a fake note of frustration in my voice that suggested he was wasting everyone’s time.
‘The trouble is,’ Will said, ‘I’ve gone over the tapes. We don’t see you again at the conference that afternoon. Yes, there were a couple of people who said at the time that they’d seen you at the conference centre later in the day. When the original investigators asked them to give a time estimate, suddenly they weren’t so sure.
‘You are listed as having attended the dinner that evening, which began at 7 p.m., and indeed you appear
in a group photograph taken at the restaurant. We’ve been advised the photo is usually taken at the end of the evening. So you might have arrived as late as 9.30 p.m and skipped the dinner itself.’
‘What’s your point?’ West interrupted.
‘My point is,’ said Will, ‘there’s at least six hours during which your whereabouts are unaccounted for. That gives you enough time to drive home, kill your wife, bury her body, and get back to Charlotte in time for the group photograph after dinner. What we have here, Professor West, is a hole in your alibi.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Matt, getting to his feet. ‘I did not kill Laura. I loved her. I did not leave Charlotte that weekend, not until the conference ended at lunchtime on the Sunday.’
‘Well then,’ said Will. ‘We will need you to tell us in detail, and provide corroboration, as to your exact whereabouts on the Saturday afternoon that your wife disappeared.’
Matthew West walked over to the window and pulled a cord to open a blind. He stood silently for a moment, watching the snarl of afternoon traffic in the street below.
‘You have to promise me to keep this between us,’ he said, turning around abruptly, with his hands in the pockets of his pants.
‘We can’t make promises,’ I said. ‘But you have my word that we’ll do what we can to maintain confidentiality.’ I gave Will a look that said he should step back. It was my turn now.
‘I’m not proud of it,’ said West, rubbing the salt-and-pepper stubble on his jaw. ‘On the weekend that my wife disappeared, I was with another woman back at my hotel room in Charlotte.’
‘What time were you with her?’ I asked. I was pleased he’d finally confirmed my suspicions.
‘She was with me most of Saturday afternoon and in the early evening. I left her at the hotel when I went to the dinner at that French restaurant. We met back at my hotel room at around 10 p.m. And then she and I were together until Sunday morning.’