by Peter Tonkin
‘I believe so.’
‘And yet, in your expert opinion, Doctor, he is still subject to amnesia?’
‘I believe that the captain was already in a state of hysterical amnesia, almost a fugue state, when he was hit on the head. Even though he has recovered from his injury, he is nevertheless still subject to the psychological state.’
‘Could you please clarify the terms “hysterical amnesia” and “fugue state” for the jury.’
‘Hysterical amnesia has nothing to do with the popular conception of hysteria. We are all, I expect, familiar with the Victorian idea of the hysterical woman who only needs a good slap to calm her down. Hysterical amnesia is very much more complex and dangerous than this. It occurs when a subject experiences something so terrible that he or she simply cannot accept that it has happened and refuses to remember anything about it or anything to do with it. In such a state the patient usually retains a sense of personal identity, his own general and expert knowledge and all his high motor functions.
‘In a fugue state, however, not only is the specific memory expunged, but so is all memory of personality, of past experience and acquaintance, much past knowledge and some higher functions of the brain. The fugue sufferer classically simply vanishes from his old life, assumes a new identity and makes a new life somewhere else. Cases of fugue state, popular though they are in fiction, are in fact very rare but those few fully documented have only been discovered when someone in the fugue state, who has assumed a new life and a new identity, suddenly recalls his original identity and finds himself in a place he does not recognise among people he does not know even though he may have been known to them in his new identity for years.’
‘So fugue states may in fact be more common than we realise simply because a high percentage of people simply never come out of the fugue?’
‘It is tempting to assume this, especially given the number of people each year who vanish without trace. But we have no way to test such an hypothesis. It seems to me, however, that Captain Mariner, certainly in the grip of hysterical amnesia of the sort familiar from the battlefield and from road accidents particularly, may have formed a new identity, that of the Survivor, shortly before he was hit in the head by Captain Huuk’s anti-personnel round. He was technically in a fugue state, therefore, when he suffered damage to the left temporal lobe of his brain and lost his memory for the second time.’
‘Have you ever come across a case like this before, Doctor?’
‘When a man who is already suffering a psychological loss of memory is hit on the head and suffers a physiological loss also? No, not personally. But there are known battlefield cases like this and in Captain Mariner’s case, it is the only hypothesis which fits the circumstances.’
Lata sat in the public section of the court and watched her colleague work. She had been so closely involved in the construction of the case that each twist and turn, each stop along the golden thread of logic, came like the line in a familiar play — expected but oddly striking — exciting. While she had been a part of the construction of the case, however, there had never been any question of her representing Richard in court — the Hong Kong bar had found it hard enough to swallow Maggie herself. And yet Lata felt she was performing an important function. In the midst of the audience to this terrifying piece of theatre, she was able to keep her finger on the pulse of public reaction — to report back to Maggie her thoughts on how testimony was being received; and, perhaps most importantly, to stand as an obvious point of contact should Twelvetoes Ho have anything further to add. For they were all acutely aware that, useful though Twelvetoes’ help was, there was no way for them to bring anything he told them into court.
‘Now, Dr Fowler, you have said that hysterical amnesia and the fugue state most commonly occur when the individual in question is confronted with something which he simply cannot accept. Does the unacceptable vary, in your opinion?’
‘It certainly does. Effectively, it varies from person to person.’
‘And, in your expert opinion, what is most likely to prove absolutely unacceptable to Captain Mariner?’
‘The captain seems to me to be possessed of a classic dominant personality. It is most likely, therefore, that the unacceptable is likely to arise from some overwhelmingly horrific circumstances over which he has no control.’
‘Such as a number of people coming aboard his command, for instance, and killing his crew in spite of his attempts to stop the slaughter?’
‘Indeed. Precisely so.’
Even Andrew was aware of the stirring in the court as Tom answered this question. This was the first crucial point — the establishment in the jury’s mind that other people may indeed have come aboard — as the defence team were now convinced they had. He dragged his gaze away from Maggie’s reed-straight form and looked across to Mr Justice Fang who was looking, narrow-eyed, at the beautiful barrister, clearly calculating whether to let the assertion stand. Surreptitiously, Andrew wiped suddenly damp palms against his trouser-thighs. Maggie had paused for a heart-beat. Now she plunged on.
‘Is it possible that the loss of control was actually a loss of self-control? I mean, if he is mentally running away, is it not possible that he is running away from a situation created by his own loss of self-control?’
‘I would have thought that extremely unlikely. It is the strength of his self-control which makes the captain so firm in his control over everyday situations.’
‘Are you aware, Doctor, that the captain was diagnosed as being a potential alcoholic more than twenty years ago?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘How are you aware of this, Doctor?’
‘I have examined all the medical notes which form a part of his company file for Heritage Mariner.’
‘And how is that knowledge relevant to this case, Doctor?’
‘The captain cured himself by exercise of his self-control.
‘According to his notes, he has not had an alcoholic drink since nineteen seventy-four.’
‘So, Doctor, if we rule out any breakdown in his self-control, then how can this cataclysmic loss of control over the situation be explained?’
‘In my opinion, only by the exercise of some extremely powerful external influence. I can see no other explanation.’
Andrew rubbed his palms on his thighs again as both Po and Fang looked up. The prosecution had been in possession of transcripts of this evidence for a while but no one in the prosecutor’s office had calculated the emphasis Tom was going to place on that word external influence. They were back to the theme of pirates slipping aboard. And, with Twelvetoes’ conversation with Lata to go on, they had sight of a reason why the ship might be attacked. But even as these thoughts entered Andrew’s head, so they were driven out by thoughts of Maggie herself and of the glorious body which lay beneath the shapeless, formal High Court robes. His hands stayed moist but his mouth went dry.
Maggie, her nerves at full stretch, worked harder than she had ever done to wring from Tom’s rock-solid performance every ounce of material her case could use, alert to every objection Mr Po might raise, anticipating every weakness the prosecution might exploit. Four thirty came and went, and even Maggie was beginning to wilt when a bit of a stir was caused by the arrival of a newcomer to the defence benches.
No doubt because his office hours were over, but glowing with excitement for all that, Andrew Balfour’s partner Gerry Stephenson arrived. Grudgingly allowed onto the defence benches by the court officials, Gerry drew the ire of Mr Justice Fang by holding an animated if whispered conversation with Andrew. Long practised in courtroom etiquette, however, Gerry had finished his conversation before the judge felt compelled to rebuke him. At once all the eyes in the crowded courtroom switched to Andrew as he began to gesture in an increasingly urgent pantomime, trying to attract Maggie’s attention.
‘So,’ she was saying, ‘in your expert submission, Doctor, the fact that the accused is supposed not only to have handled the three murder
weapons but to have used them during what must have been an extended period absolutely rules out the Crown’s supposition of a cataclysmic loss of self-control.’
‘Just so. Indeed it does.’
‘In short, it would require a full and calculating maintenance of self-control to take a handgun and shoot several people, then to exchange it for a semi-automatic weapon and slaughter many more, then to take a panga and finish off the rest before reclaiming the original handgun and preparing to attack Captain Huuk and his men with it?’
‘Undoubtedly so. There is no question in my mind but that these actions could not possibly have been completed by Captain Mariner under such circumstances as the Crown suggests.’
Maggie, her throat raw, reached down for a drink of water. As she stood, the glass to her lips and her eyes on her opposite number, a strange sort of Chinese whisper swept through the defence bench until it came to her ear.
After a moment, Maggie replaced her glass with a click which brought every eye in the courtroom upon her. She turned towards Judge Fang.
‘My Lord,’ she said quietly, ‘I apply for leave to introduce the testimony of two witnesses who have just contacted the defence.’
‘My Lord …’ Po was up, but the judge overrode him.
‘What witnesses, Ms DaSilva?’
‘Captain Walter Gough and Miss Anna Leung, My Lord. I am informed that they will be here in Hong Kong within the hour.’
A stunned silence filled the courtroom. Mr Justice Fang looked at the two counsels standing before him. He looked across at the jury and then up at the faces in the public gallery. Then he looked at his watch. ‘It will be too late to hear any more testimony tonight, Ms DaSilva,’ he said, dropping every considered word like a stone into the well of silence. ‘But under the circumstances, and with apologies to the ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we will reconvene here at nine thirty tomorrow morning.’
*
Tom Fowler was like a wet rag by the time he got to the little consulting room for that evening’s session with Richard. This time, he was not surprised to observe, Dr Chu and Captain Huuk were going to keep him company and to take careful notes. ‘Well,’ began Tom, spreading the chart across the table once again, ‘that’s certainly good news about Wally and Anna turning up, isn’t it?’
Richard looked at him, narrow-eyed, as though trying to assess whether the doctor was serious or not.
‘You do remember who they are?’ asked Tom, smoothing out the chart.
‘Walter Gough, captain of the Sulu Queen,’ recited Richard as though by rote.
‘So, you remember the testimony about him. But do you remember the man himself? You’ve known each other for a while, by all accounts.’ Tom’s eyes flashed up from the chart. ‘Has he got blue eyes or brown?’ he demanded.
Richard shook his head. His whole body seemed to slump a little. He was clearly giving up the effort to remember. Tom felt sympathetic. He would have liked to have given up himself. But neither of them had the option.
‘What about Anna Leung, then? Nobody can give us much of a lead on her. There are no up-to-date photos. Apart from Walter Gough, you’re the only one to have seen her. Black hair?’
‘I think so.’
‘No prizes for that one, old chap. With a name like that she’s not going to be a Nordic blonde is she? Eyes brown?’
‘Yes. I …’
‘Broad cheekbones, medium height, wide nose?’
‘Yes!’
Tom’s gaze flicked across to Daniel Huuk and Dr Chu. ‘I bet this rings a bell with you two as well.’
Neither of them said anything.
‘So, we’ve narrowed the description to any one of a quarter of a billion Asiatic women. Wally’s hair brown?’
‘White.’
‘Anna wear much personal jewellery?’
‘Jade ring.’
‘Wally a tall chap, like yourself?’
‘Shorter. Five ten. I …’
Neither Huuk nor Chu moved or made a sound, but Tom’s concentration faltered and the impetus went out of the inquisition. Richard, who had begun to pull himself upright, his face coming alive with the realisation that he was remembering, started to sag once again.
Watching the blue eyes lose their sparkle and the great shoulders begin to hunch, Tom gave himself a swift mental shake and hit his client with everything he had.
‘I have bad news,’ began the psychologist again. ‘Seram Queen is out of contact. We haven’t been able to get through to her with your warning and she hasn’t made her usual routine contact at four o’clock.’
Richard’s face was stunned, as though Tom had hit him physically instead of mentally. Tom persisted, hoping to knock things loose with his brutally jolly words. ‘Still, she’s only twelve hours out; or rather she would be, except that she lost nearly twelve hours when she broke down in the Paracel Islands on Wednesday. Did I tell you about that? That would put her about here.’ Tom’s finger prodded the chart to the north of the Paracel Islands where a big circular compass rose was marked in fine purple print.
‘No!’ Richard’s face was white. The word was more than an answer, it was a horrified denial. His eyes were fastened on the white chart as though something truly dreadful were figured there.
‘That’s right. She must still be, what, twenty hours out.’ Tom made a rough measurement by stretching his fingers apart. ‘John Shaw has her booked into Kwai Chung at four o’clock tomorrow, apparently,’ he continued. ‘Just in time for us to catch up with what Captain Sin would have said on his normal afternoon broadcast. Just in time for you to have a nice cup of tea with that lovely wife of yours.’ Once again the psychologist’s wise eyes looked up from the chart, catching Richard’s open, honest, anxious stare. ‘Of course I did tell you we haven’t heard from Robin since Wednesday?’
‘NO!’
‘No, of course, there wasn’t an opportunity last night, was there? And we had better things to talk about this lunchtime. Still, I expect she’s all right. Captain Sin was on this morning, just before the radio went down, and I’m sure he would have mentioned if anything had happened either to her or to the ship. No mention of Vietnamese, either, alive or dead. But it’s odd that the radio just went off like that. We’ve checked the equipment at our end, of course. No problem there. And I know Captain Huuk’s people have tried to contact Seram Queen too, haven’t they, Captain?’
Richard swung round, his face working, taking in the Chinese captain’s presence for the first time. ‘We tried,’ said Huuk. ‘No joy. Their equipment is down all right. But on the other hand, we’ve received no distress calls either.’
Richard’s eyes stayed fastened on the Chinese officer’s face. ‘You won’t,’ he said, with dull defeated, certainty. ‘There’ll be no calls from Sulu Queen. No calls from Sulu Queen.’
‘No,’ said Huuk gently. ‘You’re confused, Captain.
We’ve had no calls from the Seram Queen. And no mysterious phone calls about her either, yet,’ he added in little more than a whisper.
Richard’s face was folded in a frown. Guessing that he was having trouble separating the two ships in his still faulty memory, Tom repeated what Huuk had said. ‘Not the Sulu Queen, Richard. Sulu Queen was your ship; Seram Queen is Robin’s. Sulu, Seram. See?’
‘Sulu, Seram. Sulu, Seram. SULU, SERAM!’ Richard’s voice rose in agonised distress.
The three other men in the room rose, fearing that the massive patient was about to slip into uncontrolled violence, but instead Richard sat, shaking, only his self-control keeping his massive torso still, like a strait-jacket. As the three men looked down at him, the great, long-fingered, square-knuckled hands closed like talons on the chart, crushing the thick paper as though it was tissue. ‘Sulu and Seram,’ he said more quietly. ‘Seram and Sulu.’ He turned, slowly, forcefully, like an unstoppable automaton, thrusting out the crumpled chart towards Huuk, the only other sailor in the room. There was a truly terrifying intensity on his face, but when he spoke, his
trembling, forceful tones imparted something which at first sounded like little more than a child’s doggerel. ‘The ships are the same. Seram. Sulu. You came aboard at the Wenwei Zhou!’
‘What is that?’ demanded Tom, his voice scarcely less intense than Richard’s. ‘What is the Wenwei Zhou?’
‘It’s a light. The light off Macau. The first light going into the Pearl River estuary, up towards the Tiger Gate and Guangzhou,’ said Daniel Huuk, his voice filling with wonder. ‘And he’s right. He’s remembered perfectly. That’s exactly where I went aboard the Sulu Queen, somewhere south of the Wenwei Zhou.’
‘And he thinks that what happened to the Sulu Queen there is going to happen to the Seram Queen as well. Can’t you see that?’
‘But it can’t though, can it?’ said Huuk, his voice like thistledown. ‘Because he won’t be aboard her, will he?’
*
Robin was on the bridge at nineteen thirty, at about the same time as Huuk made this accusation. She was craning over the circular bowl of the collision alarm radar with Second Officer Wai Chan at her side. ‘There was something out there, I’m certain of it,’ she said. ‘Down there on the south-eastern horizon. It was just a flash of light, but it was so intense. Can we put this up to maximum range?’
‘The outer limit become furry on maximum, missy. You be fortunate to see a supertanker at that range.’
She tried anyway.
‘What is it you see?’ he asked.
‘No idea. Something bright, like I said. Maybe a signal; maybe a reflection. There aren’t many lights down there.’
‘Woorry Island?’ he hazarded. ‘Noff Reef?’
‘I don’t think so. Further east. Hainan Dao?’
He hissed his disbelief. She tended to agree. They were too far from the great island in the Tonkin Gulf for her to see the Beishi Dao light off its nearest coast. Either way, there was nothing to be described on the radar. To all intents and purposes they seemed to be utterly alone out here. And that thought, in the circumstances, was so unsettling that when the emergency siren blared, she nearly jumped out of her skin.