The Last Witness

by John Matthews

  Roubilliard gave a more philosophical shrug, as if accepting it as a complement: if Roubilliard’s connections weren’t second to none, they wouldn’t both be sitting here now. By necessity, his drugs distribution network touched every club, clip-joint, neighbourhood café or bar dealer in the Province, and his contacts with fences and counterfeiters were also excellent. If Donatiens had gone to ground anywhere, or wanted a false-plated car or false identity and credit cards to be able to moonlight discreetly out of Quebec, Roubilliard would soon know about it.

  ‘Matters not to me if you’ve already taken out Donatiens – I’m hardly likely to let on to Jean-Paul. We don’t exactly mix in the same circles: he’s only interested in being seen around politicians and city movers and shakers these days, not ex-con bikers.’ Roubilliard raised his glass towards Roman. ‘If you say try and find Donatiens, I’ll try and find him.’

  But Roman held the same poker face with just a hint of ingratiating smile: Roubilliard couldn’t tell either way whether he’d already taken care of Donatiens or not.

  Session 2.

  ‘…The tragic incident with your friend Patrika drowning in the sewers was something that intensely upset you? Something you found hard to forget?’

  ‘Yes… yes, it was.’

  ‘And what were your feelings about the rest of your time in the sewers outside of that tragedy? Did you feel vulnerable and uneasy, frightened even?’

  ‘Yes, we did… much so. There were always noises: the rush of water, strange echoes… rats scurrying. We never slept much – it was just somewhere to escape from the cold at night.’

  Elena sat in a small annexe seven-foot square listening in on headphones to Lorena’s session in the adjoining room. No window between the two rooms: in front of her was a Nova Scotia Tourist Board poster with a rugged coastline vista. The headphones snaked out of a cassette player rolling to one side, and there was also a microphone before her. Because Lowndes dealt with so many child cases, the room was for parents who might need reassurance that their offspring weren’t being unduly pressured. The microphone was only for necessary prompts or, in extreme cases, for parents to call a halt to the session. Lowndes had urged her only to use it if absolutely necessary, as it tended to interrupt the flow.

  In a ten-minute briefing beforehand, Lowndes voiced that having reflected more on the first session, he had strong doubts he’d get anywhere trying to draw directly from Lorena that she might have blotted out unsettling events with her stepfather: his aim therefore was to start with other events and edge in.

  ‘…And how long did you stay using the sewers as a refuge after Patrika died?’

  ‘Three months, I think… maybe four.’

  ‘And were you even more frightened then, knowing what had already happened with Patrika?’

  ‘Yes… yes.’ Lorena was slightly breathless, obviously agitated by the memory. ‘It was even harder then to sleep each night. We would all huddle together and listen out… and the slightest rush or surge of water would waken us. The fear of it perhaps rising again – trapping or sweeping us away.’

  ‘I see. But this didn’t in the end at any time happen. It was only the fear of it happening… and this replayed mainly through your later dreams?’

  ‘That’s right… it was only really in the dreams.’

  Edging. Elena’s hands clasped tight and worked together. She’d have done anything to avoid Lorena now being dragged back through those dark days – but Lowndes was insistent that there could be a vital link there, a key to the protective barriers in Lorena’s psyche.

  ‘So too what happened with Patrika. His death, and all the fear and anxiety that came as a result afterwards – that was also kept mostly to your dreams, was it not? Did you spend much time thinking or reflecting on those events at all while you were awake?’

  ‘No, no… I didn’t. Not much, anyway – it was mainly in my dreams.’

  ‘So, recall of this period – possibly one of the worst in your life – would it be true to say that to the large extent you pushed away at arms length into your dreams?’

  ‘Yes, I… I did push it away, I suppose.’ A long pause, faint rustling, the sound of Lorena swallowing. ‘It was very tough for me to think about, you know.’

  ‘I know. I understand.’ Soothing tone.

  Elena closed her eyes. She could hear the tremor in Lorena’s voice as she finally admitted to ‘pushing’ events away, her East-European accent slightly more evident. The breakthrough Lowndes had no doubt been seeking, but at what price? Elena too found herself trembling with the stifling pressure of Lowndes’ questioning. Lowndes had flagged that unless they tried a fresh angle and had a breakthrough soon, he had strong reservations about continuing sessions. ‘We could find ourselves just going around in circles, hitting the same brick wall.’ And so she’d finally relented to allowing Lowndes free rein. It was either that or risk having to throw in the towel: the thought of shipping Lorena back to Ryall, possibly even later that same day, made her shudder.

  ‘And so with other terrible incidents in your life that you don’t wish to remember directly – do you think it’s possible or even likely that you might want to push them away too?’

  ‘I… I don’t know.’ Lorena sounded uncertain, or perhaps she hadn’t quite picked up the link.

  The prompt from Lowndes came quickly: ‘Push them away to your dreams, where perhaps they’re easier for you to deal with?’

  ‘I… I suppose so. I hadn’t really thought about it.’

  Slow exhalation from Lowndes – Elena pictured him summoning up fresh reserves – then he continued on relentlessly, as if afraid that if he eased off the pressure, the thread would be lost. With a few more questions, he drew out of Lorena that if indeed something was happening with her stepfather that too would likely be too terrible for her to remember. He finished with a flourish: ‘…Something you might wish to blot out, perhaps again – as with the your terrible sewer days and what happened with Patrika – push to the safety of your dreams.’

  There was a suspended moment as Lorena contemplated this: it was as if the impact of where Lowndes had been heading hadn’t really hit her until that final connection was made.

  Tentatively: ‘It… it could be that, yes. I see now. I just didn’t know what might be happening because I didn’t really think about it before, I–’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Lowndes cut in, perhaps sensing it would be the most he’d get at this stage and Lorena was once again heading for more uncertain ground. ‘You don’t need to embrace that thought fully. That would be unfair: after all, this is probably the first time you’ve even looked at that possibility. But I do want you to stay looking at it for a moment, letting it settle more, as I ask you to consider something else…’

  Elena had to admit, Lowndes was good. Even without his voiced pre-session concerns, she’d begun to worry that it wasn’t enough hoping that Lorena would simply unlock the memory on her own, and in her call to Gordon late the night before she’d asked how he was getting on with Mikaya: they’d agreed that as soon as she was home dry in Canada, he’d try and make contact with her. ‘I’ve left two more messages, but still no return call as yet. I’ll try twice more tonight and if there’s still no luck, I’ll drive up to Durham University first light tomorrow.’

  One of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen. If there were darker secrets behind Mikaya’s earlier pregnancy and she pointed the finger at Ryall, they’d have enough for a social services order to get Lorena away: a few months respite if not longer for more considered sessions to discover if the same thing was happening with Lorena, rather than this madness now of trying to cram in everything in only days in the hope of a breakthrough.

  ‘…What do you think would happen if you did speak out against your stepfather and say that these terrible things that you picture now only in your dreams, were in fact happening? That they were real?’

  ‘I’m not sure… in what way?’

  ‘Well, we’re only talki
ng hypothetically – what if – for now. But what do you think would happen to you, Lorena? You obviously wouldn’t be able to stay in the same house with Mr Waldren any more, so where do you think you would go?’

  ‘I don’t know… I haven’t really thought about that.’

  ‘I see. I truly don’t think you have.’ Heavy pause, then a fresh breath from Lowndes. ‘But have you considered that perhaps part of your mind has, and that part might fear that you’d have to return to what you knew before – the horrors of the orphanages and your days and nights in the sewers.’

  ‘I… I don’t know.’

  ‘But apart from the dreams and your concerns about Mr Waldren – you’re happy there at the house? It’s comfortable and secure and you have everything else you need?’

  ‘Yes, I think so… it’s a very nice house.’

  Elena held her breath as with a series of questions Lowndes teased out of Lorena that in fact this was a level of comfort and security that she’d never experienced at any time in her life before: the tremendous gulf between her current life and the deprivation and horrors of her past existence.

  ‘…Something you’d probably wish to avoid going back to at any cost.’ A marked pause, as if Lowndes perhaps expected an answer or was intently studying Lorena for reaction. ‘Now that may or may not also be causing something of a block. But it’s never that easy just to say: “Now that I know there’s a block, I’ll just remove it.” So I’m going to ask you Lorena to relax and imagine that if you did have to leave Mr Waldren’s house – you’d go somewhere equally as nice and warm and secure. Somewhere with your mother, obviously the first choice, but if not perhaps some friends. Do you have some other friends perhaps you’d like to stay with?’

  ‘Yes… there’s my aid worker who first saw me in Romania. She doesn’t live far away.’

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Elen… er… Ei… Eileen.’

  Elena closed her eyes and swallowed hard. The warm rush at being Lorena’s first choice of alternate haven was swiftly quashed by guilt at what she was putting Lorena through: just when Lorena was meant to be opening up her mind to discover the truth about her own life, she was forced to hopscotch around lies as to who everybody else was.

  ‘And is it a nice house?’

  ‘Yes. It overlooks a wooded ravine… and at the end is the sea.’

  ‘There. See. You’re spoilt for choice.’ Lowndes let out a relaxed, soothing sigh. ‘Now I want you to think about those nice places that you’d go to… just as comfortable and secure as where you are now. Because for sure your mother or your friend, Eileen, aren’t going to let you go anywhere that’s not nice or safe. And if you’re worried about you’re stepfather being angry and ranting and shouting at you – don’t. He won’t be allowed near you. You’ll have nothing to fear from him… and absolutely nothing to fear as to where you might go or what might happen to you. Is that perfectly clear now? You’re settled about that and understand that you have no worries at all in that regard?’

  ‘Yes… I understand.’

  ‘…And I want you now to draw on that, feel relaxed… feel calm. Feel the pressure gone of perhaps being afraid to speak out because of how your stepfather might react or what might happen to you. But at the same time I also want you to be cautious: if you still can’t remember anything happening with your father, even with all that pressure now gone – and I mean clearly remember – then that too is what we want to hear.’

  ‘I… I’m not sure. Like I said before, some of it seemed so real… as if it couldn’t possibly be a dream. But I just couldn’t remember any time when I was awake.’

  Elena’s palm sweated as she clutched unconsciously at the headphones’ wire: she could feel the clawing pressure on Lorena with each fall of her breath, swallow or faint cough. Lowndes had edged in so deftly, purposefully: it reminded her of the carefully layered brushstrokes of her painting. But then it was as if he’d suddenly remembered False Memory Syndrome and went back and wiped out a stroke, worried that he might have painted her too much into a corner. He needed to push hard to break any block, but then he didn’t want it possibly viewed that the memory had come about merely as a result of that pressure – because Lorena thought that that was what he wanted to hear.

  ‘…And when you thought back, trying to recall if it was real or just a dream – this was already the morning, the first moments of waking.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Lowndes confirmed with Lorena that her stepfather wasn’t usually there when she awoke. ‘But have there been times in the night when he was at your bedside when you awoke?’

  ‘Yes… some times when I had the bad dreams.’

  ‘…About Patrika and the sewers?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But were any of those dreams with your stepfather touching you… and you’d awake to find him there at your bedside?’

  ‘Only one… I…I’ Faltering pause, Lorena’s breathing fractured, laboured.

  Gentle prompt from Lowndes, ‘It’s okay… go on.’

  ‘…I dreamt that he was stroking me, soothing me, telling me that it was okay. Then it became the waters of the sewer washing over me… but it was somehow warm, strange… and as it came up to my mouth, I was choking and spluttering for breath… but still he was stroking me, telling me everything was okay… okay…’

  ‘…And when you awoke, was he touching you?’

  ‘Yes… yes. But only my forehead… and he was saying the same words, that everything was okay.’ Lorena swallowed hard, trying to regain her breath and her composure. ‘He said that I’d been screaming… had woken him up.’

  ‘Did you think he’d just run in from his room, or did you get the feeling he’d been standing there all along?’

  ‘I… I don’t know… I couldn’t tell. I’m sorry.’

  Lowndes paused and took a deep breath. Elena couldn’t help sensing that he’d reached a sort of crossroads – uncertain where to head next, or perhaps because with only a few minutes of the session remaining, he wouldn’t have time to fully explore where he wanted to go. Elena looked down to see her hands noticeably shaking: Lowndes’ questioning, or all the other panics she was frantically juggling at that moment?

  Crossroads. In their call last night, Gordon had warned her that the time-scale in which they could have traced her flight to Canada was soon up, and she should be doubly wary the next morning. She’d squeezed in three more door-calls before the session with Lowndes, and heading down St Denis a squad car came out of a side turn and pulled up two cars behind her at the Avenue Monte Royal crossroads. She tried not to look too pointedly or repeatedly in her mirror – but it stayed behind her all the way to Sherbrooke before turning off, by which time her nerves were completely frazzled. She pulled over immediately afterwards: her stomach was still somersaulting and for a second she thought she was going vomit.

  ‘…You don’t need to be sorry, Lorena. As I said, if nothing is happening, then that’s fine too. And if this is still a question of your memory being blocked in some way, I wouldn’t expect it to suddenly be freed within minutes; it could take time. But what I do want you to do is continue thinking on what we covered earlier: there are absolutely no pressures or worries as to what might happen to you as a result of you speaking out – if you finally remember anything. And maybe with some time to let that thought settle, that might help us in your next session.’ Lowndes voice lowered, becoming soft, almost conspiratorial. ‘Would you do that for me, Lorena?’

  ‘Yes… I will.’

  With a perfunctory but equally soft-mannered ‘Good, see you tomorrow then,’ Lowndes closed the session. He let Lorena go ahead with the receptionist as he held back a moment in his office with Elena. He turned to her thoughtfully.

  ‘You realize that if there’s no breakthrough early on in the session tomorrow, it could all be over quickly. There might be nowhere else we can go with this?’

  ‘Yes, I realize,’ she agreed sombrely. As much as she wanted
the nightmare ended quickly – the only acceptable way was with a solution. She didn’t think she could bring herself to send Lorena back to Ryall still with the knowledge that he might be molesting her.

  ‘Oh, one more thing. This Eileen… Lorena’s friend. The aid worker. Are they very close?’

  ‘Yes, fairly. She helped Lorena a lot in Romania.’ Suddenly realizing she should distance herself more, she added: ‘So I suppose so.’

  ‘And does she know about this new problem now with Lorena?’

  ‘I… I’m not sure,’ she stuttered, her heart suddenly in her mouth. But as her mind flashed frantically through all the possible pitfalls – she’d already mentioned social service visits to Lowndes – she decided to at least partly tell the truth. ‘Yes – she must know now. She came along with social services on their second visit. But probably she didn’t know at the beginning.’

  ‘Right. I see,’ Lowndes mumbled.

  She could see that he was still slightly lost in thought, and quickly added: ‘Any problem?’

  ‘No… no. Not at all.’ He looked at her directly, forcing a smile. ‘Just it’s always useful to have as much background as possible.’

  But fifteen minutes later grabbing a quick beef-burger lunch with Lorena, she couldn’t help dwelling on whether Lowndes had some deeper concerns about Lorena’s mention of Eileen the aid worker. As Lorena reached across for much ketchup and the hustle and bustle of the restaurant crashed back in, she pushed it from her mind. She had enough to worry about, and it was probably nothing: just her paranoia because she knew they were lying.

  The telephone lines had burned red hot the last twenty-four hours between Cameron Ryall, Inspector Turton and DS Crowley, and in turn between Crowley, Interpol, and an ever-widening net of airports and customs posts halfway across Europe. And as the likelihood of a quick breakthrough diminished, Inspector Turton decided that rather than try and kid-glove the increasingly heated calls from Ryall, he’d pull himself out of the loop and suggest that in future Ryall should contact Crowley directly to be kept up to date on progress.