by Peter Tonkin
‘So I would hope,’ said Tom, insidiously. ‘How many hours after he had been shot?’
‘Oh, only ninety minutes, I understand. They brought him in by chopper, you know.’
‘Even so.’
‘Well, awake but not really coherent. Classic dissociation, it seemed to me at that stage.’
‘Ah,’ said Tom, apparently appreciatively; much as a Rolls-Royce aero-engineer might appreciate the opinion of a Skoda fitter.
‘I did a thorough physical examination but really it was only the head wound which merited attention.’
‘Quite so.’
‘As soon as I was satisfied that there were no immediately life-threatening conditions — he had of course received paramedical attention in the helicopter — I put him in for the scan and a series of function tests and then a further series designed to demonstrate his current brain functions.’
‘You were of course concerned about both areas of damage to the skull.’
‘The damage at the back, naturally, but I could discover no damage to the occipital bone itself, or to the atlas or the joints in the area, even though it was almost as though he had been rabbit punched by the stairs on the way down. We still get a lot of martial arts combat victims, as I am sure you realise —’
‘Quite. No damage there except superficially to the scalp. But this damage to the temporal lobe …’
‘Much more interesting. It seems to be exactly over the top of an old injury. I would dearly love to know whether that original injuiy was also associated with any significant memory loss …’ Dr Chu looked hopefully at Robin and she was about to tell him what she had told Tom Fowler about that very injury when Tom cut in before she could open her mouth.
‘And the actual tests you tried were?’
‘Well, the function tests were the ones you would expect, ECG, liver and blood. The patient showed no sign of excesses of alcohol or any drug at all at that stage.’
‘He’s tee-total,’ interjected Robin. ‘He hasn’t had a drink in twenty years. Doesn’t smoke either.’
‘Quite so,’ said Tom approvingly. ‘But you say you did some memory tests as well, Dr Chu.’
‘Well, I did an old Wechsler adult intelligence test. The results were below average, but of course I don’t know how he might have scored originally.’
‘High, I would have said. It’s a broad spectrum function intelligence test, Robin. Very standard. Anything else, Dr Chu?’
‘Well, I’d read up on the work Lehermitte and Signoret did —’’
‘Twenty-five years ago.’
‘Well yes, but, well, I did some spatial and temporal tests such as they —’
‘Right. Well, if you will let me have a glance through your notes, I’m sure they will make very interesting reading. Now, I would like to make some arrangements to try a series of my own tests. I am sure you are aware that it will be an integral part of the defence’s case to try and restore Captain Mariner’s memories of the actual event so there is a legal basis for my access and for my work.’
‘Of course, Professor. Anything I can do to assist. I need hardly say that I am an employee of the hospital here. I am not by any means directly associated with the police or the prosecution.’
‘Quite, quite. Finally, Dr Chu, has your patient demonstrated full memory of basic functions? There has been no soiling? He remembers how to wash and bathe? He has been able to dress and undress himself at all times?’
‘Oh yes. There has never been any trouble with anything like that. He had been cleaned up by the time he came in to me so I can’t speak for the actual shooting incident itself.’
‘Has the accused been examined by another doctor, a police surgeon?’
‘Only on the helicopter. There was a police surgeon there with the paramedic, I understand. But he gave no real treatment. Simply cleaned up and applied a bandage or two. I was the one who did the full battery of tests. All the tests were my responsibility. One of the reasons I had to be so careful with my range of tests was that the police wished to interrogate him at the earliest opportunity.’
It just so happened that Tom was close beside Robin when Dr Chu made this innocent admission and the psychologist’s hand caught her arm and restrained her into silence.
‘Naturally. Standard procedure. And what form did these interrogations take?’
‘Standard question and answer, except that the answers weren’t standard, of course.’
‘Of course. Many interrogations?’
‘Oh yes. Detailed and persistent, mostly by Commander Lee, but often by Captain Huuk.’
‘Were you present at all of them?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘And he has never been taken out of the hospital?’
‘Yes. Once.’
‘Back to the scene of the crime?’
‘Yes. But there was no reaction whatsoever.’
‘Very frustrating. Did you use Pentothal?’
‘Not at that time, no. But I have used it on two occasions since.’
‘On police authority and without the knowledge or agreement of next of kin, I assume.’
‘I did what I was directed to do. Twice.’
‘So it has now stopped?’
‘Oh yes. We haven’t used any Pentothal for more than a week now. The prisoner is routinely interrogated for an hour every morning, but I think they are beginning to see that he isn’t bluffing and that he won’t remember any more than he does at the moment for the foreseeable future.’ Only Tom’s steady grip kept Robin from interrupting. She was beginning to see for the first time how little real protection she had been to the man she had flown halfway round the world to help.
In the corridor outside the little office she exploded and Tom let her talk uninterrupted as she got her bitter frustration out of her system. She didn’t stop until they reached the lift.
‘So,’ said Tom, on the way down in the lift car. ‘They don’t really know what to do with him, do they? They can’t work out whether they want his memory back or not, so they’re hesitating while they think. While they get some more legal advice, I shouldn’t wonder. Treating him medically if not psychologically, treating him very well, in fact, and waiting for things to jump back into perspective, as they usually do.’
‘But they’ve drugged him! Taken him to that … place!’
‘You must see that they had to try both of those approaches. Almost all police cases are based on some kind of confession. All they’re getting from Richard is “I don’t know” and it simply isn’t good enough for them.’
‘It isn’t good enough for us either, though, is it?’ She was beginning to calm down now, seeing where the conversation was leading.
‘No, that’s right. It isn’t good enough for us either. And all we can do is to try what they tried, but do it better. And do it soon. A man who says “I can’t remember” may be said to be pleading not guilty according to the law, but it won’t carry nearly as much weight as if we can make him say, “No, I didn’t do it and here’s what really happened”. And at the moment the only way we can get deep enough into his memory to stand any chance of reaching the truth is to take him back aboard Sulu Queen, to use Pentothal and, with your permission, to try a little hypnosis.’
*
Robin dropped Tom off at Andrew’s office, handed him the pile of records Audrey had faxed out to her and then she and Andrew went back up to Kwai Chung to look through the Sulu Queen’s cargo.
In the car, they talked through what Dr Chu had told her and Andrew agreed to get hold of the transcripts of any interviews which had taken place so far as a matter of urgency, especially those held while Richard had been drugged. ‘I’m not sure that confessions elicited by the use of truth serums would stand up very well in court in any case. The same is true of statements for use in defence and anything Richard says while he’s under hypnosis. You do realise that?’
‘I didn’t but I’m sure Tom Fowler does. He works with the police quite a lot. That’s why I
wanted him in on this.’
‘True. Still, I’d better be there too, just in case.’
It took them four hours to go through the cargo and they found nothing untoward. The slow, tedious task gave time for Robin’s temper to mend, however, and she was in a better mood by the end of it. On the way back she asked Andrew if he had handed back the black notebook and he had the grace to blush: he had put it in a plain envelope and posted it anonymously, he admitted.
Much amused, she asked if he had thought to wipe their fingerprints off it. Of course he had, he informed her, surprised that she should have doubted it. She was still laughing when they got to Repulse Bay.
After dinner at the Stephensons’ — Dottie’s speciality of sweet and sour stuffed chicken with baked rice and Chinese vegetables — they split up and each pursued their own further researches. Andrew and Gerry were wading through the first pile of papers that the police had given them and Tom was still going through Richard’s past with a fine-toothed comb. Robin wandered back down to the leave flat. She sat in the window seat going through the print-outs of the records which Daniel Huuk had surrendered yesterday, glancing up every once in a while to look past Tin Hau’s temple over the busy crowds and into the thickening gloom. There was nothing helpful in the printout and she went to bed at midnight dissatisfied — and unsatisfied — in every way.
As she was still awake at three, she put a call through to Summersend where the twins would just be getting ready for bed. She talked to them and to her adored parents-in-law. Then she called her father and talked to him for half an hour. She slept like a log for four hours, greeted Su Lam the amah as Su was on her way in and she was on her way out, and was at Andrew’s door, bright-eyed, by half past eight as usual.
*
‘Your parents send all their love, darling,’ she told Richard at ten, having insisted on some private time before Tom started his first preparatory session. Dr Chu’s revelations of yesterday had redoubled her resolution to see him as often as possible, preferably immediately after the morning interrogation so that she could look for bruises and needle marks. But of course there were none. ‘They’re both very well indeed and the new chair-lift down the front steps is just what your mother wanted. Much smoother than the old one. She’s quite happy to work it herself so she can potter around down at the front just as she does out at the back. And your father says she needs to! The twins are having a wonderful time and are being as good as gold but they’ve set up a cricket pitch on the front lawn and you know how thin the grass is on that sandy soil down at Summersend, and as for the bushes on the boundaries …’
It continued as a daily routine during the rest of the week, varied only by occasional — apparently casual — questions about what had happened on Sulu Queen and what message he had put onto the disk. Even though he answered none of her questions, it became as therapeutic for Robin as it was supposed to be for Richard. This was especially true as her immediate involvement in the preparation of the case moved out of the centre. There were no new facts to uncover, no new adventures to be had. There was only the slog of checking statements and depositions, of cross-checking facts and allegations, of testing and reinterpreting evidence. And in this Richard himself moved into the centre of things, for by the end of the week it became obvious that the only evidence left for them to collect in or around the Crown Colony lay locked inside his head.
*
‘All right,’ said Robin, handing the papers back to Dr Chu.
Tom Fowler nodded and reached for Richard’s hand. Richard gave it to him as easily as Robin had given over the disclaimer forms which the hospital required from them — though not, apparently, from the police. Richard’s eyes dwelt on her, except for the moment when the needle actually entered the vein in the crook of his elbow.
‘Are you all right, darling?’ she said gently as Tom steadily depressed the plunger, squeamish on his behalf.
‘Fine thanks,’ he said with that endless cheerfulness which came near to making her scream. ‘What is this stuff? Is it the same as he used?’ The bright eyes flicked to Dr Chu.
‘Yes,’ said Tom, folding the sleeve of Richard’s pyjamas and dressing gown back into place. ‘Just sit there quietly for a while. It won’t take long.’
Richard looked brightly around the room, smiling cheerfully at the assembled faces. Dr Chu, Tom and Andrew all smiled back but none of them could think of anything to say.
‘I’ve ordered you some new night things,’ Robin told him gently, to fill the silence. ‘I’ll bring them in tomorrow. Is there anything else you want?’ She always asked; he never answered — unable to imagine the detail of what was available out there, she supposed.
But by this time the drug was beginning to take effect so he told her the truth. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I want to go home.’
She opened her mouth, but Tom held his hand up and silenced her.
‘And where is your home, Richard?’
‘With her.’ Richard pointed and smiled. This time his smile was not so bright and shallow.
‘And who is she?’
‘I … I … It’s on the tip of my tongue, but it slips away. It slips away.’ He shook his head, with unnecessary force, as though hoping to shake his memory back into place.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ soothed Tom. And Robin smiled supportively until the violent motion stopped. ‘Now,’ continued Tom quietly, ‘I’m going to ask you some questions, then we’ll proceed a little deeper. All right?’
‘All right.’
Half an hour of gentle probing established that Richard could tell time, understood right and left (and port and starboard), could use his fingers dexterously and could stretch them to a width that Rachmaninov might have envied. That he knew where he was and where the hospital was situated. He had a clear idea where Hong Kong was situated but had no idea of its history or immediate prospects. He realised that he was English but had no idea who the people were in a photograph of his parents. He did not know who the current Prime Minister was, or who was President of the United States. He failed to recognise a range of famous film titles and popular television programmes, but he knew who wrote Oliver Twist and admitted that he preferred Macbeth to Hamlet, but he liked Antony and Cleopatra best, probably because it had good sea battles in it. Tom went on to prove that Richard could focus on a series of objects at various distances away from him. That he could hear equally well in both ears. That he could remember a list of unfamiliar television programmes given to him ten minutes earlier.
At last, Tom put in front of his subject the one piece of equipment he had not used so far. It was a little flat disc about the size of a side plate mounted on a spindle which stood up from a motorised base so that the disc would spin like a little wheel. On one side of the disc was a simple spiral design in bright, almost fluorescent colours. ‘Have you ever been hypnotised?’ asked Tom as he set this up on the table in front of Richard.
‘No. Never.’
‘It’s nice to see you so certain,’ said the psychologist. ‘Have you any basis for the certainty? I see you are becoming a little agitated. Have you actively avoided being hypnotised?’
‘I don’t like …’
‘Don’t like what?’ Tom was a little more challenging. Richard’s agitation was more obvious now. There was even some perspiration on his brow.
‘I don’t like to lose …’
Tom changed tack abruptly, and let the confrontational tone drop. ‘You don’t like to lose what?’ he asked more gently. ‘Your socks? Your tie? Your trousers?’
‘Control,’ said Richard. ‘I don’t like to lose control.’
‘Very good,’ said Tom, his tone of voice betraying that he was genuinely impressed by this statement. ‘But you needn’t worry. You won’t lose control, I promise. We’re all here to make sure of that. Robin will make sure of that.’ Richard’s eyes fastened on her with agonised intensity. ‘I promise,’ she said, her voice as full of intensity as his had been. ‘Nothing will hurt you,
Richard, I promise.’
The signs of his agitation began to ease. He nodded slightly, his lips tight and pale, his chin square and resolute.
‘Look at the disc,’ said Tom and he pressed a switch on the base of it which activated the motor. The motor was absolutely silent, turning the disc so that the pattern began to spiral into the centre. In motion, it resembled nothing more than a whirlpool and the others on that side of the room had to be careful to keep moving their eyes away from it or they, too, would have succumbed.
‘All I want you to do is to look at the centre of it,’ said Tom softly and flowingly as though his voice was part of the whirl of the disk. ‘Look at it right in the centre and try to keep your attention on that spinning point. You don’t have to keep your eyes focused. If they begin to blur, don’t worry. Your mind can still pick up on the movement of the pattern — that’s why it is designed with that combination of colours. The less your eyes focus, the more the colours blur, the more your mind interprets the movement. And, as you keep watching, you begin to see that there is a little hole right at the centre of it and that little hole begins to spread in an odd kind of way. Sometimes it throbs with the rhythm of the movement and sometimes it grows and grows and grows under its own steam until it just sucks in the whole of the disk and there’s nothing there to see but a huge black hole and there’s nothing left to do but to fall. Just let go and fall now, just let go and trust us to catch you. Don’t you worry now, we’re all still here and Robin’s here. Robin won’t let anyone hurt you. We’ll catch you and we’ll hold you safe. Just let go now, just let go.’
It came as a shock to Robin to discover that Richard’s eyes were shut. She had gone along with this but had never really thought that her strong-willed husband would succumb. Almost in panic she looked across at Tom and he smiled reassuringly at her. He raised his right hand in a sign demanding silence and with his left hand he turned off the machine.
Richard sat, apparently asleep, entranced.
‘Richard,’ said Tom gently, ‘Richard, are you there?’ Silence.
