‘So. The nights that Mr Ryall came again to your room were last Thursday and…’ Nadine Moore’s pen poised over her pad. ‘When was the other?’
‘Three or four days before that…’ Lorena’s eyes flickered slightly: trying for precise recall, or troubled at the memory? It was difficult to tell. ‘I can’t remember exactly.’
They were in the same music/play room as before, and between Nadine’s questions the pauses were long, the silences heavy. Nadine’s pen could be clearly heard scratching across her pad. She seemed to be making more notes than before.
Elena sat to one side and slightly behind Nadine, and after the initial hellos had said nothing throughout. Again, Nadine settled Lorena into the mood with general questions about how school and home life had been since their last visit, before circling around to the key point of her stepfather’s repeated visits to her room.
‘And why did he come to your room on those occasions?’ Nadine looked up at Lorena pointedly each time her scribbling ended. ‘Was it because you had more bad dreams?’
‘No, not on the first occasion.’ Lorena shook her head. ‘He noticed that I was troubled about something at school. He was worried that I might be being bullied – but it was nothing, just a bit of an argument with a couple of other girls. We only talked about it a bit at supper, so he came to my room later to talk some more.’
‘And on the second occasion?’
Lorena cast her eyes down. ‘Yes. That time it was a bad dream. It was very late too, I…’ She looked as if she might continue, but then the thought went or she decided against it.
Nadine took the opportunity to make another note, then asked, ‘On either occasion, did Mr Ryall offer any explanation of why he’d come to your room rather than Mrs Ryall?’
‘The first time, no. We were talking about the school problem earlier, so perhaps he just thought it normal that we continue talking later.’ She shrugged. ‘He didn’t need to explain.’ Lorena paused, as if allowing for Nadine to make another note. But Nadine stayed looking at her expectantly. She continued. ‘The second time he mentioned that Nicola wasn’t well. She’d gone to bed early, you see… and it was very late then.’
‘What sort of time?’
‘One or two O’clock… I’m not sure. I’d lost track a bit with sleeping and then the nightmare.’
Elena noticed Lorena’s hands clutching and playing with the hem of her T-shirt. Kikambala Beach Club, Mombasa, from a beach holiday last Easter. After a lifetime of uncertainty, the girl now with supposedly everything. But Elena could read the underlying signs; she’d seen the same shadows in Lorena’s eyes before. Lorena was as uncertain and fearful now as she was back in those dark orphanage days.
‘And on that first visit to your room,’ Nadine pressed the point. ‘Though nothing was mentioned directly by your stepfather – how was Mrs Ryall that night?’
Lorena had to think for a moment. ‘I don’t think she was very well then either. She’d had a bad cold for four or five days, maybe even a week… and one night she went to bed even before me.’
‘And what time do you go to bed?’
‘Nine to nine-thirty in the week. Ten at the weekend.’
Elena’s hand clenched tight in her lap. So far everything was tying in with what Cameron Ryall had said in their twenty minute pre-session with the Ryalls: ‘I wouldn’t have gone to Lorena’s room at all if my wife hadn’t been incapacitated on both occasions. She was down with the flu and took to her bed early for most of the week.’ But maybe something would come out now, Elena thought, as Nadine came on to what had actually happened with Ryall on those visits.
Lorena looked troubled, her eyelids flickering heavily as if she were trying to focus on an indefinable object slightly to one side on the floor.
Nadine prompted, ‘It’s okay, take your time… starting with the first visit. What happened then?’
Finally: ‘That first time not much, really.’ She took a deep breath. ‘We talked about the problem at school, and I kept telling him it was nothing. I was eager for him to go, you see. But it took a while before he was finally convinced… and then he reached out and stroked my brow, saying “You’d tell me if something was wrong, or if this happens again, wouldn’t you”.’ Lorena looked directly at Nadine and then quickly down again. ‘I answered, “Yes, of course”… but I think he sensed I was nervous about him touching me, and he quickly took the hand away.’
‘Now, and this you should think carefully about, Lorena: did Mr Ryall touch you anywhere else on the body that night?’
‘No,’ Lorena answered quickly, though hesitantly.
Nadine stayed looking at her directly for a moment before the next question, even though Lorena engaged eye contact only briefly. ‘And did Mr Ryall stay in your room for long after that?’
‘No. He left almost straightaway then.’
‘I see.’ Nadine looked down finally and made some notes.
Elena shared the disappointment she felt hit Nadine in that moment. But she also sensed a deft, purposeful circling in by Nadine, and unconsciously she found herself sitting forward, expectant, as Nadine came on to Ryall’s second room visit. More had apparently happened then.
‘Did he soothe your brow again on that occasion?’
‘No. He shook me gently out of the dream by my shoulder.’ Lorena crossed her chest with her right hand to her left shoulder. ‘Then he held me by the hand, or maybe the wrist – I can’t remember exactly – and told me, ‘It’s okay… it’s okay.’
The room fell deathly silent, both of them wrapped up in the explanation, anticipating the revelation of what Ryall did next. But Lorena trailed off then, and Nadine had to prompt, ‘Then what?’
‘Everything wasn’t too clear then…’ Lorena shook her head helplessly. ‘Except in the dream.’
‘The dream?’ Nadine asked incredulously. ‘What, another dream?’
‘Yes, yes… But it was different this time,’ Lorena grappled to explain, sensing mounting doubt from Nadine. ‘This time it wasn’t like before with me trapped in the sewers, in the darkness… This time Mr Ryall was touching me, his hand going lower down my body, with him still saying, “it’s okay… it’s okay.” Trying to comfort me.’
Elena noticed that Nadine seemed caught aback by the plea in Lorena’s voice that the dream was somehow significant, when very obviously Nadine was thinking just the opposite. Nadine held up one hand: a stop sign. ‘Let me get this clear. Did Mr Ryall at any time touch you like this outside of the dream? Were you at any point – if only for a minute – awake when any of this happened?’
‘I don’t know… I…’ Lorena was flustered by Nadine’s freshly assertive tone.
Elena felt for Lorena: she was only a child, and bad dreams had been associated with so much of the sorting and filing of her troubled past. It was probably difficult for her to grasp how anyone else wouldn’t attach the same importance to them. She was clutching again at the hem of her T-shirt, though this time Elena noticed her hands were shaking. Finally: ‘No, I… I can’t remember being awake when this happened.’
Nadine looked round briefly to Elena. A ‘we won’t get anywhere with this’ expression. She pressed again with Lorena, ‘This is important… think hard.’
Lorena’s eyes flickered, again searching for illusive clarity – but again nothing slotted into place. ‘I’m sorry… I’m sorry. I don’t think I was awake then.’
‘Don’t think?’
Lorena closed her eyes for a second as she reluctantly let loose the last strand. ‘I’m pretty sure I wasn’t...’ She swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry.’
The furthest Lorena was likely to go towards denial, but it was enough: there was simply no niche left from which they could claw back. Elena could see it all slipping away. Nadine’s shoulders sagged, her pen suddenly frozen from continued notes. After all, there was only one thing left to write: CASE CLOSED. Elena felt suddenly desperate that it might all end here. She decided to intervene.
�
��Lorena, this is twice now you’ve called us. But if all of this is happening only in your dreams – we just can’t help you.’
‘But sometimes it seems so... so real,’ Lorena protested. ‘As if it is actually happening. And it frightens me. I told you – I don’t want him to come to my room anymore.’ She shook her head in annoyance, as if throwing the blame back to them.
‘We told Mr Ryall to stay away from your room,’ Nadine offered. ‘But on these two occasions your stepmother was ill. I’m sure he’d stay away otherwise, so it shouldn’t be a big problem.’ Nadine bit at her bottom lip, and Elena read the unspoken thought that could have been added: But what to do when Mrs Ryall was ill again?
Elena felt a twinge of panic. It seemed wrong for it to all end like this now, as if they’d hardly tried at all. She pictured Nicola Ryall sat with her hands clasped tight together, saying less than even last time. Her mood nervous, agitated. Everything had tied in so neatly: his wife’s illness, then Ryall mentioning that he was sure it was all just in Lorena’s imagination, possibly linked to her continuing problem with nightmares. ‘It’s probably all just a call for attention. I assure you nothing untoward is actually happening.’ Now both statements had been supported.
Nadine sighed, concurring, ‘Elena is right in that we can’t do much with what we have.’ Nadine forced a re-assuring smile that came across more thinly than she’d have probably liked. ‘But at least if all of this is only in your mind, we have the comfort that nothing is really happening. You’re not at risk.’
Elena bit at her bottom lip. Her own mother sat there saying nothing, afraid to go against her father. The same obdurate, dogmatic grip in which he’d held nearly all the family and had guided so many of their lives. So real. Elena wondered if Lorena was trying to tell them without really telling them. The dreams were a safe mid-ground. ‘If something’s happening, you’ve got to tell us,’ Elena implored. ‘Has Mr Ryall been talking to you, telling you not to say anything?’
Lorena’s brow knitted and her lips parted as if she were about to speak. Nadine wheeled around on Elena, staring daggers: a ‘that’s strictly off-limits’ look. ‘You don’t have to answer that,’ she prompted Lorena sharply. But Lorena had already lost whatever thread was there, her eyes flickering uncomfortably for a moment before looking down.
‘I’m sorry,’ Elena said. ‘She just seems so confused, and I suppose I’m scrambling for reasons why.’
A fresh breath, and Nadine continued winding things down, asking Lorena calmly if, while they were still there, there was anything else she wanted to mention. A second’s thought, and Lorena shook her head – but Elena could still see the uncertain shadows in her eyes, and she thought how troubled Lorena must have been to call her now twice. The intense concern that had made her race back early from Bosnia for this meeting now. Running breathlessly through the chine with Lorena, trying desperately to get her out of the darkness and into the light. Into the light. Only in her mind. Confused. She leapt for the only remaining door she could see still partly open.
‘If this is all only in Lorena’s mind, perhaps as Mr Ryall suggests even linked to her continuing problem with nightmares – surely at least we should request psychiatric assessment.’
‘That’s true.’ Nadine contemplated Elena levelly. ‘But we just don’t have enough for such an order on what we have now. We could only make the request – it would be left up to the Ryalls to decide.’ This was said as if Nadine doubted strongly that the Ryalls would comply.
‘I understand.’ Elena nodded indulgently. ‘But if we sold the psychiatric assessment to the Ryalls on the grounds of it being linked to Lorena’s continuing problem with bad dreams, he’d have little reason to object. After all, it’s the dreams that he keeps complaining are dragging him to her room late at night.’ Elena smiled slyly. ‘If he does object, it’s going to look highly suspicious.’
Nadine held her gaze a second longer. Nadine resisted matching her smile, but Elena caught a faint tell-tale glimmer in Nadine’s eyes.
Nadine turned back to Lorena, who looked vaguely perplexed at their exchange. Nadine’s eyes softened, her voice dropping a note, mildly grave. ‘Would you like that, Lorena? To see someone professional who could help you – if your stepparents agree to it?’
Lorena’s eyes jumped between Nadine and Elena, as if seeking consent. Elena smiled tightly with a faint nod. ‘Yes… yes, I suppose so,’ Lorena said finally. ‘If you think it will help.’
‘Yes, I do.’ Nadine made a brief final note on her pad and drew a hasty, slanted line across. ‘Let’s just hope your stepparents share that view.’
Lorena blinked slowly with a barely audible ‘Thank you,’ but she was looking more at Elena than Nadine. Elena acknowledged with a brief nod and smile, but it was small consolation that they were giving Ryall a run for his money, he wasn’t getting it all his own way. If Ryall said no to the psychiatric assessment, they’d be back to square one. Worse still, they’d know then that almost certainly Ryall was keen to keep something hidden, yet they’d be powerless to do any more about it.
SEVEN
In the dream, the same as Georges recalled it happening in real life, everything was in slow motion.
He was firing question after question at Eric Leduc, mostly relating to a list of bank deposits and withdrawals from an account in a false name they’d traced back to Leduc; funds that Jean-Paul suspected were derived from cocaine trafficking.
Leduc was directly to his right in the back seat, Roman the other side. Fifteen yards away from the car, out of earshot, Tony Savard and the car’s driver, Steve Tremblay, paced and shuffled around smoking and swapping small talk, and glanced back occasionally towards the car to keep tabs on progress.
Leduc was nervous, his eyes darting from Georges to Roman with each question. Fear of Roman’s intervention should he answer wrong? But there was almost an acquiescence there, as if he was asking silent permission for each answer. Although generally Leduc was stumbling, evasive: answers of any real substance were few. And with each duck and manoeuvre from Leduc, Roman’s fury raised another notch.
Though Georges was turned away from Roman for most of the time, he could sense that silent fury building through Roman’s right leg shaking increasingly, one hand gripped tight on his knee to try and quell it, unsuccessfully. Roman’s glare in the fleeting moments Georges did look round spoke volumes: his jaw set tight, his teeth grinding together with each ‘I don’t know’ or ‘that part of it wasn’t anything to do with me’ from Leduc. The tension was building steadily like a powder keg in the back of the car – Roman’s agitation, Leduc’s panic with his eyes shifting increasingly, his own swallowing hard for saliva for each fresh question – Georges should have known that it would blow at any second.
At one point, Roman reached across and grabbed Leduc brusquely by the lapel. ‘Come on you fuck, give. You know a lot more than you’re telling.’
‘I know. I know.’ Leduc held his hands up defensively. His eyes were darting almost out of control. He smiled hesitantly. ‘But I’ve got something that will hopefully clarify everything.’
Roman held Leduc’s gaze steadily for a second. He let go of Leduc’s lapel slowly, reluctantly.
A tiny pulse pumped repeatedly at Leduc’s left temple. A trickle of sweat ran down his neck from behind his ear.
A brief relief in tension, and then it happened. Everything slipped, the images tilted and seemed suddenly more distant, hazy. Suspended, almost frozen flicker-frames that would stay with them forever.
Leduc reached down for something – they caught a quick glimpse of it, a black object tucked into his ankle sock – though not quite clear what it was. But Roman was already reaching for his gun inside his jacket; it was out practically in the same motion, pointing. The two shots were fired: both through Leduc’s heart before he’d hardly lifted the object clear from his sock.
Then as Leduc flew back against the side glass, blood erupting from his chest, the object fell from hi
s hand and they saw what it was: a black notebook.
Roman’s eyes were raw panic. ‘I thought it was a gun. I thought it was a gun.’
Leduc’s blood was everywhere: splattered against the window behind, some splashes on the roof, on the windscreen, a heavy gout on Georges chest and lap, and sticky and warm on the seat where he gripped tight for some reality with one hand.
Roman’s expression quickly changed; his eyebrows knitted together, pleading. ‘Christ’s sake, don’t tell Jean-Paul how I mucked up. It’s gotta be our secret. Believe me, I thought…’
Roman’s next actions were quick, almost a card sharp’s sleight of hand, because Savard and Tremblay were heading frantically towards the car – Roman flipped a gun from a strap by his right ankle onto the floor by Leduc, grabbed the notebook and tucked it into his inside pocket.
Roman stared hard again at Georges. ‘You with me on this?’
‘Do I have much choice?’ Georges looked between the newly placed gun on the floor and Roman. Savard and Tremblay were only yards away, almost upon the car. Georges eased out a long breath and closed his eyes momentarily in submission, nodding hastily. ‘Yeah, yeah. I’m with you.’
Then everything suddenly slipped another notch; part of it was more hazy, surreal, yet his senses seemed more finely tuned. He felt every small motion, every tic of expression from Roman like a ponderous, heavy heartbeat.
Savard and Tremblay were no longer there, it was just Roman and him alone with Leduc’s body.
Roman’s eyes were piercing straight through him. ‘I don’t believe you. I don’t trust you. You’re gonna betray me.’
‘No, no, I won’t. It’s okay. I’m with you on it.’
Roman’s gun rose to point at him. His eyes burnt with intent. ‘If not now, then at some stage you’ll betray me. I know it.’
The Last Witness Page 10
