The Last Witness

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