The Last Witness

The first moments were settling Lorena in and general background, nothing of any relevance, so she tweaked it down a bit as she asked Lorena, ‘Did it all go okay?’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Lorena grimaced and shook her head. ‘But I still couldn’t remember anything.’ She sounded annoyed with herself.

Elena reached out and lightly clutched her hand. ‘Don’t worry. It’s only the first session. We didn’t expect alarming breakthroughs straight away.’ But she had at least hoped, and she was silently worried: they didn’t have weeks for endless sessions. Two or three might be all they could cram in before the police net finally closed on them.

Worrying news from Gordon on that front when she’d phoned the Chelborne call box they’d pre-arranged. He’d told her about the heavy swoop search in France related from the friend who’d run decoy; her name had obviously been out on the wire with Interpol practically from the word go. They’d originally hoped that the tape would give them at least twenty-four hours or possibly avert a police search altogether.

How long before they traced the Frankfurt-Brussels-Edmonton flight? Gordon’s bet was at least another twelve or eighteen hours, and they’d probably start trawling Edmonton first. Canada was a big country, but, she’d speculated, ‘What if they always put alerts out nation-wide as a matter of course?’ Gordon fell silent, and his ‘Unlikely’ a few seconds later sounded uncertain. And when she pressed him, he admitted that of course he couldn’t be sure that they hadn’t already traced her flight and her put her name out on the RCMP network, or might do so in only a few hours. Another ‘But unlikely.’

And so her nerves were still on edge with every police car that passed, she found it impossible to relax. The clock was fast ticking down on her getting to the root of Lorena’s problem and finding her son. She’d visited three of the Stevens with initials N, M or G listed in the phone book, all she could fit in before Lorena’s session, but no matches or even remotely hopeful leads there: twenty-six more to go plus the two unlisted Terry had given her, if they were still in Montreal. She shook her head. She must have been crazy trying to do both at the same time under this set of circumstances. The pressure was stifling.

The lack of sleep on top hadn’t helped. She hadn’t slept at all on the flight, and had grabbed barely an hour on the train up from Toronto before the blaring train klaxon as they crossed a series of level-crossings woke her abruptly.

‘… I was trapped, couldn’t lift the cover, couldn’t breathe.’

Elena turned the tape up again.

‘And this was a recurring dream during your time in the orphanages?’

‘Yes… and for a while afterwards.’

‘How long afterwards?’

‘Well… a few months at least.’

‘I see. But by this time you’re settled in with your step-parents, the Waldren’s?’

‘Yes… yes. I was.’

Elena picked up on Lorena’s beat of hesitation as she mentally self-prompted about the false name and story. Elena had presented herself as Lorena’s stepmother concerned about abuse from the stepfather, not an aid worker abducting her. It was the only thing she could think of to get Lowndes to handle the case. Elena smiled conspiratorially at Lorena.

‘… But the dreams started to become different then,’ Lorena continued.

‘In what way?’

‘Well… in the last two, I was able to get the manhole cover open. Get free.’

‘I see. And you felt relaxed then. No problems or concerns with Mr Waldren coming to your room at night?’

‘No.’

As Lowndes’ questions rolled on and it became clear that nothing dramatic was being revealed, Lorena looked at the tape player and then at Elena with an ‘I told you so’ expression. The only small triumph was Lowndes establishing that the return of the bad dreams coincided with Ryall (Mr Waldren) starting to visit her bed late at night. And this time in their original, more worrying form. The manhole cover was once again immovable. She was trapped.

‘…And when you dreamt that your stepfather was touching you — was that part of the same dreams, or separate?’

‘Separate.’

‘The same nights — or different nights?’

‘Different nights. Oh, I…. I think one was on the same night.’

Longer pause this time from Lowndes. ‘Now, I’d like you to think about this question a bit more carefully, Lorena. Now when you awake and remember dreams with your father touching you — do you at any time remember actually being awake when he touched you?’

‘No, I can’t… I’m sorry.’ Faint rustling, as if Lorena was moving or shaking her head. ‘The dreams seemed so real at times, but… but I don’t think I was awake at any time.’

‘Don’t think?Is it possible that you might have in fact been awake, but the sleep either side has muddied your memory?’

‘I don’t know… I’m not sure. I can’t remember.’ Lorena sounded flustered.

‘Well — ’ For a moment it seemed Lowndes was going to press more before deciding against it. ‘That’s okay. That’s okay.’ Gently soothing tone.

As Lowndes re-capped on some of the ground when the dreams first started — the real sewer floods they’d suffered and the death of Patrika — Elena turned it down again. It was background she knew all too well, too painfully, and one that she wished she didn’t have to drag Lorena through again now.

Lorena looked wistfully at the tape player and bit lightly at her bottom lip as she cast her eyes down, as if concerned she might have let everyone down.

Elena turned into St Denis, heading towards their hotel. ‘Don’t worry,’ She re-assured. ‘It’s early days yet. Tomorrow might be a completely different story.’

But she could read the questioning frankness in Lorena’s eyes as she looked across: if she didn’t remember, she didn’t remember. How were these sessions going to help?

Jean-Paul picked up the message from Simone on his answerphone.

‘Pa. I know that I’m angry at Georges, verrry angry. And I know you’ve got your own problems with him and I don’t want you to read into this that I’m trying to interferrre in your business — never have done. But I don’t want Georges in any way harmed.’ Brief pause, the sound of traffic in the background. ‘Oh, and I’m sorrry that things were left the way they were earlier. I’ll be back at my place in half an hour. Call me there.’

Breathless, the words punched out as if she was afraid that if she hesitated she’d forget them completely, with a slight slurring on some words. Jean-Paul wasn’t sure if she’d been drinking or it was just due to distress, or both.

Jean-Paul kept the tape rolling: two business calls in between, and then another call from Simone.

‘With you not calling back, I decided to phone Georges’ apartment. No answer. I tried his mobile, but that just rang out too. I’ve tried five more times in the last two hours — still no answer. I’m starting to get worried. You promise that nothing’s happened to him?’ A heavy pause, as if she expected him to offer re-assurance in the gap, then with a ‘Speak to you later’ she hung up.

Jean-Paul anxiously checked his watch: 10.14 pm. After leaving a message on Simone’s mobile, he’d got wrapped up in a meeting with Jon Larsen at their tax lawyer’s office the rest of the afternoon, then had gone for an early dinner with Larsen, part of which was to delicately explain that they might have some problems with Georges. Larsen should shy away from sharing any possibly sensitive business information with him, ‘At least for the time being.’ Until they’d finally worked out how to play everything.

He dialled Simone’s number. It answered on the second ring.