'Tuesday night, we went to Matty's house for dinner. I wore my blue dress and we took a taxi because it isn't far and it was raining.' She was launched, and she continued on in monotonous detail until I finally eased her out of Tuesday night into Wednesday morning, then the afternoon.
'And now it's Wednesday evening. You've come home from work, and Tommy's coming to pick you up at— what time did he say?'
'Half seven. We're going to a posh restaurant to celebrate our six-month anniversary, and there's a flaming pudding at the next table, so I order that, and Tommy orders champers.' I let her go on again for some time before giving another touch to the reins of her narrative.
'And now it's later, and you're leaving the restaurant, and you're full of lovely food and happy with Tommy, and where do you go?' My voice was light and calm. O'Rourke, across the room, was beginning to tense up, but she was not; deep in the hypnotic state, she did not anticipate anything.
'We walk to the pub where we met, back in February, and we see some friends who got married in June and we go to their house and laugh and drink and Solly has some great new records from America and we dance and then the neighbours pound on the floor and we have to leave.'
'And you set off walking and you're humming the music, aren't you? And you're still dancing along, and you love Tommy and the feel of your arm in his, and you cuddle a bit here and there because there's no one on the street, and in the light from the streetlamp Tommy sees a pot of red flowers up under somebody's window....'
'And he starts to climb up the drainpipe to get me one, and I say, 'Oh, Tommy, don't do that, silly boy. Stop it. There's somebody coming and she—' '
It came upon her as suddenly as it had that night, and she went rigid, her mouth and eyes staring wide, and I went down beside her and spoke forcibly
'Tommy can't see, Sarah, but you can; your clever eyes can remember— it's like something in a cinema house, isn't it, on the screen, but slowed down, no more real than that, a car on the screen, coming out of the darkness and hitting her and tumbling her around, and it drives around the corner and then that dirty-looking beggarman stands up and he moves and he does something. He does something; he bends down and he is doing something with his hands. What is he doing, Sarah?'
'He ... He ... stands up. He isn't old. Why did I think he was old? He stands up like a young man and he goes to the pillar-box and he has ... he has something in his hand. He has a pair of scissors in his hand, and he bends down, and then he ... he's winding yarn into a ball, and he picks up his briefcase that's lying on the street and he turns his back on the ... on that ... She's not dead; she just moved. Tommy, she just moved, and the man walks off. He turns and sees us and he starts to run and the car is waiting for him and the door is open, someone in the front seat is leaning back to hold it open, a small person, wearing ... I can't see, but he falls into the car, the back seat, and it starts driving away while his leg is still out of it, and then the door swings shut and the car is gone around the corner, and we go and see, but she's dead now. Oh God, how horrible, she's dead, oh God.'
'Sarah,' I interrupted, 'The car, Sarah, look at the car going around the corner. What are the numbers on the registration plate at the back of the car?'
'That's funny, isn't it? There aren't any numbers on the back of it.'
'All right, Sarah, look back at the beggarman. He's standing up now, Sarah; he's standing up and taking a step toward the pillar box, and he's wearing a hat, isn't he, a knit cap, and it's dark on the street, but the streetlamp lights up his face from the side. See how it hits his nose? You can see his nose clearly, the shape of it. And his chin, too, against his coat, and when he turns his head, the light falls on his cheeks and his eyes. You'll never forget the shape of his eyes, even though you can't see the eyes themselves. They're in the shadows, but his face, Sarah, you can see his face, and you'll never forget it. You'll remember him even when you've walked back up the steps, won't you, Sarah, because you're a clever girl, and Tommy's here to be with you, and that was a good woman who shouldn't have died, and you want to remember everything. Even if it hurts, like a sad movie, you can remember.'
Her face was faintly surprised as she stared into the room, and slightly relieved, but not afraid or horrified. I continued, 'You have it now, the moving picture of the beggar standing up and the people inside the car, and you can hold on to it now, like a clear cinema film. You can run it anytime you want; you can bring it back up the steps with you. Shall we go, then? One step now. You want to turn around now, and step back up onto step number two. It's as easy as breathing, slow and steady, taking that one section of the circle with you, up to number two, and then to three, the third step.' I watched to see when she was firmly on each level before proceeding. 'And to four, four steps up, you feel like you're waking up, though you haven't been asleep. You're halfway back now, at five.'
She took a deep, shuddering breath at six and stretched at eight, and her eyes found Tommy and she smiled at ten. I sat back, limp, and closed my eyes. My blouse was clinging to my back with the sweat, and my neck and shoulder throbbed with fire.
Miss Chessman, in contrast, looked better than she had three hours before. Her eyes were clear, and she seemed rested. She smiled tentatively at me.
'Is it still clear in your mind?' I asked her. The smile faded, but her answer was even.
'It is. Funny I couldn't remember it before.'
'Shock does that. I'd like to telephone a friend from Scotland Yard. He'll listen to your story without making you feel like a gramophone record, and he'll bring some photographs to see if any of them match the man you saw. Is that all right? I know it will be late when you finish, but it's best to do it while you're fresh, and he can fix it with your employers so you don't have to go in early.'
'I don't mind. It would make me feel good to be doing something to help that woman. I mean to say, I know it's too late to help her, but—'
'Fine, then. Is there a telephone?'
'Down the hallway to the right.'
I slumped against the wall as I waited for the connexion to Mycroft's number. Holmes answered it at the first ring, and I tried to keep the exhaustion from my voice.
'Hello, husband. Would you please ring Lestrade and tell him to bring his photographs along? I'll wait for him, then get a taxi back to Mycroft's when they're through with me.'
'You got it?'
'As you say, I got it.'
'It was hard?'
'In my humble opinion, psychiatrists are not paid enough. I'll be back as soon as I can.'
But Holmes arrived even before Lestrade, and we left them to it, and I stumbled off to Mycroft's guest-room bed without even waiting to see which of Lestrade's sheaf of portraits Sarah Chessman picked out.
TWENTY-TWO
It was light in the room, despite the curtains, when a small noise woke me. After a moment, I spoke into my pillow.
'It occurs to me that I am condemned rarely to awaken normally under this roof. I am usually disturbed by loud and urgent voices from the sitting room, occasionally by a particularly horrendous alarm clock at some ungodly hour, and once by a gunshot. However,' I added, and turned over, 'of all the unnatural noises which serve to pull me from slumber, the rattle of a cup and saucer is the least unwelcome.' I paused. 'On the other hand, my nose tells me to beware a detective bearing coffee, rather than the more congenial beverage of tea. May I take this as a wordless message that my presence is required, in a wide-awake state?' I reached for the cup.
'You may. Lestrade is sending a car for us. He has made an arrest. Two arrests.'
'The Rogers grandsons?'
'One Rogers grandson, and one friend of a Rogers grandson. A friend who has been known to carry a long and unfriendly knife, whose taste in clothing is towards the extreme, and who has in the past had contact with the long arm of the law over such varied disagreements as stolen property, driving a car in which a pair of unsuccessful bank robbers attempted to make their escape, and an argument over a lady in which blood was shed, but no life lost, at the end of the aforementioned knife.'
'And Erica Rogers?'
