Does Your Mother Know? (26 page)

I was afraid she’d come out of the trance but she didn’t, although her body actually shuddered as she relived the impact of the car rolling. She didn’t speak for several moments. Duncan was on his feet now, anxious, ready to intervene.

“Joan, you are still an observer. You are watching but not involved. Go on. Just say what you see. What is happening now?”

“I can see Sarah. She’s lying on top of the rocks. Her dress is up. I’ve got to get out and pull her dress down. Her head looks funny. It’s touching her shoulder... ” she moved her head restlessly against the cushion. “I’ve got to get help... ”

I could see the trance state was lightening. I leaned forward to wipe away the leaking tears.

“She’s had enough,” Duncan whispered in my ear. I actually agreed, but I waved him back.

She was whispering painfully. “There’s somebody else here. I can’t make them understand... go to Sarah.”

She tossed her head. I didn’t want her to be jolted out of the trance again.

“Joan, I’m going to bring you out of the trance now. I will count to the number twenty-one and, as I do, you will feel lighter and lighter, and by the time I reach twenty-one you will be back completely in your everyday waking state and you will be able to remember everything you have said. You will remember everything.”

I did my count and, at twenty-one, she opened her eyes and burst into heart-rending sobs.

Duncan rushed over. “It’s all right, Shona. Hush, you’re quite safe, hush.”

He pressed her against his shoulder and rocked her. I wondered how much longer she could go through such emotional turmoil. Finally she calmed down, although a fearful tremor shook her body at regular intervals. Then she moved back from him, mopped her face, and looked at me.

“It worked. My memory’s quite clear. I remember it all. I wasn’t driving.”

I kept the tape recorder running.

“Sarah took my keys and got into the car. I hardly had time to get into the passenger side and off she went. It was almost dark, and it was pouring with rain. She was going much too fast, but she wouldn’t listen. We hadn’t gone far, just to the bend near Dail Beag, when suddenly there was a car heading straight at us.” Joan swallowed hard. “Sarah swerved, otherwise we’d have had a head-on collision, but we must have rolled, because the next thing I know is I’m lying on my side in the car. I must have blacked out then.”

“You said there was somebody talking to you?”

“Yes, I’m positive there was.”

“A man or a woman?”

“I can’t tell. I have a vague memory that they were wearing a yellow mackintosh. I wanted them to look after Sarah. She was lying on the rocks.”

She seized Duncan’s hand and held tightly.

“Any sense of the time between the moment of losing consciousness and this person appearing?”

“Not really. I was cold, so it seemed a long time later, but I can’t say for sure. I saw them walking over to Sarah, then I must have blacked out again, because when I came to, there wasn’t anybody there and I was still half upside down. I released the seatbelt and I crawled out... ”

“Why wouldn’t the other bloody driver stop?” asked Duncan. “They must have bloody well known what had happened?”

“Maybe it was that driver I saw.”

“If it was, they should be thrown in jail. They were the ones leaving the scene of an accident, not you.”

There were more solicitous pats on both sides.

“Do you remember walking away from the car after you released the seatbelt?” I asked.

Joan averted her eyes. “That part is completely blank. But obviously I must have found my way here, and Duncan took care of me.”

“What time did my mother show up on your doorstep?”

He shrugged. “Early. I don’t recall exactly.”

“Ballpark?”

“What?”

“She means approximately,” said Joan helpfully. “It was starting to get light.”

“About four-thirty then?”

“Yes, I suppose so. I didn’t keep a record of it.”

The crash site was only about ten minutes away by car. Joan anticipated me.

“I must have gone unconscious again.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t die from hypothermia.”

Duncan smiled at her. “You’re a tough piece of mutton, aren’t you?” He kissed her on the cheek.

I interrupted this sweet moment. “You must have been surprised to see her on your doorstep after so many years.”

My voice couldn’t have been more neutral, but he flushed. “She wrote to me that she was coming.”

“I didn’t want to give him too much of a shock,” added Joan, all chirrupy.

Duncan looked over at me. “According to all this, Shona can’t be held accountable in the least. First, she wasn’t driving the bloody car and second, some criminal forced them off the road.”

I nodded. I wasn’t going to add that we hadn’t really proved anything. Joan certainly seemed to be telling the truth, but as our instructor had warned us over and over, under hypnosis sometimes people “revealed” what they wanted to be true or had talked themselves into believing to be true. As I said, the session would never be considered admissible evidence.

Another shudder ran through her body. “At least I know I wasn’t responsible for Sarah’s death.” A defiant glance at me. “And I know I wasn’t drinking.”

I leaned over and switched off the tape recorder.

Duncan stood up. “Maybe
you
weren’t, but
I’m
about to. Christine, will you join me in a tot of
uisbeag
? I need it.”

“No thanks. I’d better phone the police station.”

“Are you going to talk to Gillies?” Duncan asked.

“Yes. He knows about the case.”

“I’m a case, am I?” said Joan in a little flare-up of anger. “Strictly speaking, yes. You are.”

“Will I be put in jail?”

“That is highly unlikely. Sergeant Gillies will probably turn the case over to the Crown attorney or whatever the equivalent is here in the Hebrides. He’ll be the one to decide what action to take.”

“He’s called the procurator fiscal,” said Duncan.

I stood up. “If I can use your phone then, I’ll call Gill right now. I have his number.”

“It’s over there.” He indicated a black phone set on a side table, and they both watched me as I went over to place the call.

I wondered if Gill would be of the same opinion I was. Joan’s story had as many holes in it as a piece of Swiss cheese, and was just as stinky.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

It’s not easy to have an argument with somebody who is pressed hip and thigh against you, especially when one of you is wearing a hat with a brim, but Joan and I were giving it a good try.

I’d phoned Gill to tell him what had happened and that we’d found her. He asked us to come in, which we were now doing, the three of us in the tiny front cab of Duncan’s truck. I suppose I could have crouched in the open rear like one of the dogs, but I didn’t think I could maintain that kind of balance. Besides, I had my church clothes on. So, front seat it was. I knew my mother was anxious about talking to Gill, but I would have felt like a hypocrite if I attempted to reassure her the way I did with other witnesses — “Just tell the truth in your own words about what happened.” I had serious doubts that she was telling the truth. Correction: I thought the car accident had probably happened the way she said, but she was leaving out lots of other information, which is a kind of lie. I thought I’d try a little delicate probing. Sort of skilful investigative dentistry, looking for the soft spot, the nerve.

“Did Sarah take her briefcase with her when you went to see Tormod?”

She turned her head sharply, staring into my face. “Why do you ask?”

“There’s been no sign of it. The receptionist says Sarah always had it with her when she went out on a business appointment.”

Joan digested that for a moment. “Wasn’t it in the car?”

“Not according to the police. They found just your purse and overnight bag.”

She shrugged as best she could in the confined quarters. “I suppose she didn’t have it with her then.”

“Why was she so angry with Tormod?”

Joan managed a shrug. “I don’t really know. She’d been drinking. It had something to do with business.”

I allowed a little silence to develop and watched the road. The atmosphere inside the cramped space had grown decidedly icy as well.

“I don’t understand why you’re acting as if I’m one of your petty criminals,” said Joan. So much for my skilful questioning.

“That’s not what I’m doing. I was curious, that’s all.”

Oh boy. Who’s exempt from the occasional fib?

“You always were,” sniffed Joan.

More silence. Duncan was concentrating on driving, absenting himself from the discussion, although I expected him to jump to my mother’s defence at any moment.

I tried to warm things up a little. “So, do I get to meet some long-lost relatives?”

If my question about the briefcase had annoyed her, this question compounded my transgression tenfold.

“Christine, I left this island when I was eighteen years old. My family disowned me. I have absolutely no intention of getting in touch with them in these circumstances. Why should I? They’ll only gloat. There she is. The fuck-up, Shona. Hasn’t changed a bit has she?”

Even through the thin nylon jacket she was wearing, I could feel heat flood her body. Maybe I simply absorbed her anger, I don’t know. I was getting ticked off myself. Wow, that tenderness had vanished fast.

“Do you have any objection if I look them up for myself? After all, I gather I have three live uncles, not to mention several cousins. I’d like to meet them.”

She couldn’t comfortably turn her head to look at me, so she stared ahead, her jaw and mouth stiff with rage.

“Yes, I do object. Do you have absolutely no loyalty? How would you explain why you’re here?” She did manage to shoot a glance at me. Her eyes were dark. “You, who profess to put such a premium on the truth.”

Duncan intervened. “Look you two, this can wait. Christine, your mother has had a really bad time, and I think you should take that into account before you start getting into her life story.”

He reached down and patted her on the knee. He said something to her in Gaelic and smiled into her eyes. Very sweet. I was about ready to tell him to stop the truck and let me out, but Joan took me by surprise. She patted
my
knee, and her voice was soft. And sincere.

“I’m sorry. I know how much you’ve always wanted to have a real family. Let me get my bearings and then we can talk about it some more. All right?”

It wasn’t, but I nodded.

“Why don’t we have a bit of music,” said Duncan, and he snapped on the radio. The reception was poor and a scratchy sound emanated, which coalesced into some kind of pipe music, with a female voice singing plaintively over the top of the music.

“That’s Jenna MacCleod from Inverness. She’s considered my biggest competition.”

It took me a moment to realize that he was referring to the singing contest, but it was a relief to change the subject.

Joan and I did not address each other directly the remainder of the drive. On one track of music, Duncan actually joined in and I had to admit, he had a good voice, excellent pitch and resonance. By the time he turned onto Church Street, the inside of the cab had thawed out sufficiently that we could scrape the frost off the windows.

Gillies was waiting for us in the outer lobby of the police station. “
Feasgar mhah,
Duncan. Afternoon, Christine, Mrs. Morris. I’m so glad you have come in.”

He punched in the door code, whisked us through the glass doors, and led us down to the incident room we’d used before. A burly young constable watched us from the reception area, and I suddenly felt more keenly why Joan was so sensitive. His avid curiosity was like hot sunlight on scar tissue.

In the office, Gillies busied himself with chairs. “Mrs. Morris, why don’t you sit here,” he said, offering her a chair at the head of the table. Duncan took the seat to the right, leaving me the one at the opposite end.

“Would you like a cuppa?” Gill asked Joan.

“Yes, please,” she answered in a small-girl sort of voice. I saw how frightened she was, and I remembered she was no stranger to the inside of police stations. She’d been charged more than once in the early years with being drunk and disorderly.

“I’ll be right back,” said Gillies.

Duncan, ever solicitous, had placed his hand over Joan’s. After one quick glance around the room, she started to trace invisible figures of eight on the table. I too, glanced around. There was some writing on the chalkboard.

DEMO CONTROL. Constables MacIver and MacRae.

Gillies entered. “One of the women will bring us a pot. Now, why don’t we just get right into the tape recording, because as I understand it, you’ve been able to recall what happened on the night of the accident.”

On the telephone, I’d told him about the hypnosis session.

“It was quite remarkable really,” said Joan. “I remembered vividly. Sarah was driving, and we were run off the road.”

At that moment, there was a light tap on the door and a young woman came into the room carrying a large tray laden with tea paraphernalia. She put everything down on the side table. I did wonder if she got the fetch-and-carry jobs because she was low in rank or because she was female. I rather suspected in this station that it was the latter.

“This is Brenda Cullen,” said Gillies. “She’s our stenographer, and she’s going to take down notes for me.”

Ah, ah. The secretary still had the tea/coffee-making task.
Brenda smiled at us and went to the other side of the room and took a seat. She had a hardcover notebook with her, the kind that shorthand typists used to use, but I thought were now obsolete. Obviously not. Brenda took up her pencil and waited.

There was another delay while Gill got orders, poured tea, and offered round the plate of biscuits, which in the Hebrides seemed to accompany teapots like a horse accompanied a carriage. Joan was starting to look more comfortable. Gill was good at his job. Tea mostly consumed, Gill stood up.

“All right then, before you say any more, Mrs. Morris, let’s play the tape, shall we?”