"Jesus." The idea was unnerving, muggers armed with aerosols instead of knives, and you knew nothing about it until hours later when you returned to reality in a daze. He didn't like that at all—maybe it had happened to him already, how could he tell? — but then drugs always left him cold. "Could Beswick have taken scopolamine to forget the murder?"
"Oh, no. It doesn't work that way. Besides, I'm sure the police would have found traces of it in his blood."
"Yeah." But would they have checked for it? "I'll ask." He loaded a note in his cybofax. "Is there any other method you can think of?"
MacLennan gazed inwardly for a moment. "As I told you, memory is perhaps the least explored facet of the human brain. However, there are two types of natural amnesia which I would offer as applicable in this case."
"Two?"
"Indeed. A condition called transient global amnesia allows its victims to perform their usual jobs and maintain their standard behaviour pattern. But at the end of the day they cannot remember any event which occurred. An example: you could hold a long and intricate conversation with them, to which they would respond entirely within character; yet if you asked them about it the next day they would have no recollection of ever having talked to you."
"Is there any way of telling if someone suffers from it?"
"The person concerned will often realize for themselves, especially if the condition is acute. It's not very common, but a doctor would certainly be able to recognize the symptoms from what the patient was describing."
"Right, thank you." Greg made another series of notes on his cybofax. "What is the second condition?"
"Trauma erasure, which is even rarer; but there have been recorded and verified instances where it has occurred."
"Such as?"
"A certain type of event, often violent or terrifying. Something literally so horrible that the mind simply rejects it. A particularly bloody road accident, for instance. People have witnessed them, and then failed even to remember they were present when questioned afterwards. Police often have to deal with mugging victims who cannot remember what their attacker looked like even though they were in close proximity for several minutes. But it would have to be an extraordinarily potent event to trigger such a radical neural mechanism?
"An event like a grisly murder?"
"Yes, indeed. If Beswick acted in a fit of rage, he may not have been able to accept what he had done once that rage wore off. Under those circumstances trauma erasure may have been enacted. I offer no guarantees, of course, I am merely generalizing."
"I understand. If Beswick is suffering from one of these types of amnesia, would a psychiatrist be able to coax the memory out?"
"I don't know. It depends how deeply it is buried. You say it is beyond even subconscious recall?"
"Yes."
"Hypnosis may give us access. But from what you've said I wouldn't hold out much hope. In any case, it would definitely be a long-term project. There would be a lot of counselling required first, he would have to want to recover the memories."
"I see. Well, thank you for your time."
"Not at all."
"We're not exactly helping our cause, are we?" Eleanor said after MacLennan's mechanical smile vanished from the flatscreen.
"Not a lot, no. But at least we know it is theoretically possible for Beswick to forget he murdered Kitchener. It explains why my interview with him was such a dud."
"It might help rebuild your confidence in your psi ability, but it's also a terrific bonus for the prosecution," she said indignantly.
"Hey, you were the one that told his parents we'd continue the investigation."
"Yes, I know." She folded her arms like a rebuked child, giving the carpet a moody stare.
He squirted another number at the flatscreen. Amanda Paterson answered, and once more the Home Office authorization was deployed like a blunt weapon.
"I know what I'd tell you to do with it," Eleanor murmured airily, her gaze switching to the ceiling.
The flatscreen showed a slightly out of focus view of the Oakham CID office, a couple of detectives working at their desks, the situation screen on the back wall still displaying a map of the town and surrounding countryside. Vernon Langely's face slid across the picture as he sat down facing the camera. "I was interviewing Nicholas Beswick," the detective admonished.
"How's it going?" Greg asked.
"Would you believe the little cretin still says he didn't do it? We've even shown him the report on the knife, confirming the fingerprints on the handle are his. He claims he was framed. Christ, and they all said he was the smartest of the bunch. Makes me wonder what the thick one must be like."
"Yeah, it's a real poser, isn't it?" Greg had felt like this once before, demob happy. When it didn't matter what he said to the brass, they couldn't do a thing about it. This time it was the sheer audacity of going up against ridiculous odds, confounding authority, which was producing an anarchistic glee.
"What did you want?" Vernon asked suspiciously.
"Several things. Firstly, I'm chasing you up over the search program. You haven't squirted over the results yet."
"What search program?"
"For previous incidents at Launde Abbey."
"But the investigation is over."
Eleanor's hands traced an imaginary bulge over her belly, she grinned broadly.
"It ain't over till the fat lady sings," Greg said cheerfully.
"Hell, Greg, we're busy."
"Did you run the search program?"
"I think so. Hang on." Vernon started typing on a terminal keyboard, his face resentful.
Like old times, Greg thought.
"We ran it; there is no record of any previous police call-out to Launde Abbey. Satisfied?"
Greg closed his eyes, considering options. "How far back do those records go?"
"Four years. The station 'ware was infected with a virus when the PSP fell, the memories were wiped. A lot of stations had the same problem, they were all plugged into the Ministry of Public Order mainframe when the circuit hotrods crashed it. The fallout was pretty severe, they did a lot of damage. And of course the People's Constables weren't exactly sticklers for procedure. There was very little in the way of back-up memories. One of the reasons the New Conservatives formed the Inquisitors is because so many records from that time were lost."
"And you were transferred to Oakham after the PSP fell, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"OK, I want you to go around everyone who was stationed at Oakham during the PSP decade, and ask them if they remember anything about Launde Abbey."
"I see," Vernon said in a voice which was excessively polite.
"Good. I shall be coming into town to interview Beswick again this afternoon. You can tell me what you found then." He referred to his cybofax. "There is also Beswick's blood sample."
"What about it?"
"All my file says is that it doesn't contain any syntho. There are no tabulated results."
"So?"
"Did you run any other drug tests?"