Claire heard him out in a tight-lipped silence, her measured stare never deviating from his face.
"I don't mean to be rude, Inspector, but I've already said all I have to say on that subject. Since offering up my testimony almost a year ago now, I've been working very hard trying to put the whole affair out of my mind and start my life over again. I can't even get it out of my dreams! I hope you'll understand me when I say I see nothing to be gained from raking over old ground."
"Normally, I would be inclined to agree with you," McLeod said with gruff frankness, exchanging a glance with Adam. "That's why, in this particular instance, I've enlisted the assistance of Dr. Sinclair. Besides being a highly qualified psychiatric physician, Dr. Sinclair has had considerable training and experience as a hypnotherapist. He's helped us out in numerous cases. We were hoping you might agree to let him use hypnosis to help you remember more about the accident."
"Hypnosis?" She repeated the word in a tone of incredulity.
"You needn't feel threatened, Mrs. Crawford," Adam said. "If you know anything at all about it, you'll know that it can be an effective tool for assisting the subject to remem- her things he or she may have otherwise forgotten or overlooked."
Even as he spoke, he could sense Claire's growing resistance and see fire beginning to smolder behind her eyes. Gripping the arms of her wheelchair with taut fingers, she countered his gaze with a withering look before turning the full force of her anger on McLeod.
"Is this what passes for police work these days?" she demanded harshly. "No wonder you people haven't caught the man who murdered my husband and child! Haven't I had to put up with enough official incompetence already, without being asked to submit to this charade? If you want to play cheap stage tricks, go and do it somewhere other than here!"
The suppressed violence in her tone was nothing compared to the accompanying blast of psychic reverberations as she spun her chair away from them. Moved to wonder at the raw force of Claire Crawford's emotions, Adam mentally braced himself to withstand the rising storm, exchanging another glance with McLeod.
"I can't blame you for being skeptical, Mrs. Crawford," he said quietly. "No doubt you know your own mind. If you're so opposed to the idea, it's doubtful we would have much success anyway. Before we take our leave, however, I wonder if I might ask you to at least take a look at a few photographs - so our trip won't have been a complete waste of time."
Claire turned her head to eye him with suspicion. When he did not flinch from her gaze, she said grudgingly, "All right. Provided that afterwards you'll agree to go away and leave me in peace."
Breathing a tiny mental sigh of relief - for the concession was a foot in the door - Adam said, "Thank you. The photos are in my briefcase. Inspector, if you'd be so good as to give me a hand?"
As McLeod wordlessly complied, supporting the case from beneath, Adam tripped the catches and retrieved Lennox's brown envelope. Abstracting three of the most recent photographs, he passed them over to Claire.
"Here you are," he said casually. "I'd be obliged if you'd tell me what you think. These were taken at the scene of yesterday's accident. I'm sure you must have heard about it."
Two of the photos were overall shots of the smashed Austin Rover, the third a detailed enlargement. Claire gave the pictures an initial cursory glance, then stiffened in her chair and subjected them to a closer look. The color drained from her face.
"What kind of stupid hoax is this?" she whispered.
Adam had been watching her intently. Warning McLeod to silence with a quick glance, he said to Claire, "It's no hoax, I assure you. Does the name Tom Lennox mean anything to you?"
"No." Claire gave her head an emphatic shake. "I've never heard of him before. Who is he?"
"A professional photojournalist who works for the Edinburgh Evening News," Adam said. "He doesn't know you either. But for the past six months, he's been doing the photo coverage for all the accidents along Carnage Corridor. And ever since the beginning, your image has been turning up in his photographs."
So saying, he handed over the rest of Lennox's pictures. Claire leafed through them, her fingers none too steady, only staring at the last photo for a long moment before absently squaring up the stack.
"I don't understand," she murmured, not looking at him. "I was nowhere near the scene of any of these accidents. This can't possibly be me. How could it be?"
She was visibly shaken. Adam decided to take the plunge. "I have a theory about that," he told her. "But I'll warn you right now it's going to sound a bit unorthodox."
"Tell me anyway."
"All right. First answer me this, though: Would you consider yourself a religious person?''
Claire's jaw tightened. "There was a time when I would have said I was. Now…" She broke off with an embittered shrug.
"Let me rephrase the question, then. Do you believe that you possess an immortal soul?"
Swallowing audibly, Claire bowed her head and looked away. "I don't dare believe otherwise," she said with bleak candor. "If I thought this were all the life I was ever going to have - " She shook her head bitterly. "What has any of this to do with your theory?"
"Perhaps everything," Adam replied, dropping to a crouch to put himself more on her level, aware that he was embarking on precarious ground. "Allow me to lapse into my lecturer's mode for a moment. If we grant that a soul exists at all, then it is not stretching credulity too far to suggest that it exists as a subtle emanation of energy. Researchers into the paranormal have demonstrated time and again that photo and X-ray films both are sensitive to such emanations. Given the present circumstances, I'm tempted to suggest that what Mr. Lennox has inadvertently captured on film are images of what students of modern occultism would call projections of your astral self. Or, if you prefer, your wandering soul."
When Claire offered no comment, only looking off into the fishpond, he forged ahead.
"It's a documented fact that many people have experienced the sensation of their souls parting company temporarily with their bodies. By virtue of special training, the ascetics and holy men of the Far East profess themselves able to control the comings and goings of this spiritual aspect of themselves.
"Here in the West, where such experiences are not governed by any formalized religious tradition, such periods of astral separation tend to occur spontaneously and unconsciously, usually in response to acute physical pain or intense emotional stress. I expect you may have heard of out-of-body experiences in connection with near-death episodes. The individual doesn't necessarily have to believe in the possibility of astral travel in order to experience it, if the triggering circumstances are sufficiently extreme."
Claire's gaze hardened incredulously. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Astral travelling?"
Adam raised an elegant eyebrow. "I'm suggesting that it could account for your likeness in these photographs."
"But - this is crazy!" Claire protested. "Even if you were right - which I don't believe for a minute! - what possible reason could I have for wanting to visit the scenes of these accidents? Believe me, that's the last place I want to be!"
"That's precisely what I've been wondering myself," Adam said. "It may be worth noting that all of these accidents have occurred in almost the exact same place as your own. Perhaps your astral self is being drawn to the scene of these later accidents because you need to search out and retrieve some forgotten piece of evidence that would help the police track down the driver of the car that hit you."