“In what way?”
She sat opposite to him.
“It gave her the power to take responsibility for herself. When she came to me she was deeply unhappy. Helpless, you might say, in her unhappiness. She came to see that she could take positive steps to bring about change.”
“How did re birthing help her to do that?” His voice was neutral.
“It’s rather difficult to explain to someone who’s never experienced it,” she said. “Perhaps to you it sounds fanciful… The breathing relaxes the body’s natural energies. In Val’s case it gave her a sense of control which she was able to take into her everyday life.”
Did it? Ramsay thought. There was no indication that she’d found the courage to stand up to her husband. But perhaps she had. Perhaps she was planning to leave him. That would provide a motive for murder.
“Could you take us through one of your sessions with McDougal?” Ramsay asked.
“You do realize that usually my work is confidential, Inspector.”
Ramsay sensed that Hunter was about to be rude and anticipated him.
“Of course,” he said. “But in the circumstances… What happened, for example, when she first came to see you? She was referred by your son-in-law?”
“By Daniel. Yes.” Just in those words Ramsay sensed that she disliked Daniel Abbot.
“And that was last summer?”
“August,” she said. “I looked it up when I heard you wanted to see me. But I’m not sure how relevant this is, Inspector. She came to my group but she hasn’t attended any re birthing sessions since Christmas.”
“All the same…” he said.
“Very well,” Magda said. “If you think it will help. She was very nervous when she first came to me. Very tense. That is quite usual. I always spend time talking to my client before we start the breathing. I asked Val what she hoped to get out of the sessions. She was having panic attacks, she said. Very frightening panic attacks. She had gone to her GP but he could only suggest tranquillizers. That too, unfortunately, is quite usual. Most of all she wanted the panic attacks to stop. I suggested that the attacks were merely a symptom of her problems and that we should look more deeply at what she might hope to achieve. We talked about her relationship with her husband and her children. It was clear that she felt uncomfortable in expressing her own needs… There was a lot of frustration and resentment.”
“How long would that part of the session have lasted?”
“Half an hour. Longer perhaps. Val was very reserved at that stage. Not used to talking about her feelings. I had to give her time.”
“And then?”
“Then we’d begin the breathing. That’s what re birthing is, you see a specific breathing technique.”
“And that is?”
“To consciously breathe correctly to have no gap between inhaling and exhaling.”
“That’s it?” Hunter could contain himself no longer. “You charge fifty quid a session to teach them that?”
Magda laughed out loud. She was quite unoffended. “Not quite,” she said. “During the breathing the client becomes aware of tensions. I can encourage the client to feel safe, to continue breathing while they are feeling whatever they are experiencing. This can integrate the feelings and resolve the tensions.”
“What happened during Mrs. McDougal’s sessions?” Ramsay asked.
Magda hesitated.
“In the first session she began to hyperventilate,” she said at last. “That’s not uncommon. Especially with clients who suffer from panic attacks. I helped her breathe through it. I showed her that she could control her own reactions.
That gave her confidence.”
“How long does the breathing last?”
“Usually between one and two hours.”
“Don’t they get bored?” Hunter demanded. “Just lying there for an hour and a half. Breathing?”
She laughed again. “Not at all, Sergeant. Really, a re birthing session can be a most exciting experience. You should try it. I’d even give you a discount.”
Money for old rope, Hunter thought. There should be a law against it.
“What happens then?” Ramsay asked. “After the breathing?”
“Sometimes we talk through the issues that have emerged during the session. In Val’s case that was the relationship with her husband, her inability to assert herself.”
“How many sessions did Val have?”
“Ten. That’s usual. I like to arrange the length of the course before we start. If it’s left open-ended there’s a danger of the client becoming dependent. That’s counter-productive, of course.”
“But you encouraged McDougal to come to your Sunday afternoon group?”
“That’s quite different, Inspector. Much less intense. Besides, Val and I became friends. We were, I suppose, mutually dependent. I’ll miss her.”
“What happened at the group on Sunday?”
Magda shrugged. “For the last few sessions we’ve been looking at a technique called Voice Dialogue which was developed by American therapists. I’d been working individually with group members but on Sunday I put the group into pairs. One member would be the facilitator and the other the client. In Voice Dialogue the facilitator talks to different parts of the personality: the vulnerable child, the teacher, the critic. It’s a way of developing a balanced and healthy ego.”
More money for old rope, Hunter thought again.
“Who was Mrs. McDougal paired with?” Ramsay asked.
“Lily Jackman,” Magda said.
“Who was the facilitator?”
“Both of them. They took it in turns.”
“Did Mrs. McDougal seem especially distressed or upset?”
“She became emotional, but that was to be expected.”
“But you don’t know what emerged from the session?”
“No, Inspector. You’d have to ask Lily.”
There was a brief silence.
“What were you doing on Saturday evening, Mrs. Pocock?”
“I was here,” she said. “In my flat upstairs.” She paused. “Val was here too. I’d invited her for supper.”
“Why?” Ramsay asked sharply. This, at least, was one gap filled. They knew now where Val had disappeared to on Saturday evening.
“Why, Inspector? Because we were friends. I wanted to spend some time with her.”
“Did you meet her regularly?”
“No,” Magda said. “This was the first occasion I’d invited her for a meal.”
“How did she seem?”
“Relaxed,” Magda said. “More relaxed than I’d ever known her.”
“What time did she leave?”
“At about eleven.”
“She wouldn’t have had to drive past Laverock Farm to go home?”
“Not usually. But it was a pleasant evening. It’s possible, I suppose, that she took that road.”
And she might have seen something, Ramsay thought. The time would fit. Perhaps she passed a car she recognized.
“Where were you on Monday evening?” he asked.
“In my flat,” she said. “On my own. Preparing my speech for the Nottingham conference.”
There was a pause. Hunter was beginning to get restless. This talk was getting them nowhere.
“Did you know that Cissie Bowles had left Laverock Farm to you in the event of Ernie not marrying?” he demanded.
“Daniel had mentioned it.”
“And were you aware that Mr. Bowles had taken steps to find a wife? He’d gone as far as consulting a dating agency.”
“No,” she said. “How could I know that? I had no social contact with the man.”
“Rather a coincidence, don’t you think?” Hunter sneered.
“That’s insulting, Sergeant.”
“Have you done a deal with Mr. Richardson at Long Edge Farm to sell him the land?”
“Of course not!” She seemed genuinely shocked. “It’s not even been discussed.”
“You might not have discussed it,” Hunter said. “But someone has. Peter Richardson was full of it last night.”
“No. There must be some mistake. Unless…”
“Unless?” Ramsay prompted gently.