Mind Blind (8 page)

She asked the interviewees to introduce themselves, for levels on the digital recorder.

“I’m Reginald Shaw, Ivy Shaw’s son.”

“I’m Reginald’s older son, James Shaw.”

“I’m Reginald’s younger son, Vincent Shaw.”

“I’m James’s younger daughter, Lucy Kingston Shaw. My older sister Vivien isn’t here, she’s got a debating competition at school. Anyway, she doesn’t think we should talk to you, not now Nana’s dead. Did your recorder pick all that up?”

I sat back hard when I heard Vivien’s sister. There was nothing wrong with Lucy Shaw’s voice. She had a perfectly nice middle-class BBC English voice. But she sounded like a happy and alive version of Vivien. Exactly like and completely different from the terrified girl in the van.

I shivered and clicked on Mum’s transcript instead. The first part of the interview covered the same ground as the local article: Ivy came from Jamaica to study, then she did vital war work, she became a teacher, had a family, and now her family think her work should be recognised, blah blah blah…

There were also notes under each answer from Uncle Hugh, who posed as a photographer so he could act as a truth-tester. Voice readers aren’t great at reading specific thoughts, but are really strong on telling whether someone is lying.

Then I got to a highlighted section. Here Mum had asked if they knew the real names of any of the subjects.

Each of them in turn said, no, their nana never let anyone see the last few pages of her notes, the appendix with the full names.

My mum pressed them harder:

Q:
Why did she forbid you to read the last pages?

Reginald Shaw:
My mother was determined that the names were to be kept confidential. These are real people and no one has the right to invade their privacy.

[truth]

Q:
But surely they’re all dead now?

Lucy:
We can’t assume that. Nana only died this summer and some of the subjects were younger than her.

[truth]

Q:
Even if you plan to keep it confidential, as your great-grandmother wished, will you read the whole report sometime in the future?

Lucy:
We can’t. We burnt her notes.

[truth]

Q:
That’s very dramatic! Why?

Reginald:
She didn’t want anyone following it up. Some of the subjects were humiliated by what she had done. Maybe they really believed in their spirits and their powers. And some of them were charged with fraud. She didn’t want it dragged up again. My mother was angry about the
Chronicle
article and made us promise to burn the notes without reading them. So we promised and we burnt them.

[truth]

Q:
So none of you ever read the end of the report? Might anyone else have a copy of it? Who else worked on this project?

Reginald:
Her assistant, Adam Lawrie, didn’t have access to all the information. She never trusted him with her notes, she preferred to be her own secretary, to keep her own secrets.

[truth]

Q:
And what about the rest of the family? Your wife, Mr Shaw, or your other daughter, did they read the notes?

James Shaw:
No, my wife isn’t that interested, and I’m sure Vivien didn’t read the full report either.

[truth, but also hesitation and protective, defensive feelings]

Q:
Are you sure? I’d love to speak to her, if she did.

Lucy:
No, she didn’t. Viv was really keen on keeping the notes,
though, because she thought they represented the truth of science. She didn’t want to burn them. She had a couple of arguments with Nana, that last week, about not wanting the notes lost forever. But Nana was so determined that Viv promised in the end. She definitely told me that she was annoyed she’d never had a chance to read the whole report, though.

[sincere, but hearsay]

Q:
When and where did you burn the report?

Reginald:
My mother had a heart attack the week after the
Chronicle
article, then passed away quietly a few days later. We put the pages in the coffin and cremated them with her. It seemed fitting.

[regret, sadness, truth]

Q:
So all the pages of the report were burnt with her? How did you feel about that?

Here Mum must have held the microphone up to everyone individually, so Hugh could test the truth of their response.

Reginald:
It was what Mum wanted.

[truth]

James:
I was happy to see the back of it.

[truth]

Vince:
Me too.

[truth]

Lucy:
It was my nana’s funeral. I couldn’t care less about some old bits of paper.

[truth]

Q:
Returning to her fascinating research, I wondered about Lomond, the man Dr Shaw thought was hiding a skill that really existed rather than pretending a skill that didn’t. Have you been tempted to find out more about him?

Lucy:
My nana said that he seemed like a dangerous man. Clever, ruthless and selfish. So I don’t think I’d like to meet him. And if he could read people’s body language or emotions
or whatever, then Nana wondered whether those skills were hereditary, handed down in families, because fairground businesses are usually family businesses. So if they’re anything like him, we probably wouldn’t want to meet his family either.

[truth]

Q:
Do you mean there might be mindreading FAMILIES out there?

Shaw Family:
(General laughter.)

[awkward but genuine]

Vince:
It’s unlikely, isn’t it? But it’s a huge shame that my grandmother never got the opportunity to continue her research.

[truth, resentment]

The interview tailed off there, partly because the Shaws were arguing about whether Ivy Shaw was refused research funding because she was Jamaican, because she was a woman, or because the war was over, and partly because my mum had everything she needed.

I read the end of her report:

I felt a wave of relief. If they’d planned to kill Vivien anyway, her death wasn’t my fault after all. Except, probably, she didn’t have the name in her head. Probably my family had been about to let her go, until they realised she had my face in her head. Probably it was still my fault.

If I checked Vivien’s Q&A, perhaps I could find out for sure.

Malcolm was asking the questions this time, while Mum worked on her new way of laying out Q&As. Underneath the verbal answer, readers add the emotions, thoughts, memories and pictures they picked up, so Mum can see all the connections.

Q:
Don’t panic, Vivien. We just need to ask you some questions. If you’re completely honest with us, we won’t hurt you.

[Target emotions: terror, confusion.]

Q:
We’re working for the government, just like your great-grandmother did.

[Relief at the word government, sharper fear at mention of great-grandmother.]

Q:
All we need to know is what you did with the notes your great-grandmother made when she was working for us in the war.

Vivien:
We burnt them.

[Careful truth.]

Q:
How did you burn them? In a bonfire?

A:
We burnt them with her body. They were cremated.

[Pictures in head – yellow papers on white dress under brown hands. Bright flowers. Coffin on conveyor belt. Urn in box. Truth, truth, truth.]

Q:
Did you read them before you burnt them?

A:
No. I was crying too much.

[Truth. Tears on flower petals. Tears on paper.]

Q:
Did you read them earlier, when your nana was alive?

A:
Yes. Some of them. She was angry we’d told the local newspaper, so she took them back before I read them all. I only read the first 100 pages. There were at least 50 more.

[Truth, fear, anger. Memory of her nana shouting about confidentiality.]

Q:
Why did you burn the papers?

A:
She made me promise.

[Truth.]

Q:
Did you keep your promise?

A:
Yes.

[Truth, but a moment’s hesitation, pictures of coffin and crematorium urn.]

Q:
Did you read all the pages of the research before you burnt them?

A:
No.

[Truth.]

Q:
Did you ever read the last pages?

A:
No.

[Truth.]

Q:
Do you know the names of any of the subjects?

A:
No.

[Truth.]

Q:
Why did your nana want you to burn them?

A:
Because she thought the research subjects had a right to anonymity.

[Truth. Memory of shouted words: “ethics… human rights…”]

Q:
Why did you argue with her?

A:
I said that science should never be totally destroyed, that people’s names could be protected, but the science should be made public.

[Truth. Target calming down. She’s confident she’s right. She’s less afraid.]

Q:
Why didn’t she agree with you?

A:
[Delay in answering.]

[Fear again.]

Q:
Come on Vivien, why didn’t she agree?

A:
She said it was dangerous. She said one of the subjects had threatened her, so she didn’t want these notes made public. She was a frightened old lady and I didn’t want to make her any more scared. So I promised to burn them.

[Truth. Memory of tears and hugs.]

Q:
And were you frightened?

A:
Of course not. Why would I be? This research was seventy years old. The subject who had threatened her must be very old now. Old or dead. I wasn’t scared.

[Lie. Target is terrified. She’s trying to answer carefully but she’s remembering her nana, tears on her face, hands trembling. And her own hands, shaking, opening a box.]

Q:
Who threatened her? Which of the subjects?

A:
I don’t know any of their names.

[Truth. The last pile of pages in her mind. Regret that she never read them.]

Q:
But you know their codenames. Who threatened her?

A:
I don’t know.

[Lie. Absolute lie.]

Q:
That’s a lie, Vivien. Who threatened her?

A:
It’s not a lie.

[Lie.]

Q:
Yes, it is. Which subject threatened her? I know she told you…

(Target shakes her head.)

(Lead questioner orders applied pressure, first level.)

I closed my eyes. ‘Applied pressure’ means pain, designed to force answers from the target’s voice or mind. I didn’t want to read any more. But Vivien had to sit through it, the least I could do was read it.

I opened my eyes again.

[Target: pain, fear, pain, terror.]

Q:
I said we wouldn’t hurt you if you were honest with us. Are you ready to be honest with us?

A:
Yes! Please stop! Please!

[Terror. Pain. Surrender.]

Q:
Who threatened her?

A:
Lomond. Lomond threatened her. He said his family would destroy her family if she ever mentioned his real name or researched this field again. So she didn’t. She resigned, moved away, got married and changed her name. She was so scared she hid. That’s why I promised to burn them, because I didn’t want her to be scared any more.

[Truth. Guilt. Memories of tears on Nana’s face, hanky scrunched in her hands.]

Q:
Thank you for being honest with me Vivien. So now tell me, did you ever read the page with the codenames?

A:
NO. I didn’t. Please believe me.

[Truth.]

A:
I believe you, and because you’re so good at telling me the truth, Vivien, just tell me again, where are the notes?

A:
We burnt them. They’re ash, they’re in the urn. It’s true.

[Truth.]

Q:
All the notes? Every page?

A:
YES!! Please don’t hurt me again. All her notes are in the urn. Everything is in the urn.

[Truth. Not even careful truth. She’s panicking, telling the truth. The urn is heavy in her hands, and the report is in the urn.]

A:
Please believe me. I didn’t read it. It’s all in the urn.

[Truth. Absolute truth.]

Q:
Calm down, Vivien. I do believe you.

A:
Why do you believe me now, when you didn’t believe me before? Are you…? Are you reading my THOUGHTS? Is that why he said…?

[A clear picture in her mind: Ciaran Bain, unmasked, saying, “Don’t even THINK about my face.”]

That was when the Q&A stopped in chaos.

The conclusion, hastily typed later, was that she hadn’t read the full notes, that she didn’t know the name of Billy Reid. But Mum had added a final line:

SERIOUS OMISSION – we never asked about copies!

That’s presumably when they decided to hunt me down to find out what I knew. So the logical file to read next was the Q&A of family liability Ciaran Reid Bain.

It was typed in by my mum, and it was very neat and tidy. You’ve got to admire her commitment to her job. Last night I was shivering on my bed with vomit down my t-shirt and she was typing up an account of my torture. Thanks Mum.

I loosened my grip on the mouse and looked at the first lines.

“Let go, you horrible boy!”

[Screaming, yelling, fear.]

It was Mum’s account of everything they’d sucked out of me about Vivien. I could see the words − phone, sister, mask − but I didn’t think I could live through it all again, so I scrolled down to the end.

I wondered what the others’ proposals would be. Then I memorised a couple of details from the track and trace file, closed the folder and erased the records of my access. Roy’s dad, Dougie, our IT expert, could uncover my trail easily, but only if he knew he should be looking. And probably I would give my family no reason to check up on me.

Probably I’d never think about the Shaw family again.