Free Red Ribbons by Louise Phillips Page B

information. Garda cars were parked up on a ditch at the side of the road, yellow tape running for as far as he could see. He sawmen dressed in white boiler suits, their faces looking downwards, wooden sticks in each of their right hands, breath billowing from their uncovered faces.
    He had left her near perfect. He had wanted everything to be as it should be, not just for him, but for her too. Whilst staring at the television screen, he felt the intrusion of those unknown men, messing things up, a sense of violation rushing through him.
    He replayed the broadcast, looking at the police in their white boiler suits, mucky tyre marks on the road with the onslaught of their cars, the black of the tall spruce trees shadowing the foreground, turning everything in their path to miniature. He paced around the room, with a multitude of thoughts flooding him all at once. There was no time for regret; he had to think, and think clearly. The finding of the girl’s body brought new difficulties, loose ends that would have to be dealt with. They had forced his hand, and he now needed to be one step ahead of them. The distance would not prove a problem. He still had another couple of hours before dark.

Ellie
    IT IS LATE IN THE AFTERNOON BY THE TIME I MEET Dr Ebbs. I’ve had a bad feeling about today since I woke. I sense change and change isn’t a good thing, it’s unpredictable.
    When I arrive, he has my case notes closed. On top of them is his jotter from yesterday, but that, too, is closed. I assume talking will be the order of the day, but it surprises me that he doesn’t want to write anything down.
    ‘Hello, Ellie.’
    ‘Hello.’
    I sit down, join my hands and I wait. He smiles and draws in a deep breath to initiate conversation.
    ‘How are you today?’
    ‘Fine.’
    He smiles again.
    ‘You look tired.’
    I don’t answer him.
    ‘Ellie, I have been going over some of the background history here in the file.’ He makes a hand gesture towards the closed case notes.
    My blank stare does not unsettle him.
    ‘You were committed to St Michael’s in 1995.’
    He coughs.
    ‘At that point you had been married to Joe for, what, almost ten years?’
    ‘Sounds right.’
    ‘How would you describe your relationship? After all, ten years is a long time.’
    ‘I’m here longer. That time has flown.’
    He ignores my sarcasm. ‘It says here that it was Joe who signed the committal papers.’
    ‘That’s correct.’
    ‘And how did that make you feel?’
    ‘I felt nothing, he did the right thing.’
    ‘No anger towards him, disappointment even?’
    ‘No, all the anger and disappointment was for him alone. I understood that.’
    ‘Ellie, if I am being completely honest with you, my main concern here is that you have made very little real progress since you arrived here. Do you feel we might have let you down?’
    ‘Perhaps I don’t want to make progress.’
    He leans back in the chair like he did the day before. It is one of those reclining types. My chair does not recline, it suits me fine and reflects how I feel, rigid.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Because.’
    ‘Because what?’
    ‘Because I don’t, didn’t—’
    ‘Didn’t?’
    ‘Don’t.’
    ‘I want you to be truthful.’
    ‘What is the truth, Dr Ebbs? Sometimes we think we know the truth, but we don’t. One man’s truth is another man’s lie. I’m sure you’ve heard that one before.’
    ‘Well, yes, the truth is subjective but, for now, what I want to know is your truth.’
    ‘Ah, my truth, now that is a little bit tricky.’
    ‘Why’s that?’
    ‘Because, Doctor, I haven’t worked that particular part out yet.’
    ‘Well, let me ask you something else then.’ He can tell I’m irritated. He’s playing his cards carefully. ‘How have you found your time here at St Michael’s?’
    In truth, his question isn’t any different from any other question I have been asked in the past. So I’m surprised at my outburst.
    ‘Well, let me see. Initially, when I