Hemlock Bay

slowly, his head cocked to the side, “You remembered, Lily?”
    “Yes, I remembered.”
    “Ah, then you mean that you changed your mind? But it was too late because then the brakes failed?”
    “That’s it exactly. I realized that I didn’t want to kill myself, but then it didn’t matter, since someone had evidently disabled the brakes.”
    “Someone? Come on, Lily, that’s absurd.”
    Savich said easily, “Unfortunately, the Explorer was compacted the very next day after the accident, so we can’t check it out to see if it is or isn’t absurd.”
    “Perhaps, Lily,” Tennyson said very gently, “just perhaps you’re wanting to remember something different, something that could alleviate the pain of the past seven months.”
    “I don’t think so, Tennyson. You see, I remembered while I was under hypnosis. And then when I came out of it, I remembered the rest of it, all by myself. All of it.”
    A thick eyebrow went straight up. Savich had never before seen an eyebrow do a vertical lift like that. Tennyson turned to Savich and spoke, his voice low and controlled, but it was obvious to everyone that he was very angry. “You’re telling me you took Lily to see a hypnotist? One of those charlatans who plant garbage in their patients’ minds?”
    “Oh, no,” Sherlock said, taking Lily’s clenched fist beneath the table. “This doctor didn’t plant anything, Tennyson. She simply helped Lily to remember what happened that evening. Both Dillon and I were there the whole time, and he and I are very familiar with hypnotists as part of our work. It was all on the up-and-up. Now, don’t you think it’s strange that the brakes didn’t work? Don’t you think it’s at least possible that someone disabled them from what Lily said?”
    “No, what I think is that Lily disremembers. I’m not sure if she’s doing it on purpose or if she’s simply confused and wants desperately for it to be this way. Don’t you see? She made up the brakes failing so she wouldn’t have to face up to what she did. I don’t think the brakes failed. I certainly don’t think anyone cut the lines. That’s beyond what is reasonable, and her saying that, claiming that that’s what happened, well, it really worries me. I don’t want Lily to even consider such a thing; it could make her lose ground again.
    “Listen, I’m a psychiatrist—a real one—one who doesn’t use hocus-pocus on people to achieve some sort of preordained result. I am not pleased about this, Savich. I am Lily’s husband. I am responsible for her.”
    Sherlock pointed her fork at him and said, her voice colder than a psychopath’s heart, “You haven’t been doing such a good job of it, have you?”

7
    Tennyson looked as if he wanted to throw his plate at Sherlock’s head. His breathing was hard and fast.
    Sherlock continued after a moment of chewing thoughtfully on a green bean. “I’ve also wondered at the timing. You remember, don’t you, Tennyson? You called to ask Lily to deliver those medical slides to Ferndale, knowing it would be dusk to dark when she was on 211. Then the brakes failed. That sounds remarkably fortuitous, doesn’t it?”
    “Damn you, you both went behind my back, did something you knew I wouldn’t approve of! Lily is fine now. She no longer needs you here. I repeat, I am her husband. I will take care of her. As for your ridiculous veiled accusations, I won’t lower myself to answer them.”
    “I think you should consider lowering yourself,” Sherlock said, and in that moment, Tennyson looked fit to kill.
    Savich waited a moment for him to regain some calm, then said, “All right, no lowering right now. Let’s just move along. Let’s suppose, Tennyson, that Lily does remember everything exactly as it happened. That raises a couple of good questions. Why did the brakes fail? Perhaps it was simply a mechanical problem? But then the emergency brake failed, too. It’s rather a difficult stretch to make if there’s also a second mechanical problem, don’t you think? And that means that someone had to have disabled the systems. Who, Tennyson? Who would want Lily dead? Realize, too, that if she had died, why then, everyone would have declared it a clear case of suicide. Who would want that, Tennyson?”
    Tennyson rose slowly to his feet. Sherlock could see the pulse pounding in his neck. He was furious, and he was also something more. Frightened? Desperate? She just couldn’t tell, which disappointed her. He was