Mr Gupta again turned to Nigel for help. ‘Would you be knowing what this is about?’
‘Mr Storie claims he arrived with someone else but I’ve already told him, I thought he was alone when he booked in. I certainly didn’t see anyone with him and I haven’t seen anyone else with him while I’ve been on duty.’
‘Can I be looking at the register, please?’ Mr Gupta said.
Silently Nigel opened the book to the current page and pointed to the entry for Zachary.
‘Would this be your writing and your signature, Mr Storie?’
‘I’ll admit it looks like mine,’ Zachary said after a brief glance at the entry, ‘but it’s got to be a forgery because I didn’t book in here. That’s what I’m telling you. Someone else brought me here and then forged my signature and I demand to know who it was.’
‘But you signed in yourself, Mr Storie. I saw you,’ Nigel said sounding agitated.
Zachary’s anger and frustration finally overflowed, which was why he spoke without choosing his words more carefully.
‘Don’t tell me what I did or didn’t do. I repeat, I didn’t sign in because this isn’t me.’
As the words tripped so easily from his tongue, Zachary saw Nigel’s jaw drop, as also, out of the corner of his eye he spotted the sudden lift in Mr Gupta’s eyebrows and his change of expression. Zachary realized he was beginning to sound more than a little unhinged. He tried to repair his slip but only succeeded in making his explanation sound weirder.
‘What I mean is, I couldn’t have signed it because I didn’t come here. I booked into a much nicer motel.’
He only stopped when he saw the nervous expression on Mr Gupta’s face turn to one of realization that the man he was dealing with was quite clearly, what psychiatrists technically refer to as ‘a fruit and nut case’, and Zachary could hardly blame the man. Even he realized that what he was saying sounded idiotic. Falling onto the old standby, he began to bluster.
‘Right, I’ve gone as far as I’m prepared to go with you two. I’ve given you the chance to explain your part in my abduction but since you refuse to cooperate, I demand to see the police. Either you call them or I will.’
Mr Gupta and Nigel looked helplessly at one another. Eventually, Mr Gupta’s shoulders sagged. The last thing he wanted was to call in the police. If he were not very careful, before he knew it he’d have the Health and Safety Executive swarming all over his business and he was not sure it would survive too close an inspection.
‘All right, Mr Storie, if you wish to change to another hotel there’ll be no charge. You are free to go.’
Zachary looked surprised.
‘Too right I want to get back to my own hotel, but not until you’ve told me who brought me here. I’ve been drugged, abducted, robbed and...’ Zachary was not sure how he could explain his changed appearance so, feebly, he added, ‘...and messed about. So, if you think I’m going to let whoever did this to me just get away with it, you’ve got another think coming. As you’re not willing to tell me how I got here, we’ll let the police sort it out.’
Yet again Mr Gupta turned to his receptionist who could do no more than shrug. Resignedly, he asked Nigel to ring the police.
As far as Zachary was concerned, the two young police constables who arrived to clear up the mystery seemed more like boys than the stern upholders of the law he expected and it quickly became apparent that they, too, could not cope with the situation. Like Mr Gupta, they imagined Zachary was either completely mad or was trying to pull some very clever fraud, though what he hoped to benefit from it was quite beyond them. Nor was Zachary best pleased that his problem had been entrusted to such young and obviously inexperienced police officers. Recognising they was making no progress, one of the constables eventually asked Zachary to accompany him and his companion back to the local police station where he could make a formal complaint. Grudgingly, Zachary agreed.
Inspector David Houndsworth was the officer assigned to Zachary’s case. He was near retirement and reckoned he’d seen it all. When first asked to sort the matter out, the young constables only gave him a strange, garbled version of the substance of the complaint. So, when they were finally seated in one of the interview rooms, he leaned back in his chair, smiled encouragingly at Zachary and invited him to explain what his problem was.
Zachary’s unexplained changed appearance was still driving him crazy and he was also irritated that the police appeared to be making light of his complaint, which explained his somewhat petulant reply.
‘I’ve already done that twice so far this evening; once to the manager of that dreadful motel and yet again to that those kids who were pretending to be policemen.’
The smile disappeared from Houndsworth’s face and a blank stare replaced it. Fortunately, Zachary was sufficiently astute to realize that his manner was doing little to advance his cause and in a more conspiratorial tone, he said:
‘Frankly, I think the manager’s lying so it’s no surprise those young policemen didn’t have a clue what was going on.’ He smiled. ‘Let’s hope it’s third time lucky.’
Responding to Zachary’s changed manner, Houndsworth, who, essentially, was a friendly, easy-going man, returned the smile.
‘I certainly hope so, Mr Storie. Now, why don’t you settle back, take your time and tell me all about it?’
Houndsworth felt more like a psychiatrist than a police officer but at least while he was sitting in this warm interview room dealing with this relatively inoffensive nutcase, he didn’t have to go into the night to chase after young thugs and burglars. All said and done, he was perfectly happy to be where he was.
Zachary took a deep breath and made a mental note to try to remain courteous and helpful throughout the interview.
‘I came to Carlisle earlier today and booked into the Crossroads Motel. It’s a rather nice little place on the south side of the city and I’ve stayed there a couple of times before. You may know it, Inspector?’
In fact, Houndsworth had never heard of it. The only motel he knew to the south of the city was the Trusty Motel from where, apparently, Storie had made his complaint. He knew it as a flea-ridden dump and no one in his right mind would call it ‘a rather nice little place’. Houndsworth made no comment but, instead, made a careful entry in his notebook as Zachary continued.
‘The television was playing up and when I leaned over it and joggled the wires at the back, I got a really nasty electric shock. In fact, so severe was it, it knocked me unconscious and threw me to the floor. That’s when it must have happened.’
‘When what must have happened, sir?’ Houndsworth stopped writing for a moment.
‘I’d have thought that much was obvious.’ So upset was Zachary by the whole incident, despite his good intentions, he was quite unable to hide the sarcasm in his reply.
‘Humour me, sir,’ Houndsworth said with a sigh.
Pulling himself together, Zachary said, ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, but this matter has quite upset me.’ As Houndsworth waved aside the little bout of petulance, Zachary continued. ‘As I said, I passed out, which is when they must have drugged me and taken me off to that other place. The manager or the receptionist must have known what was going on and one of them, or possibly both of them, have been lying through their teeth ever since.’
‘Let’s say for a moment you’re right, sir,’ Houndsworth reasonably enough said.
‘Of course I’m right. What else could have happened?’ Zachary sounded indignant.
‘Calm yourself, sir. You won’t do yourself any good by getting overexcited.’
Another hot response jumped to Zachary’s lips but with a tremendous effort he restrained himself.
Houndsworth tried again. ‘As I was about to say, sir, let’s assume for a moment you were drugged and carried off into the night. Can you think of any reason why someone would want to do that to you?’
Zachary was flummoxed. He’d unsuccessfully been asking himself the same question all evening. ‘Well, n
o, I can’t. But whoever it was went too far this time.’
‘You said “this time.” Have there been other occasions, then?’ Houndsworth was like a rattlesnake going in for the kill.
Zachary looked miserable. ‘I can’t think of any,’ he muttered shaking his head. ‘Look, I’m just a respectable businessman and I’m here for a quite legitimate reason.’ Once again, he felt the urge to light up and again he managed to resist, though this time it took more of an effort.
‘And what might your business be, sir?’ Houndsworth relaxed back into his seat once again.
‘I own a Ford agency in Edinburgh and I’m here to investigate the possibility of expanding down into the North of England.’
Houndsworth took in the cheap clothes and the run-down appearance of the man before him but kept his doubts to himself. Instead, he put a quizzical look on his face encouraging Zachary to reveal more.
‘This is commercial and in confidence, Inspector, … ’ Zachary said, looking around to make sure he was not being overheard while Houndsworth nodded sagely. ‘... but the reason I’m here is because I’m considering buying Ibbotson’s Motors out on the Carleton Road, if the price is right, of course.’
‘Of course. Ibbotson’s, you say, on the Carleton Road.’
Yet more hasty writing in his notebook followed these words. Looking up, Houndsworth, with a benign look on his face that completely disguised the considerable doubts he now harboured said, ‘If it’s not private, sir, would you mind telling me the name of the Ford agency you own in Edinburgh , and also, exactly where it is?’
‘No, of course not. It’s called Galviston Ford and it’s on the Seafield Road to the east of the City.’
‘What are your home and business telephone numbers, sir?
Houndsworth wrote down the numbers and then, after getting a coffee for Zachary, he excused himself while he did some further checking.
As Zachary sipped his drink he wondered briefly why he had made no mention of the way the mysterious ‘they’ had changed his appearance. All he had told Houndswoth so far was in the realms of the possible. If he were not still suffering from the after-effects of a drug, and that possibility was beginning to feel less likely with every passing minute, his appearance really had changed in an instant, which brought him back to square one. The physical changes he was experiencing were not simple, cosmetic changes that make-up paint and a bit of stuffing might produce. They were serious, fundamental changes that normally take years to develop. What he was beginning to suspect might have happened to him was not in the realms of the possible, which, naturally, begged another question. How had it been done if it really were impossible? What if no one had drugged him and, instead, the electric shock and his lapse into unconsciousness had somehow affected his brain? Was he suffering some sort of freak brainstorm? That was when he decided that if that were the case, the fewer people he involved the better. Indeed, he was already regretting calling in the police, although it was now far too late to do anything about that. It was probably better now to say as little as possible and hope that a plausible explanation would eventually occur to him. In the meantime, he must try to make the best of a bad situation.
He went cold when he thought back over the events of earlier that evening. It was weird how different yet how familiar that last motel and its forecourt were. Could the reason just be a simple coincidence or was there something far more sinister behind it? For most of the evening so far, his fear, then his anger and finally his indignation had kept him from thinking clearly. Now, as his highly charged emotional state began to evaporate and reality began to take over, he began thinking clearly. He was now coming to the conclusion that something nightmarishly frightening had happened to him. He was also beginning to believe that, whatever it was, was way beyond the competence of the police to resolve. He also knew that if he were to stay sane he had to hold tight onto what he knew to be true. He knew who he really was, regardless of where he might be or what he may now look like and he had to keep hold of that awareness. Letting go was a sure way to madness.
Meanwhile, Houndsworth had completed his investigations. After returning to his office and resuming his seat, a grim upholder of the law now replaced the affable policeman of earlier and to emphasise the change, Houndsworth’s face was now a hard, unsmiling mask.
‘Right, Mr Storie, or whatever your name is, for a start there’s no such business as Galviston Ford in Edinburgh and nor has your home telephone number ever been allocated. I’ve also checked for an Ibbotson’s Motors here in Carlisle and that doesn’t exist either. Finally, you told me that earlier this evening you booked into the Crossroads Motel where you were drugged and then taken off to a strange, different hotel. For your information there’s no such place as a Crossroads Motel here in Carlisle. Added to which, the management of the Trusty Motel assure me that you definitely booked in to their motel. I don’t know what game you’re playing or what you think you’re going to gain by lying to me but I now realize you’ve been spinning me a whole load of bull. So, before you get yourself in really serious trouble for wasting police time, I strongly advise you to tell me exactly what’s going on. Now, what’s your real name and what’s your game?’
Zachary had listened to Houndsworth with mouth agape. He was truly astonished that the man could sit there and state such obvious untruths and do so with such conviction. Did he not realize what he was saying? Surely, even he knew you just did not spirit entire businesses away. If he truly believed what he said, the fool of a man obviously couldn’t even use a telephone directory. He must have dialled the wrong numbers. So dazed was he by Houndsworth’s remarks, only gradually did Zachary became aware that the man was staring expectantly at him.
‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’
‘I asked you what your game is,’ Houndsworth repeated, leaning forward threateningly.
‘I haven’t got a game.’ Zachary was genuinely insulted by the suggestion. What was wrong with the man? Why wouldn’t he believe what he'd been told? ‘I’m what I told you I am. I’m an ordinary, respectable, business man and I own a successful Ford agency in Edinburgh.’
‘Which doesn’t exist.’
‘Of course it exists. I employ sixteen people and it was alive and kicking this morning when I left. You obviously made a mistake dialling, that’s all. Did you remember to dial 031 before the number?’
‘It’s 0131, not 031 and I’m not quite as stupid as you seem to think I am, sir. Also, if anyone’s made a mistake, it’s you. I don’t know what you expect to gain from this stupid charade but if you don’t stop wasting my time, you’re going to land up in a police cell.’
‘I didn’t mean to imply anything, Inspector but it is 031. I should know; I live there.’
Houndsworth sighed and shook his head.
Zachary realised he was now on the back foot. Bluster would be of no further use. If he hoped to get anywhere with this man, he would have to become far more conciliatory and persuasive.
‘I’m sorry, Inspector, but I haven’t got my mobile with me. I left it in my car and I don’t know where that is, either. If I could borrow your phone for a minute, I’ll prove I’m telling the truth.’
Houndsworth had no objection to this and handed Zachary the telephone. ‘Dial 9 to get an outside line first,’ he said and sat back to await developments.
While Zachary rang home, Houndsworth took out his telephone book and began examining dialling codes. When the number Zachary keyed in refused to generate a dialling tone, the police Inspector pushed the book across to Zachary and pointed to the dialling code for Edinburgh. As he said, it was 0131. Zachary looked twice at the number, so convinced was he that it must be a mistake. But there it was, plain and clear for all to see. From Carlisle, at least, it was 0131. Re-dialling, but this time using the correct code, Zachary tried again. He did make progress but not the sort he wanted. This time he received the “number unavailable” tone. ‘That’s strange,’ he said to himself as he tried again but with the
same lack of success. Using the same, strange dialling code he tried his business number and immediately it rang. There would be no one on duty at that time of night, of course, but he should get the answer-phone message after a few rings. Instead, an elderly-sounding woman answered.
‘I’m sorry, I must have misdialled,’ Zachary apologised. Then, taking extra care to dial properly, he tried again. The same elderly woman answered; this time she sounded cross. When Zachary asked what her number was, she confirmed it was the same number as his business number. He apologised once again and hung up.
‘That’s never happened before,’ he said.
Houndsworth continued to sit with a disbelieving, supercilious look on his face.
‘Well, are you satisfied now, Mr Whatever Your Name is?’
‘My name is Zachary Storie, officer. I’m a happily married man and I live at 4 Barnton Avenue South, in Edinburgh. I don’t know what’s happened to the telephone connection between here and Edinburgh but if you don’t believe me, why don’t you ask someone in the local police station in Edinburgh to go around to my house to check my credentials.’
As Zachary sat back after his little outburst, it occurred to him that he was not being entirely honest with Houndsworth. Could he truthfully claim to be happily married? In the last year, his marriage to Jen had fallen on rocky ground. His first wife and the mother of his two children had died ten years earlier and Jen was his second wife. Unfortunately, she did not get on all that well with his children and had become decidedly moody and difficult during the past year. He could scarcely remember the last time they had slept together. It was lucky Naomi had been on hand to salve his wounded pride.
Unaware of the turmoil going through Zachary’s mind, and without saying another word, Houndsworth pulled a folder out from his desk drawer. This contained a directory of all the police forces in the UK and he dialled the number for the Lothian and Borders Police. After identifying himself he began.
‘I’ve got a gentleman here with me who seems to be a bit confused.’
SWITCHED: The man who lost his body but kept his mind. Page 2
