by A. B. King
In all the time I'd known Danny, for I still thought of her as Danny, even though in my own mind I was now certain that she was Dian, she looked absolutely lost for words. To be suddenly faced with the possibility that she wasn't the person she had always thought she was must have been a bit of a facer.
“You actually think that I am my sister?” she asked slowly at last. “That it was Danny that died? Surely it's not possible?”
“It makes a bit more sense than the way you have always thought about it,” I pointed out. “The lightning strike didn't change your personality; you were always the outgoing type, unless I'm very much mistaken. Similarly, you haven't claimed that you learnt how to swim since the accident, therefore you learnt before.”
“Are you seriously suggesting that I've been living a lie all these years?”
I shrugged. “That, I'm afraid, is only something that you can decide. For my money, yes you are Dian, and in an odd sort of way you are trying to investigate your own death!”
She sat quiet for a few minutes, obviously going over everything I had said and suggested to her, looking for flaws or anything that could convince her that I was wrong
“All this takes a bit of getting used to,” she said at last.
“Well, remember that it’s not proven as yet,” I reminded her, “yet having said that, it’s a hypothesis that makes sense to me. And I'll tell you something else.”
“Go on.”
“The suspicion that your niece triggered off in your mind; I think that unconsciously you know what happened, because you actually saw it happen!”
“But I still can't remember anything,” she exclaimed in sudden frustration. “I've often tried, I’m trying like hell now; but I still can’t remember anything from before the time that I woke up in the hospital.”
“I've read somewhere that the human sub-conscious mind forgets nothing; I think you saw what happened, and it is locked away somewhere in the back of your mind. Quite possibly it would have stayed locked away for the rest of your life, only I suspect that when you saw your niece it triggered something. If I am right, then it is not impossible that other bits and pieces may start to come back.”
She let out a big sigh, and regarded me solemnly for a few moments.
“Maybe you're right,” she conceded, “But there is one thing that stops me really believing what you are saying.”
“And what's that?”
“When I came round in the hospital, surely my parents would have known who I really was?”
“Possibly,” I agreed, “but there are two factors you need to take into consideration. Firstly, as I could easily see for myself when looking at the photographs you showed me, you and your sister were absolutely identical in everything except your characters. Even your mother may have been confused at times, and other people would probably have stood no chance of telling you apart, particularly if you were deliberately setting out to deceive them. Secondly, you were very seriously injured by the lightning, and people caught up in a trauma like that very often look different. You couldn't speak, you had no memory; you could have been either twin for all anyone knew. Your mother would have known which twin habitually wore the ring, just as Julia did, so it was a natural assumption that you were Danny.”
“And you think that she never realised the mistake later?”
“Maybe; maybe not.” I hedged. “Perhaps she did and thought that there was nothing to be gained by revealing the fact, after all, you were shocked enough and she had little to gain by adding to your distress. Then again, maybe she even favoured one twin over the other and just wanted Danny to be the survivor?”
“But this is all supposition; there's no proof!”
“I think there is.”
“Oh?”
“Remember the picture you showed me where Dian had a swollen face because of a dental abscess?”
Her eyes lit up immediately as the penny dropped. “You mean?”
“Exactly, if you can track down the dental records you can very soon discover if I'm right.”
She seemed to pull herself together with an effort. “Very well, I'll get on to that first thing tomorrow,” she announced with determination, “and if you are right, well, it's still going to take some getting used to!”
“You will also have to get used to something else.”
“Like what?”
“Like if your sister didn't die as a result of an accident as everyone but you suppose, but was killed deliberately, then it is quite possible that someone still has something to hide. If whoever killed her didn't do it in a sudden fit of temper, but deliberately murdered her because they believed she knew or had seen something that they were determined would never be revealed, if they once suspect that after all these years you may be getting your memory back, then it is not inconceivable that your own life could be in danger.”
It was obvious from her expression that such a thought simply had never crossed her mind. “You're not serious are you?”
“I'm sorry, but it is how I see it. If we theorise that Julia and some unknown man were up to some pretty weird sexual athletics and that you actually stumbled on what was going on, then maybe they had no choice but to permanently silence the pair of you! Maybe they were both in it together?”
“But if that is true, then why did they leave me as a witness?”
“I don't know all the answers,” I admitted. “This is all still a theory, but if , and I repeat if, the murder was intentional, and not the result of a sudden burst of anger, then perhaps it was intended that there would be no witness, only the lightning strike pre-empted plans? Maybe Julia genuinely believed that you were already dead when she ran to the farm, and that would have made her cover story all the more convincing. Perhaps by the time she realised that you would survive it was too late to do anything about it. No wonder she was a frequent visitor at the hospital until she finally became convinced that the amnesia was permanent. From the witness statements we've had I wouldn't have thought that the murder, if murder it was, was premeditated. Premeditated or not, once the deed was done, you couldn't be left to blab about it. Julia is older than you, and judging by the reports I've heard, bigger and stronger at that time. Like as not you would have been destined for the river also if the storm had not intervened, and maybe some cock-and-bull yarn about one of the scouts being responsible would have been cooked up, or maybe they would have wrecked the bridge and claimed it was storm damage. In a way that sudden storm made it is so much easier for her and the man to get away with things, even though it must have been a shock to realise that you were still alive. Be that as it may, Julia must have genuinely believed that your chances of recovery were very small. I don't doubt that when she realised that you were going to pull through after all, she must have been worried silly. When it became obvious that you remembered nothing she may have finally felt safer, particularly when it became evident that in spite of everyone's efforts your mind remained a complete blank. After fourteen years she must have thought that she was well and truly in the clear. So assuming that my reasoning is generally accurate, if you reveal that you have finally realised who you are, who knows what might be attempted?”
“Neil Hammond,” she said slowly and with a wealth of meaning, “you are giving me the creeps!”
“Sorry,” I sighed, “it's the usual effect I have on attractive women.”
“Well, there's nothing for it,” she announced, ignoring my facetious comment. “First thing tomorrow I shall go round to Julia's house and confront her!”
“You will do nothing of the sort.”
“What?”
“Bulls in china shops,” I reminded her. “We have no proof of anything. For all we know your sister really did fall in, and Julia merely wished to cover up the fact that she didn't act quick enough to save you. That is miles away from her having deliberately set out to murder anyone. If you go charging in on her in your usual no-holds-barred manner and she is guilty, she will be alerted and your chances of get
ting at the truth probably reduced to zero. On the other hand, if she is innocent, you may finish up being faced with a lawsuit.”
“But she is as guilty as hell, she killed my sister!” she exploded.
“You don't know that for a fact.”
“But all the evidence points to it!”
“You are still forgetting the man on the bridge,” I reminded her patiently, “Julia's theoretical lover. He certainly knows what happened, we have theorised that it was a joint decision, but maybe it was him and not Julia that did the deed, if any 'deed' was actually committed? We need to find out who the man was, and if he is still alive. All we have at the moment is theory, suspicion and supposition, we need better evidence than we have if we are going to prove that your sister was deliberately killed, and if she was, who really did it.”
“And just how do you propose going about that?” she asked sarcastically “It could be anyone!”
“Absolutely,” I agreed happily, “and I'm the one being paid to try and find out; remember?”
“Oh, I guess you are right at that,” she conceded, “although how we are going to trace a man who crossed a little used bridge on a stormy night some fourteen years ago I cannot begin to imagine.”
“Well, I can think of two methods, either of which may just possibly provide us with the answer.”
“Put an advert in 'The Times?” she suggested hopefully.
“Remind me never to engage your services as a detective,” I countered, “at least, not if I hope for a good result.”
“All right, so what does the master sleuth have in mind?”
“Firstly,” I responded, ignoring her sarcasm, “you are going to have to pitch in and help me locate some of Julia's early contemporaries. Someone may know a bit more about her background than you do, and it is just possible that one of them will remember the name of a boyfriend.”
“Needles in haystacks comes to mind,” she muttered.
“Secondly,” I continued, refusing to rise to the bait, “the three wheeler that has been mentioned is quite unusual; with any luck we may even be able to trace the owner. If the owner matches a name given as a boyfriend we could be on to a winner.”
“That makes two haystacks,” she muttered.
“Alternatively, you can walk away from the whole business here and now, save yourself a lot of money and just forget about it.”
“You know I can't do that.”
“Then you'll help?”
“Just try and stop me!”
We must have chatted on for about an hour after that, and frankly, I would have been happy to have stayed there chatting all night, but time wore on, and we seemed to finish up going round in circles and not getting any further forward. She obviously still found it quite difficult to get her head round the fact that she was almost certainly the supposedly dead sister, or if you like, in the unusual position of trying to investigate her own death. I'm no lawyer, but I didn't doubt that it might well pose all manner of legal difficulties for her if she tried to change identities in the eyes of her contemporaries. I suggested to her that the possibility of changed identities was something best left as a secret between the two of us, and to my relief she agreed. It was well past midnight when she eventually sighed and asked to be taken back to the hotel so that she could collect her car. Frankly, I still had other thoughts lingering in my mind, but as I could see no long-term future in them I reluctantly did as she bid.
Chapter Sixteen.
Not unexpectedly we found the pub in darkness by the time we got back. There were one or two vehicles still parked there, and it was just as we pulled up that I suddenly recalled that I had all her stuff in the boot of my car! Up until that point I hadn't quite thought of just how she would react when it actually came to passing it back to her. I had sudden visions of her either being deeply insulted or hopping mad, or more likely both. I tried to figure out what she would think of my recounting the actions of 'The Hatchet,' and had visions of her laughing in my face. I found myself becoming extremely reluctant to actually do what I had intended to do. Being an unquestioned master of the art of indecision I eventually did what I'm good at: nothing!
“This has been quite an eventful evening,” she said with conviction as we sat in the car adjacent to her own. “I hate to admit it, but I doubt I could have got this far without your help. I knew instinctively I'd picked a winner from the very first moment I saw you.”
“Only I haven't done anything yet,” I pointed out. “Anyone could have gone and chatted to the neighbours.”
“Ah, but they didn't, did they?” she countered. “I never even thought of such a simple thing myself. No, Neil, you have a positive genius for thinking of the obvious.”
“You might feel differently by the time we've finished.” I predicted.
“I doubt it.”
She looked across at me, and I saw her eyes shining in the moonlight, and like the idiot I am, I just knew I'd do anything just to keep those eyes smiling on me.
“Good night, Neil,” she announced suddenly, and leaned across and kissed me on the cheek. Before I had the wit to grab her and return the compliment with interest she had stepped out of the car and walked the couple of paces to her own. I sat there like a man in a daze, (I had a good excuse; I was a man in a daze!) watching her as she unlocked her car and stepped in. Within seconds she had started the engine, and with a cheery wave she tooled it out of the car park and vanished into the night. I sat there for several minutes in a sort of wonderful dream-state until some semblance of returning sanity suggested that rampant fantasizing would get me nowhere and I should be off myself.
By the time I reached the office the following morning I was once again thoroughly depressed. I had only managed a few brief dozes in the early hours after tossing and turning for most of the night, torn with a mad desire to go to Danny, and knowing that she was forever beyond me. OK, maybe she might be tempted to make sport with a bit of rough for a while, but at best I would be no more than a passing amusement, and to be finally discarded was a prospect I dreaded much more than never even knowing her as a woman. I belatedly realised that I was in love with her, and it hurt. I had desired many women in my life, and it has to be admitted that most of the objects of my interest probably never even noticed my existence. I now knew with absolute certainty that in every case it had been purely physical lust. When people prattled on about love I merely regarded it as a worn-out euphemism for sex, and lots of it! Certainly the prospect of leaping into bed with Danny gave me goose bumps of exquisite anticipation, yet what I felt was so much more, and I simply didn't know how to cope with it, hence the depression.
“Good morning, Neil,” said Tania brightly as I slouched in. “It's a beautiful day, isn't it?”
“Is it?” I responded morosely, “I hadn't noticed.”
“Coffee?” she suggested diplomatically.
I nodded dismally and glanced at the post she had placed on my desk. It was all terribly exciting stuff, an invoice for some stationery, a request to find yet another lost cat, a batch of draw-tickets for some obscure charity and a glowing exposition on how to win a fortune in some South American lottery. The percolator must have been simmering ready, because the coffee appeared as I swept the papers aside with a gesture of disgust.
“Sorry,” I said as I caught sight of her worried expression, “bad night; pay no attention to me, I'm just an ill-mannered grouch.”
“Huh,” she retorted, “you should hear my dad first thing in the morning!”
Her youthful bright cheeriness was quite infectious, and in a funny sort of way I was glad that most of the earlier nervousness that had been apparent when I had first met her now seemed to have suddenly vanished.
“Have a seat,” I invited, gesturing to the vacant one opposite my desk.
Looking at me a little apprehensively through her thick glasses she did as I bid. No doubt she feared that I was about to bark at her about something; little did she know the only person I felt like barkin
g at right then was me! Settled on the edge of the chair she looked at me like an anxious owl. I suppose it was the first time I had really taken a good objective look at her, and as I did so, the penny suddenly dropped.
“Do you mind taking your glasses off for a moment?” I asked. “You can put them back on again in a moment if you wish.”
She hesitated just for a moment, and then slowly removed them, and I could tell at once the way her eyes focussed on me that she could see much better without them than with.
“Do you have a comb?” I asked.
“Er, yes?”
