Month: May 2023

Motive, means, and opportunity – Episode 5

…

Detective Bryson interviews Wendy Anderson

…

Worthey called Bryson, in the middle of a hamburger, with the owner of the cell phone number in Bergman’s wallet.  A woman, no surprise there, perhaps his latest conquest.  They settled on a time and Worthey texted the address, and said he would meet Bryson at the apartment, after lunch.

Bryson never really felt comfortable when talking to mistresses, perhaps more because of his beliefs than anything else, and it would be good to have Worthey there just in case he made some inappropriate comment.  It wouldn’t be the first time.

In his mind, being married was monogamous and you didn’t play around, certainly not like the overprivileged people he had to deal with.  The trouble was, they were not the only perpetrators, it just seemed more common.

And it was at the top of the list of motives for crime, especially murder.

Between the time between Worthey’s call and arriving at the apartment, the tech team had the phone company supply the text messages off the phone number his PA had supplied, and, it seemed, after a cursory glance at the swath of text messages on Bergman’s phone, there were several women he was involved with in various parts of the country, and overseas, but only one in New York.

Her name:  Wendy Anderson.  And the text messages were salacious, bordering on pornographic.  Except the last few where it seemed the relationship had turned nasty, and several compromising photographs were in play.  It wasn’t blackmail yet, but it was reason enough to get his bank records.  Bergman was not a scrupulous man.

As for phone calls the last between Bergman and Wendy Anderson was at 7:03 pm.  But that was not the last communication, that was a text message at 9:05 pm, after leaving Anderson’s telling her that he was not signing the papers yet until she clarified her situation with Bergman.  Anderson had asked him, and he had said nothing like they agreed.

There was a reply, that she was available if he wanted to see her to discuss the ‘other’ matter but he said he had another appointment at 10pm.  The other matter was, no doubt, the photos.

A quick search on Wendy’s social media by Worthey turned up the fact she also in the middle of a messy divorce, and that her relationship with Bergman had been since school.  It appeared that all three, Wendy’s husband, James, Bergman, and Wendy had all known each other forever, so the question had be bel when did things go south and why?

More digging through the blog entries discovered that Anderson’s only child had died in a car accident, and Wendy had blamed her husband, who had a blazing row with his son just before it happened.

Worthey looked up the details of the accident and found the son had been high on drugs, and no doubt the husband’s argument was about preventing him from driving.  The blog, he noted, not once mentioned the son’s addiction.  The blog also only mentioned Bergman in passing as a family friend, and supportive in her time of grieving.

Another layer to a complex interrogation, Worthey thought, and texted a brief analysis to Bryson so he had a heads up before meeting her.

Worthey met Bryson in the building foyer.

“Nothing is ever straightforward, is it?”

“Not with the rich and infamous, no.  So, we have a couple who suffer the loss of a son, the wife blames the husband, Bergman’s on the scene sensing an opportunity, and she has an affair, you say the texts turned salacious about a month after the accident.  Who initiated it?”

“Bergman.”

“They start an affair, and soon after divorce proceedings begin.  We need to see who started it, so a lawyer’s name.  Make a note.  Ten gets you a dozen this Wendy Anderson tries to implicate her husband in the murder.  Simple enough, they were a happy trio until the son’s death.”

“This Bergman character, we’re not finished digging up shit on him, are we?”

“No.”  Bryson gave him the list he received from the PA.  “Disgruntled businessmen and husbands.  The suspect list gets longer.  Ready?”

She, like the ex-Mrs Bergman, looked to have done well out of an upcoming divorce, living in a very expensive mid-town apartment.

It elicited a shake of the head from Bryson as he and Worthey waited outside the door, standing next to one of the building’s concierges.  He’d never be able to afford such luxury and only served to cement his low opinion of the so-called rich and infamous.

The door opened, not by a maid, but the occupant herself.  There was an element of grief about her that no amount of makeup could hide.  A look, he thought, that could be genuine, but having dealt with a lot of so-called grieving widows, he’d reserve judgement.  He knew most women thought tears were their best friend in situations like this.

A bit cynical, but from his point of view, it was true.

“Mrs Anderson, I presume.”

She nodded.

“Detectives Bryson and Worthey, NYPD.  You spoke to Worthey earlier.”

“Yes.  He said you would be calling to ask some questions about Alex?”

“May we come in?”

She stood to one side and let them pass then after closing the door followed him into a sitting room the walls adorned with not as many expensive paintings as Bergman’s current wife.

She directed him to a chair opposite where she sat.  Worthey hovered.

“We believe given the circumstances and evidence so far that this will most likely become a murder case, so I need to ask you some routine questions.  I will apologise in advance because some of these may be personal given your relationship with the deceased.  You may not be aware that we discovered your phone number on the deceased.”

She had hardly moved or appeared to have registered what he had said, but that might be part of an act.   Bryson’s experience in matters like these interviews, sometimes he got a reaction, and not necessarily what the interviewer wanted to convey.  She seemed grief-stricken, but it seemed odd that a woman having an affair might be unless it was something more serious.

As far as he was concerned, she was high on the list of suspects.

“At this point, we are just ticking the boxes in the process of interviewing those who were acquainted with the deceased, and to ascertain their movements and relationships with the victim.  So, firstly, what is the nature of your relationship with Alex Bergman.”

“We are very good friends and have been since grade school.  That was the extent of it.  He tried to make more of it, but I was a married woman and didn’t think is was appropriate.”

OK, he thought, that’s the first lie.  She blinked first, a slight hesitation before answering, which meant she was picking options as answers.

That was when he noticed her demeanour had changed, from a grieving friend to a steely-eyed, very wary woman.  If he had to guess, she was hoping the phone details would not be discovered.

“OK.  Now, in the last few days up until yesterday, how would you categorise the nature of your relationship with James Bergman?”

“He was strangely distant.  We had me earlier in the day, yesterday, over his impending divorce, and the fact my husband was stalling signing the papers.

“So, you two were considering taking your relationship to the next level?”

“I was a consideration, but I’d been burned badly with my current marriage and wasn’t about to jump into another.”

“You had reservations about Bergman’s character?”

Suddenly her whole manner changed, and she went defensive.  “What are you getting at, Detective?”

“It’s a simple question.  Did you have reservations about Bergman’s character?”

She was quick to notice his expression.  “Not particularly.”

Bryson decided on a change of tack, to keep her off balance.  “When was the last time you saw Bergman?”

“Yesterday.  We had lunch with another friend, Edward Davies, who is a lawyer.  We were talking about my pending divorce.  Alex had said he thought if he went to see my husband, he might be able to persuade him to sign the papers.  They used to be friends.”

“Alex Bergman went to see your husband last night.  Would you have any idea what time that might have been?”

“I last spoke to him about seven, just before he said he was leaving home.  I saw on the news before that he was found dead near Queens Park.  That’s not very far from where my husband is currently staying.”

True to form, Bryson thought.  An attempt to lay the blame for Alex Bergman’s death at her ex-husband’s feet.  If he was convicted of a crime, and especially murder, would benefit her greatly.

Mistaking his thoughtful expression for one that craved answers, she continued, “He has a gun, you know, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they had a fight, James followed him and shot him dead.  He never really liked James, not even in grade school.”

“Are you saying that your husband believed there was something going on between you and Bergman?”

A second’s delay as she reworked the answer in her head, perhaps not quite expressing it the way she should have.

“I cannot speak as to what he was thinking, but his attitude towards me had changed recently, so maybe he thought there was, and his temper got the better of him.”

The hole she was digging for herself was getting deeper.  Now he had a bad temper.  What it did was add to Bryson’s mental notes to ask James Anderson.  The gun, the temper, the wife, and did he know Bergman and Wendy were more seriously involved.  Bergman had indicated it was not serious.

Perhaps it was time to introduce new evidence.

“What was your last communication with Bergman?”  He deliberately didn’t use the word phone.

“About 7pm as I told you earlier.”

“Are you sure?”

Was that panic he saw in her eyes. 

“I think it’s time I called my lawyer.  This interview is over Detective.  Let me know where and when you want to continue this.  Unless you’re going to charge me?”

“This is just a preliminary enquiry.  However, I suggest you seriously consider what you say because if you are not telling us the truth, or of matters that may help in your defence, you might find yourself in a very serios situation.”  He stood.  “I thank you for your cooperation so far.  I’ll send a message with the place and time I will expect to see you to continue this interview.”

Outside Worthey said, “She doesn’t know we have Bergman’s phone records.”

“She’s hoping we haven’t, but I think she does now.  It’s going to be very interesting to see what she comes up with before tomorrow when we get her in.”

At the very least, Bryson thought, she would have to tell them the true extent of her and Bergman’s relationship, the text messages with the veiled threats, and the photographs, which she referred to as the ‘other’; matter.

“Questions still to ask, where was she at the time of the murder, what’s the extent of her knowledge about the gun her husband has, I’m assuming she had access to it as well, and whether it’s legal, something else for you to look at.  I’m going to see the husband, James, just in case she calls him.”

“They’re divorcing, why would she?”

“Desperate people do desperate things, Worthey.  And she was beginning to look desperate.”

“You think she did it?”

“Motive, means and opportunity, circumstantial, but it’s possible.  But in my experience, up close and personal with a gun is not a woman’s style, but she might be the exception.”

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2023

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 38

On the alien ship

…

It looked like the bridge on any other spaceship, and for a moment it had me thinking this was another earth ship, in concert with the fleeing vessel, running an operation to separate the captain from his ship.

But, why?

“Why did you bring us here?” I asked, trying to keep an even tone.  I was working overtime suppressing the fear I felt and regretting being so impulsive.

This was not how I expected first contact with another species, at least for me, would go. 

What did I expect?

Certainly not the red-carpet treatment.

“A private discussion, Captain to captain.”

He looked at Nancy Woolmer, and I said, “anything you say will be in strictest confidence.  is our on-board police detective, part of the security team.”

He gave her another long stare, as if he could see into her mind and knew what she was thinking, then just shook his head.

For an alien, he had a lot of human attributes.

“You speak very good English for, if you’ll pardon the expression, an alien.”  Nnnn decided to throw in her on the question.

I didn’t think my captain’s severe stare would silence her or re-establish my authority over the proceedings.

But it was a good question.

“We speak many languages.  You have, in your planet, hundreds.  We have the same in our corner of the galaxy, so we use what we call a universal translator.”

One thing the space age introduced, was to unify countries into blocs and reduced the number of languages.  It had been touch and go for a few years that we’d all be speaking Spanish, the most widely used language on our planet, but somehow English won the battle.

“We’ve tried to unify it to just a few.  It’s not easy.”

“We had the same problem until the translator was created, not only for us but for communicating with other species, like yourself.”

“Nevertheless, how is it you know of us, and how we speak?”

“That’s easy.  We have been visiting, even living among you, for many thousands of your years.”

“And you’ve chosen never to introduce yourselves or make contact.”

“We tried, a number of times, but you are, always were, a primitive and violent people.  We have waited for signs that you had changed, become peaceful, shown unity, but instead, you continue to kill each other and destroy your world through greed and utter stupidity.  Now you have spaceships, albeit limited in technology and travel distance.  Now, unfortunately, we can’t ignore you.”

“The other ship?”

“It was as we expected.  We had hoped they would be peaceful and curious explorers and adopting a cautious approach, we decided to observe, not contact, see if our assessment of your people had changed.  Unfortunately, it had not.  First habitable planet, not far from here, they visited, the scientists examined the world for technology, resources, and then the people.  What they couldn’t take, they stole.  They treated the people badly, getting into disagreements, fighting, and killing.  The other captain was like you, saying they were explorers.”

That’s the thing I hated about first impressions, you do the wrong thing, it’s all you are remembered for, and the other ship had just made the whole of earth look bad.  Not that we hadn’t done that already ourselves in other ways.

Something else to note, aliens had been visiting us for a long, long time.  I didn’t think it was an appropriate moment to bring up Roswell.

OK, we’ve established that humans are not the nicest people in the galaxy but why was l here?

“I can’t answer for my fellow humans, nor will I apologize for them.  The only way they can improve, we can improve, is the get out there and learn about how others have overcome the obstacles we still face.  But, aside from all that, what was so private that I had to come here?”

“Oh, that.  You have about ten of your earth minutes to convince me not to destroy your ship and everyone in it.”

So much for the alien Captain’s promise no harm would come to us.

…

© Charles Heath 2021-2022

The writer’s toolbox

Travelling is always a good source of material to add to the writing store.

Writers collect anecdotes, descriptions of their fellow travellers, more the idiosyncrasies than an actual physical description, and of the experience, though it is all the better if it turns out to be really, really bad than good.

This equally applies to experiences in hotels, with hire cars, tourist spots and especially fellow travellers.

Start with the airline. This can make or break the start of a holiday and could be the difference between a great start or a horrid one.

We can usually accept the sardine arrangements, the lack of legroom, being within earshot of a screaming baby, or put up with the constant kicking in the back of the seat by the wretched uncontrollable child sitting behind you.

It’s having the person in front fully reclining their seat in your face that gets your goat. For an hour and a half or eight hours, it is still the biggest bone of contention when flying.

We are taking one airline down to Melbourne the one that makes a big deal out of the full service it provides, and another airline back, formerly a low-cost airline but now trying to match its so-called full-service rival.

The flight down is smooth, and the food reasonably good. The landing, even though the pilot was battling sharp crosswinds, was very heavy and left us in no doubt we had reached terra firma again. I’ve been on worse.

Hire cars are a rich field to pick over and I’ve read some interesting experiences involving even the best. So far I’ve not had a problem. I pre-booked as far in advance as possible to get a small fuel-efficient vehicle. Sometimes we are upgraded and while they think they are doing you a favour it is not necessarily the case, especially when you finish up with a large car that barely fits small provincial French roads one lane wide. It does happen.

There is also the waiting time at the car rental desk, particularly when it’s the rental company you picked, while other company desks are empty. You also quickly discover that most of the people in the queue didn’t think of pre-booking a car, which to my mind is expecting trouble with it being the peak holiday period.

We had to wait in a long queue after taking a chance it would be less crowded at the pick-up point than the desk in the airport terminal. It was no surprise to discover that a lot of other travellers had the same thought.

Hotels can also be one of the major letdowns of a holiday. If you are going to use a travel agent to pick a hotel for you, make sure you check as much as you can because no matter how it is described, seeing it, in reality, is always completely different than the pictures in a brochure and sometimes on the Internet. It requires research and a good look at TripAdvisor. Or word of mouth by someone you know and trust who has stayed there.

Take, for instance, staying in a five-star hotel the usual stomping ground of the rich and famous, it is always interesting to see how the less privileged fare. Where hotel staff are supposed to treat each guess equally it is not always the case. Certainly, if you’re flashing money around, the staff will be happy to take it though you may not necessarily get what you’re expecting.

We are lucky to be in the highest loyalty level and this accords us a number of privileges; this time working in our favour but it is not always the case. Privilege can sometimes count for nothing. It often depends on the humour of the front desk clerk and woe betide you if you get the receptionist from hell. Been there, done that, more than once.

Then there is the room. There is such a wide variety of rooms available even if the hotel site or brochure had representative pictures the odds are you can still get a room that is nothing like you’re expecting or were promised.

Believe me, there are rooms with a view, overlooking pigeon coops or air-conditioning vents.

A bone of contention often can be the location of the hotel and sometimes parking facilities not the least of which is the cost.  Valet parking; forget it.

We are reasonably near transport if we could walk, the km to the nearest bus or tram stop is a long long way when you can’t walk and that’s when the hotel starts to feel like a prison. Taxis may be cheap but when you have to use them three or four times a day it all adds up.

Be wary when a hotel says it is close to public transport. While that may be true in London, anywhere else especially in Europe you could find yourself in the middle of nowhere. Its when you discover your travel agent didn’t exactly lie but it is why that weekly rate was so cheap. In the end, the sum of the taxi fares and the accommodation turns out to be dearer than if you stayed at the Savoy.

So airline, hire car and hotel aside those front line experiences are fodder for the travel blogger, these people who are also known as road warriors.

I wondered why until we started travelling and discovered the incredible highs and lows, of flying, yes there are good and bad airlines and the bad are not confined to the low cost, of rental cars and of hotels. There is a very large gulf between five stars and three and sometimes three can be very generous. And of course, l now have a list of hotels l would never stay in again, the names of which might surprise you.

Unfortunately, my travel exploits are sometimes as boring as the day is long, but even then, there’s at least one calamity to deal with.

Our airport experiences are all without incident, although from time to time the sight of police or soldiers patrolling with guns can be disconcerting.

We have also experienced the odd problem in London at Heathrow firstly trying to get hep from the designated help staff and then to find the check-in desk of an airline apparently no one available knew existed.

That was momentarily exciting after phone calls were not answered and internet contact was not possible. Not until a little footwork found the agents desk and the misunderstanding was sorted out.

By the way, the airline itself was a pleasure to fly on, the staff pleasant and most of all we arrived just before the airport closed.

On the way home, only a flight stands between us and getting home. After days sometimes weeks it is that moment we all look forward to sleeping on our own beds making our own food and getting to the gym to work off those extra kilos put on by delicious hotel food or local fare where calorie counting is not part of the dining experience.

Of course, getting to the airport from the hotel can be an experience in itself whether by taxi perhaps the taxi driver from hell who knows only two speeds fast and stop and is also, unfortunately, colour blind.

Or whether you have arranged for a transfer only to discover it’s not coming because the company went out of business or you changed hotels and someone forgot to tell them.

Or the travel agent made a mistake or forgot to confirm the booking.

Oh yes, it happens.

We have a hire car and will be returning it t the same place. Let’s hope the signage at the airport makes it easy to find the rental place. In London we had a hell of a time trying to find it; good thing we were hours earlier than we should be.

And just because the sign says rental returns for the lane you’re in it doesn’t necessarily follow it’s the right lane. Then as you miss the exit, and get stuck on the one-way road system, all of a sudden you have left the airport and you’re heading back to the city.

If you’re running late …

But if everything goes to plan you get to the airport with time to spare.

We manage to arrive early at the airport. Rather than wait three hours for our flight we decide to try and get on an earlier departure. This will depend on our ticket type and whether there are seats available, preferably together.

We line up in the service queue, which by its very description means you have a long wait as service is mostly between difficult to impossible depending on the request.

We wait for twenty minutes. There’s a long queue behind us. Our request is taken care of quickly and efficiently making it almost seamless, certainly painless. I’m sure our request was one of the very few easy ones the staff will get.

Today it seems it is our lucky day. The transfer to an earlier flight is free and there are two seats available together. All we have to do is alert the pick-up driver at our destination we are going to be an hour earlier. Done.

Checking in bags is usually the bane of the traveller’s existence.

No matter which airport in whatever country you are departing from the only difference is the length of the queue; from incredibly long with a half-hour wait to the head of the line to up to an hour. Our queue is 15 to 20 minutes.

One assumes this is why intending passengers are asked to go to the airport two hours ahead of their fight. There are times of the day where the queues are horrendous, and that not only applies to Heathrow.

And if you are late, just panic.

And if your bags are overweight be prepared to have your credit card hammered.

Especially if you’re flying Air France from Venice to Paris. Domestically in Australia, it’s not so bad.

Now its time to relax. There is an hour before we have to be at the gate so just enough time to get coffee and a doughnut.

And be horrified at what shops charge for simple items like sandwiches. I think $10 is very expensive. But if you’re hungry and forgot to eat before getting to the airport then be prepared to pay more than you usually would for the same fare.

It’s also time to observe our fellow passengers, and there is always the one who has a last-minute dash for a plane that is just about to leave, passengers with panic-stricken looks.

We all know what happens if you miss the flight even as you’re downing that last cocktail in the airline lounge while thinking, yes they’ll hold the flight for me!

Apparently not because airlines want to keep their ‘on-time’ record.

Even so, there’s still three more calls for the missing passengers and then nothing. If they missed the plane there their problems are just beginning. It’s the same feeling you have when your name is called out before the flight starts loading.

Only once have we been called up and given an upgrade, and once in the US to be told we could take another flight because our flight was overbooked. Business-class was greatly appreciated and was worth the extra hour we had to wait.

The next bottleneck is the scanners and sometimes the queue here is very long and moving slowly because the scanners are set to pick up belts and shoes so people are scattered everywhere getting redressed and putting shoes on. Today being a weekday the queue is not so bad.

Loading is painless and reasonably organized except when the passengers in high numbered rows try to board by the front door instead of the rear door and clash midway in the plane. After they untangle themselves and get to their seats we’re ready to go.

This flight still has a manual safety demonstration which most people ignored but is slightly better than the video demonstration. Let’s hope we don’t go down over the water.

I’ve charted my path to the emergency exit and l have quite a few people before me. I guess there’s more than one way to be last off the plane.

Sometimes you get to pick who you get to sit next to, especially if you are travelling with your partner which this time l am, but in a three-seat arrangement, you have no control over who takes that third seat.

We are lucky this time because it will not become a tight squeeze but unfortunately, our fellow traveller has a cold and in a confined space for several hours it could turn out to be a problem.

The flight is smooth, the snacks edible, but there is no liquor service like the full-service rival but that might be a good thing.

No air rage on this flight.

Time flies, pardon the pun, and we have arrived. Even though it took forever for the baggage to be delivered we still got home early.

Until the next time, we fly.

 

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 77

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

Boggs is not a happy man

…

I could feel the waves of hate emanating from Boggs as he was staring at Nadia, who was doing her best to ignore him.

The previous evening when I made the suggestion to her that we should do whatever we could to aid in his search, on the Cossatino’s beach head without involving the Cossatinos, and in an attempt to have a backup plan if they caught up with us, met the same stony silence as it had when I told Boggs.

Her response was a stony, ‘don’t expect me to go up against my father and Vince, I’m not that brave.”

All Cossatino’s were tarred with the same brush, he said, just short of telling me he was convinced she was working with them, trying to find out what he knew via me.  He didn’t believe me when I told him she had done anything but interrogate me.

I wanted to believe she was not on their side, but just in case he might be right, my idea was to keep the enemy, if she was playing me, close.  Certainly, if the family turned up to thwart us, then I’d be convinced she was against us.

But, at least we’d then know, and it would make little difference in the end.  What Boggs was planning, with or without me, was basically suicide.

And she had voiced exactly the arguments that I’d already expected, although stopping short of saying she would not be part of it.

What had surprised me, Boggs had actually come, knowing Nadia would be there.

I let the silence reign for a minute or so, then dived in.

“Right.”

Both heads turned towards me, and I could feel the temperature rise about 10 degrees.

“I had imagined this would go so much better when I planned it in my head, but I can see quite plainly there are trust issues on either side.  The point is, Boggs, you can’t do this on your own.  You tried once and failed.  You might get lucky a second time, but I suspect the Cossatinos know now what you’re trying to do, and will be waiting.”

“They tried to kill me,” he muttered.

That might be putting it a bit strongly, because he had said as much to the sheriff, and the Cossatino’s denied it, as expected, but the evidence was quite clear, Boggs’s rope had been severed with a knife, located when the sheriff had visited the site and found the rope still attached to the top of the cliff.

The Cossatinos had been sloppy in covering their tracks, and the excuse they had been rock climbing hadn’t been taken seriously since no equipment had been found at the house, and none of them could provide any details of doing so elsewhere.

Evidence or not, no charges had been laid yet, nor had the Cossatinos proceeded with a trespass charge, perhaps fearing a more detailed investigation might be too intrusive or prove Boggs’s case.  In turn,  Boggs had been forced to agree not to go back, but simple words on the paper he signed, meant nothing.

“Deter you, I’d say,” Nadia said, “because killing you would bring unwanted attention to their activities.” 

Nadia was probably right because Boggs’s quest was too well known, as was the theory that the treasure was still on The Grove.  Already, the story was on the front page of the local paper, and Lenny was trying to get interviews.

And it was attracting attention from other media.  If anything, the Cossatinos would want to hose it down, not throw fuel on the fire.

“Well, you’re not dead,” I said, “fortuitously we found you, and now if you are going to persist with this quest, there has to be a plan, and Nadia has to be part of it.”

“I’ve already told you I don’t need anyone’s help.”

“OK.  Then I’ll start my own quest, with Nadia’s help, and we’ll see who gets to the treasure first.  I told you I believe I know where it is, and I think you believe you know too.  Your problem will be getting back there, whereas, I have no such problem.  So,” I pointed to the door, “you can leave any time, but don’t call me again.  We’re done.”

I glared back at him, and while not exactly squirming in his seat, he appeared to be mulling over the ultimatum.  I hadn’t planned to give him one, but he was pushing all the wrong buttons.

It also elicited an interesting look from Nadia, because it was the first time she was hearing that I knew where the treasure was.  It was a calculated risk telling her, but I’d know soon enough whose side she was on.

“If you sign a document forfeiting any rights over the treasure you have a deal.  Both of you.”

So, it came down to the money, pure and simple.  I thought I’d made it clear long ago that I wasn’t interested in anything to do with the treasure because it was cursed.  “No problem.”

I looked at Nadia.

“God no, I want nothing to do with it.  I’ve seen what the obsession with wealth can do to people, and families, and it’s why I left.  I’m happy to sign anything you want.”

He pulled what looked to be sheets of folded paper from his pocket, unfolded them, and gave one to each of us.

“Call me when they’re notarized.”  With a final glare, he left.

That left Nadia looking at me with a curious expression.  “You know where the treasure is?”

“Maybe.  I just wanted to put the wind up him because I think he does.  There are clues that Boggs doesn’t know about, and I haven’t told him about.  I believe according to some of the information I’ve found, that he was in the right place when we found him.”

“I didn’t see any caves or tunnels, or any sort of hiding place, just rocks.”

“There are a few factors involved that make that area a likely spot and the reasons that spot was chosen.  One is that there doesn’t seem to be apparent access by land, other than the way we came, across the rocks, but at the time the pirates might not have had the time or the know-how to get there by anything other than the sea.”

“So, you’re saying they came by sea.  How did they get past the reefs?  And how the hell could they see a cave or tunnel in that rockface?”

“It’s been a couple of hundred years, and I think back then that shoreline would have been a lot different.  I’m not a geologist but that cliff face shows signs of rockfalls and slippage, so it’s possible it’s now concealed.  From what I’ve read, just in the newspaper archives alone, there’s been seismic activity occurring for the last seventy-odd years and maybe even during the last few centuries, just look at the fact there used to be a lake further inland.  Then, I suspect they came ashore by an abnormally high tide.  For an experienced seafarer, it has the pluses, and precise navigation through the reef, and it’s the hardest to get to spot on the Grove’s coastline.  An ideal spot that is to everyone other than a master mariner, an unlikely place to get to.

She looked like she was weighing up the pros and cons of what I’d told her.

“I’m surprised you’re telling me this.”

“The chances of the treasure still being there or that I’m right about the location is quite remote, so it doesn’t really matter.  Anyway, up to now, you haven’t given me a reason not to trust you, so if there’s anything you want to tell me, now would be the time.”

So, she had considered how it might look to me, the family name and reputation she had inherited.

“I’ve told you what my situation is.  To be honest, I don’t think there’s any treasure to be found either.  I once heard a discussion between family members, when I was very young and didn’t understand what they were talking about, involving putting a story out there that there was a treasure, and if they sold it well enough, people would pay plenty for maps.  In my opinion, the treasure story is a Cossatino special money-making scheme built off Ormiston’s and layer, Boggs’s obsession.  The myth has been perpetuated by articles in papers, and new maps surfacing from time to time.  I’d be surprised if you did find anything, but for Boggs’s sake, it’s better he learn the truth than hang on to false hope.”

“So you know it’s all a hoax?”

“On the face of it, you would think so, but Vince, not the sharpest of people, bought into it, especially when Boggs’s father came on board to draw the maps.  He was a cartographer you know, and worked for the county authorities in mapping the area.  I’m guessing that’s how he got started on this treasure thing.  That was another story my father liked to tell us, how Boggs had found a cave that was a pirates lair, only to see it destroyed not long after in one of the recent earthquakes.  That discovery turned him into a true believer and was happy to help the Cossatino’s so he could muddy the water while he searched for it.  There have always been rumors of treasure along this coastline.  It might be possible there was treasure somewhere, but don’t you think it’d be found by now?”

“Logic dictates that it would be, but anything’s possible.  Why did you take me on that coin-seeking exercise?”

“The truth Sam?  I heard Vince talking about Boggs snooping around, and I was hoping we’d find nothing.  Vince can be an ass most of the time, and I want to believe he wouldn’t do anything to seriously hurt Boggs, just put the wind up him.  Thankfully nothing happened, and it’s the best I could do in the circumstances.  I’m sorry.”

Was she by definition somewhere between a rock and a hard place?

“This time we were lucky.  Next time it might be a very different story.  I’ll understand if you want to quit now, because you may have to pick a side.”

“Let’s hope then it doesn’t come to that.”

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

An excerpt from “Sunday in New York”

Now available on Amazon at:  https://amzn.to/2H7ALs8

…

Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.

We met the Blaine’s at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaine’s frequently visited, and had recommended.

Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’.  It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.

It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over.  It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.

Aside from the half frown half-smile, Alison was looking stunning.  It was months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary.  On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to.  She had adored it, and me, for a week or so after.

For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.

She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars got on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds silence, and many more gasps.

Even I had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room.  Once more I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me.  Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others ‘out there’ who were more appealing.

Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight.  She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.

More than once I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”

Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together.  It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement.  Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.

The battle lines were drawn.

Jimmy was looking fashionable, with the permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it.  Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.

The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out she had straightened it.  And took the moment to look deeply into my soul.  It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.

Then it was gone.

I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me.  A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.

When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.”  It was not a question, but a statement.

I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’ but I accepted it with good grace.  Sometimes Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand.  I guessed she was talking about the new job.  “It was supposed to be a secret.”

She smiled widely.  “There are no secrets between Al and I, are there Al?”

I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.

I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al.  I tried it once and was admonished.  But it was interesting her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not.  It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.

Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil.  As I understood it, the Blaine’s were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in.  I didn’t ask if the Blaine’s thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.

And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realized I was looking at both of them.  I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand.  And yet, apparently, Alison did.  I must have missed the memo.

“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”

No secrets.  Her look conveyed something else entirely.

The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us.  It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me.  We were going to need it.

Then, a toast.

To a new job and a new life.

“When did you decide?”  Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.

Alison had a strange expression on her face.  It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind.  Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.

Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realized it would be churlish, even silly if I made a scene.  I knew what I wanted to say.  I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine, or upsetting Alison.  This was not the time or the place.  Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.

Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing.  If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decide there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control.  “It’s the little things.  They all add up until one day …”  I shrugged.  “I guess that one day was today.”

I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real?  Or; I told you he’d come around.

I had no idea the two were so close.

“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me.  I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points.  It was all I could come up with at short notice.

“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted.  “Alison was off to get some study in with one of her friends.”

“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up, and immediately got the ‘shut up you fool’ look, that cut that line of conversation dead.  Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.

It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose.  Care to join me, Al?”

A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend.  “Yes.”

I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation.  I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.

I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.

There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show.  I was quite literally gob-smacked.

I drained my champagne glass gathering some courage and turned to him.  “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up.  You know Alison is doing her law degree.”

He looked startled when he realized I had spoken.  He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed.  Or perhaps it was deliberate.  She’d definitely had some enhancements done.

He dragged his eyes back to me.  “Yes.  Elaine said something or other about it.  But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week.  Perhaps I got it wrong.  I usually do.”

“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.”  I shrugged, as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again.  “This week or next, what does it matter?”

Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart.  It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; it was possible she was now telling me lies.  If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?

We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”

“Trouble, I suspect.  Definitely more money, but less time at home.”

“Oh,” raised eyebrows.  Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details.  “You sure you want to do that?”

At last the voice of reason.  “Me?  No.”

“Yet you accepted the job.”

I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him.  Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him.  “Jimmy, between you and me I haven’t as yet decided one way or another.  To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”

“Barclay?”

“My boss.”

“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay that recently moved in the tower a block down from us.  I thought I recognized the name.”

“How did Elaine get the job?”

“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago.  Why?”

I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker.  I felt sick, faint, and wanting to die all at the same moment.  “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time.  Too busy with work I expect.  I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”

I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted and I knew I had to keep it together.  I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down.  I sucked in some deep breaths, and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.

And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown.  Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”

Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth.  It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction.  It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.

When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and I.  I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, it didn’t matter.  If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact I took over the dining engagement did.  She knew well enough the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket.  She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.

But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points.  Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine.  She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.

Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly.  I chose to ignore her, and pretend nothing had happened, instead of telling her how much I was enjoying the evening.

She had her ‘secrets’.  I had mine.

At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me.  It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, Jimmy came looking for me.  I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse.  When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was but neither made any comment.

It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which to a large degree it was for the other three.  But I had achieved what I set out to do, and that was to play them at their own game, watching the deception, once I knew there was a deception, as warily as a cat watches its prey.

I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree.  It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.

We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaine’s back to the Upper West Side.  But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer.  She showed concern for my health, asked me what was wrong.  It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.

She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it.  Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.

And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.

It left me confused and lost.

I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.

And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

Sunday In New York

The story behind the story: A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers

To write a private detective serial has always been one of the items at the top of my to-do list, though trying to write novels and a serial, as well as a blog, and maintain a social media presence, well, you get the idea.

But I made it happen, from a bunch of episodes I wrote a long, long time ago, used these to start it, and then continue on, then as now, never having much of an idea where it was going to end up, or how long it would take to tell the story.

That, I think is the joy of ad hoc writing, even you, as the author, have as much idea of where it’s going as the reader does.

It’s basically been in the mill since 1990, and although I finished it last year, it looks like the beginning to end will have taken exactly 30 years.  Had you asked me 30 years ago if I’d ever get it finished, the answer would be maybe?

My private detective, Harry Walthenson

I’d like to say he’s from that great literary mold of Sam Spade, or Mickey Spillane, or Phillip Marlow, but he’s not.

But, I’ve watched Humphrey Bogart play Sam Spade with much interest, and modelled Harry and his office on it.  Similarly, I’ve watched Robert Micham play Phillip Marlow with great panache, if not detachment, and added a bit of him to the mix.

Other characters come into play, and all of them, no matter what period they’re from, always seem larger than life.  I’m not above stealing a little of Mary Astor, Peter Lorre or Sidney Greenstreet, to breathe life into beguiling women and dangerous men alike.

Then there’s the title, like

The Case of the Unintentional Mummy – this has so many meanings in so many contexts, though I imagine that back in Hollywood in the ’30s and ’40s, this would be excellent fodder for Abbott and Costello

The Case of the Three-Legged Dog – Yes, I suspect there may be a few real-life dogs with three legs, but this plot would involve something more sinister.  And if made out of plaster, yes, they’re always something else inside.

But for mine, to begin with, it was “The Case of the …”, because I had no idea what the case was going to be about, well, I did, but not specifically.

Then I liked the idea of calling it “The Case of the Brother’s Revenge” because I began to have a notion there was a brother no one knew about, but that’s stuff for other stories, not mine, so then went the way of the others.

Now it’s called ‘A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers’, finished the first three drafts, and at the editor for the last.

I have high hopes of publishing it in early 2021.  It even has a cover.

PIWalthJones1

Searching for locations: Tiananmen Square, Beijing, China

Tiananmen Square

Some interesting facts before we get out of the bus…

Tiananmen Square or Tian’anmen Square is in the centre of Beijing name after the Gate of Heavenly Peace, a gate that one separated the square from the Forbidden City.

The Square contains,

   the Monument to the People’s Heroes
   the Great Hall of the People
   the National Museum of China
   the Mausoleum of Mao Zedong.

The square is about 109 acres and was designed and built in 1651, and since then been enlarged four times since, the most recent upgrade in the 1950s.

The Monument to the People’s Heroes

This is a ten-story obelisk built to commemorate the matters of the revolutions.  It was built between August 1952 and May 1958.  On the pedestal are reliefs depicting the eight major revolutionary episodes.

The Great Hall of the People

This was opened in September 1959, and covers 171809 square meters.  The Great Hall is the largest auditorium in China and can seat up to 10,000 people.  The State Banquet Hall can seat up to 5,000 diners.

The National Museum of China

This is one of the largest museums in the world and the second most visited museum in the world after the Louvre in Paris.   It was completed in 1959, and sits on 65 hectares, and rises four floors.  It has a permanent collection of over 1,000,000 items.

The Mauseloum of Mao Zedong

This was built shortly after his death, and completed on May 24th, 1977.  The embalmed body of the Chairman is preserved and on display in the center hall.

My own observations
This is huge; one of the largest public squares in the world, and if you’re going to walk it, like we did, make sure you’ve been exercising before you go.  It covers 44 hectares, borders on the Forbidden City, and has a memorial to Chairman Mao in the center of it.  But you cannot go near it, it’s fenced off, and it is guarded.

That’s both the statue and the square as there are random guards marching in random directions all the while watching us to see that we don’t misbehave.No one wants to find out what would happen if you jumped the fence around the statue, but I’m guessing you’ll have a few years to contemplate the stupidity of your actions with some very unhappy government officials.

 Around the edges of the square are huge buildings, on one side is the museum 

 and on the other is the Chinese equivalent of parliament.

Around the sides are also large gardens

At one end, where the Forbidden City borders on the square, there’s a huge flag pole flying the Chinese flag, and this too like the monument is fenced off, and guarded by members of all of their armed services.  No tanks rolled out during our visit much to our disappointment.  There is no entrance to the Forbidden City from the square

 At the other end is the Mausoleum of Mao Zedong, which was closed the day we were there, as was the museum. 

 There are four sculptural groups installed outside the mausoleum.

Other than that, it’s just another square, albeit probably one of the largest in the world.  It can, we were told, hold about a million people.

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

First Dig Two Graves – The Final Draft – Day 14

The second Zoe thriller.

…

We’re still in Bratislava with Zoe making a few repairs, having been injured in the getaway from the hotel, where bullets were flying around indiscriminately.

In a nondescript hotel near a railway station, the favourite accommodation for assassins, maybe, there’s enough time for John to get the message Zoe is not happy with him bringing along a hit squad.

And, they’re on the news, that is to say, they know who it is that’s on the news, the blurry figures are too indistinct for anyone else to identify them. It was disconcerting to be called criminals fleeing the scene of a crime.

Back in London, Sebastian is about to have a set to with Worthington, who has decided Sebastian is too close and might compromise his black op, so he’s sending him to Paris.

It’s here we learn that Sebastian has both Isobel and Rupert locked up in the cells in the basement, awaiting interrogation, and Worthington orders him to send them home.

Of course, Sebastian is not going to do anything of the sort.

He knows they know where John is, and by implication, where Zoe is, and wants to know.

In the first edit, I suspect I will have to mention Sebastian ‘arresting’ Rupert and Isobel just to keep continuity, and no unfathomable surprises later on.

…

Today’s writing, with Worthington getting his ducks in a row, 1,445 words, for a total of 41,162.

An excerpt from “Amnesia”, a work in progress

I remembered a bang.
I remembered the car slewing sideways.
I remember another bang, and then it was lights out.
When I opened my eyes again, I saw the sky.
Or I could be underwater.
Everything was blurred.
I tried to focus but I couldn’t. My eyes were full of water.
What happened?
Why was I lying down?
Where was I?
I cast my mind back, trying to remember.
It was a blank.
What, when, who, why and where, questions I should easily be able to answer. Questions any normal person could answer.
I tried to move. Bad, bad mistake.
I did not realise the scream I heard was my own. Just before my body shut down.

“My God! What happened?”
I could hear, not see. I was moving, lying down, looking up.
I was blind. Everything was black.
“Car accident, hit a tree, sent the passenger flying through the windscreen. Pity to poor bastard didn’t get the message that seat belts save lives.”
Was I that poor bastard?
“Report?” A new voice, male, authoritative.
“Multiple lacerations, broken collar bone, broken arm in three places, both legs broken below the knees, one badly. We are not sure of internal injuries, but ruptured spleen, cracked ribs and pierced right lung are fairly evident, x-rays will confirm that and anything else.”
“What isn’t broken?”
“His neck.”
“Then I would have to say we are looking at the luckiest man on the planet.”
I heard shuffling of pages.
“OR1 ready?”
“Yes. On standby since we were first advised.”
“Good. Let’s see if we can weave some magic.”

Magic.
It was the first word that popped into my head when I surfaced from the bottom of the lake. That first breath, after holding it for so long, was sublime, and, in reality, agonising.

Magic, because it seemed like I’d spent a long time under water.
Or somewhere.
I tried to speak, but couldn’t. The words were just in my head.
Was it night or was it day?
Was it hot, or was it cold?
Where was I?
Around me it felt cool.
It was very quiet. No noise except for the hissing of air through an air-conditioning vent. Or perhaps that was the sound of pure silence. And with it the revelation that silence was not silent. It was noisy.
I didn’t try to move.
Instinctively, somehow I knew not to.
A previous bad experience?
I heard what sounded like a door opening, and very quiet footsteps slowly come into the room. They stopped. I could hear breathing, slightly laboured, a sound I’d heard before.
My grandfather.
He had smoked all his life, until he was diagnosed with lung cancer. But for years before that he had emphysema. The person in the room was on their way, down the same path. I could smell the smoke.
I wanted to tell whoever it was the hazards of smoking.
I couldn’t.
I heard a metallic clanging sound from the end of the bed. A moment later the clicking of a pen, then writing.
“You are in a hospital.” A female voice suddenly said. “You’ve been in a very bad accident. You cannot talk, or move, all you can do, for the moment, is listen to me. I am a nurse. You have been here for 45 days, and just come out of a medically induced coma. There is nothing to be afraid of.”
She had a very soothing voice.
I felt her fingers stroke the back of my hand.
“Everything is fine.”
Define fine, I thought. I wanted to ask her what ‘fine’ meant.
“Just count backwards from 10.”
Why?
I didn’t reach seven.

Over the next ten days, that voice became my lifeline to sanity. Every morning I longed to hear it, if only for the few moments she was in the room, those few waking moments when I believed she, and someone else who never spoke, were doing tests. I knew it had to be someone else because I could smell the essence of lavender. My grandmother had worn a similar scent.
It rose above the disinfectant.
I also believed she was another doctor, not the one who had been there the day I arrived. Not the one who had used some ‘magic’ and kept me alive.
It was then, in those moments before she put me under again, that I thought, what if I was paralysed? It would explain a lot. A chill went through me.

The next morning she was back.
“My name is Winifred. We don’t know what your name is, not yet. In a few days, you will be better, and you will be able to ask us questions. You were in an accident, and you were very badly injured, but I can assure you there will be no lasting damage.”
More tests, and then, when I expected the lights to go out, they didn’t. Not for a few minutes more. Perhaps this was how I would be integrated back into the world. A little bit at a time.
The next morning, she came later than usual, and I’d been awake for a few minutes. “You have bandages over your eyes and face. You had bad lacerations to your face, and glass in your eyes. We will know more when the bandages come off in a few days. Your face will take longer to heal. It was necessary to do some plastic surgery.”
Lacerations, glass in my eyes, car accident, plastic surgery. By logical deduction, I knew I was the poor bastard thrown through the windscreen. It was a fleeting memory from the day I was admitted.
How could that happen?
That was the first of many startling revelations. The second was the fact I could not remember the crash. Equally shocking, in that same moment was the fact I could not remember before the crash either, and only vague memories after.
But the most shattering of all these revelations was the one where I realised I could not remember my name.
I tried to calm down, sensing a rising panic.
I was just disoriented, I told myself. After 45 days in an induced coma, it had messed with my mind, and it was only a temporary lapse. Yes, that’s what it was, a temporary lapse. I would remember tomorrow. Or the next day.
Sleep was a blessed relief.

The next day I didn’t wake feeling nauseous. Perhaps they’d lowered the pain medication. I’d heard that morphine could have that effect. Then, how could I know that, but not who I am?
I knew now Winifred the nurse was preparing me for something very bad. She was upbeat, and soothing, giving me a new piece of information each morning. This morning, “You do not need to be afraid. Everything is going to be fine. The doctor tells me you are going to recover with very little scarring. You will need some physiotherapy to recover from your physical injuries, but that’s in the future. We need to let you mend a little bit more before then.”
So, I was not going to be able to leap out of bed, and walk out of the hospital any time soon. I don’t suppose I’d ever leapt out of bed, except as a young boy. I suspect I’d sustained a few broken bones. I guess learning to walk again was the least of my problems.
But, there was something else. I picked it up in the timbre of her voice, a hesitation, or reluctance. It sent another chill through me.
This time I was left awake for an hour before she returned.
This time sleep was restless.
There were scenes playing in my mind, nothing I recognised, and nothing lasting longer than a glimpse. Me. Others, people I didn’t know. Or perhaps I knew them and couldn’t remember them.
Until they disappeared, slowly like the glowing dot in the centre of the computer screen, before finally fading to black.

The morning the bandages were to come off she came in bright and early and woken me. I had another restless night, the images becoming clearer, but nothing recognisable.
“This morning the doctor will be removing the bandages over your eyes. Don’t expect an immediate effect. Your sight may come back quickly or it may come back slowly, but we believe it will come back.”
I wanted to believe I was not expecting anything, but I was. It was probably human nature. I did not want to be blind as well as paralysed. I had to have at least one reason to live.
I dozed again until I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I could smell the lavender, the other doctor was back. And I knew the hand on my shoulder was Winifred’s. She told me not to be frightened.
I was amazed to realise in that moment, I wasn’t.
I heard the scissors cutting the bandages.
I felt the bandage being removed, and the pressure coming off my eyes. I could feel the pads covering both eyes.
Then a moment where nothing happened.
Then the pads being gently lift and removed.
Nothing.
I blinked my eyes, once, twice. Nothing.
“Just hold on a moment,” Winifred said. A few seconds later I could feel a cool towel wiping my face, and then gently wiping my eyes. Perhaps there was ointment, or something else in them.
Then a flash. Well, not a flash, but like when a light is turned on and off. A moment later, it was brighter, not the inky blackness of before, but a shade of grey.
She wiped my eyes again.
I blinked a few more times, and then the light returned, and it was like looking through water, at distorted and blurry objects in the distance.
I blinked again, and she wiped my eyes again.
Blurry objects took shape. A face looking down on me, an elderly lady with a kindly face, surely Winifred, who was smiling. And on the opposite side of the bed, the doctor, a Chinese woman of indescribable beauty.
I nodded.
“You can see?”
I nodded again.
“Clearly?”
I nodded.
“Very good. We will just draw the curtains now. We don’t want to overdo it. Tomorrow we will be taking off the bandages on your face. Then, it will be the next milestone. Talking.”
I couldn’t wait.

When morning came, I found myself afraid. Winifred had mentioned scarring, there were bandages on my face. I knew, but wasn’t quite sure how I knew, I wasn’t the handsomest of men before the accident, so this might be an improvement.
I was not sure why I didn’t think it would be the case.
They came at mid morning, the nurse, Winifred, and the doctor, the exquisite Chinese. Perhaps she was the distraction, taking my mind of the reality of what I was about to see.
Another doctor came into the room, before the bandages were removed, and he was introduced as the plastic surgeon that had ‘repaired’ the ravages of the accident. It had been no easy job, but, with a degree of egotism, he did say he was one of the best in the world.
I found it hard to believe, if he was, that he would be at a small country hospital.
“Now just remember, what you might see now is not how you will look in a few months time.”
Warning enough.
The Chinese doctor started removing the bandages. She did it slowly, and made sure it did not hurt. My skin was very tender, and I suspect still bruised, either from the accident or the surgery, I didn’t know.
Then it was done.
The plastic surgeon gave his work a thorough examination and seemed pleased with his work. “Coming along nicely,” he said to the other doctor. He issued some instructions on how to manage the skin, nodded to me, and I thanked him before he left.
I noticed Winifred had a mirror in her hand, and was somewhat reticent in using it. “As I said,” she said noticing me looking at the mirror, “what you see now will not be the final result. The doctor said it was going to heal with very little scarring. You have been very fortunate he was available. Are you ready?”
I nodded.
She showed me.
I tried not to be reviled at the red and purple mess that used to be my face. At a guess I would have to say he had to put it all back together again, but, not knowing what I looked like before, I had no benchmark. All I had was a snippet of memory that told me I was not the tall, dark, and handsome type.
And I still could not talk. There was a reason, he had worked on that area too. Just breathing hurt. I think I would save up anything I had to say for another day. I could not even smile. Or frown. Or grimace.
“We’ll leave you for a while. Everyone needs a little time to get used to the change. I suspect you are not sure if there has been an improvement on last year’s model. Well, time will tell.”
A new face?
I could not remember the old one.
My memory still hadn’t returned.