The Cloned Identity (5 page)

He sat looking at me for a while.

‘Got him!' I thought.

“That is a very relevant point, Inspector, and I must admit it is one that baffled me for a long time, but then I discovered quite by accident that a traumatic event which had just happened has a longer time span.”

“Time span?” I echoed. “What's that mean?”

“Well, the conclusion I drew is that the brain takes longer to process data relating to a traumatic event than data relating to a calm event. For example, we find it harder to remember a calm event in our lives than a traumatic one. A child is more likely to have a nightmare about a monster than a dream about an angel, don't you think?”

“Yes, Professor, I get the point.”

He again sat back, arms folded, and he looked at me as if to say, “Next question!”

I shifted in my seat, feeling a little reluctant to ask my next question for fear of being made to feel small again.

“What about Dr Moore? Why is he so worried? He must feel there is a risk of some sort.”

‘Get out of that!' I thought.

“Inspector, if I wasn't 100 per cent sure there is no risk, do you think I would be talking to you now? I know we have only used animals so far, but I also know it will work on humans as well. Dr Moore's objections are based on ignorance. I can assure you that in the hundreds of connections we have made there have never been any problems – not even a minor infection. Now answer me this: do you think that Dr Moore could give you the same guarantee about his work? Do you think he could guarantee that Susan will ever wake up or, if she did, that she would be able to help you?”

He yet again sat back in his chair, arms folded. I was getting a bit tired of these dramatics of his. It's a wonder he never said, “I rest my case.” I looked him straight in the eyes, looking for a sign of weakness.

‘Make him look away first,' I thought. ‘Show him who's boss.'

But I lost again. Those blue eyes stared back at me. I felt he was looking through my eyes into my brain, and I was the one who blinked and looked away to protect my sanity.

‘What the hell!' I thought. ‘What do I have to lose?'

“How long would it take to set up?” I asked without looking at him.

“Just a couple of days. I would need my equipment to be sent down. It's not very bulky.”

“Is there any help you want from me?”

“Yes – I need a room and a measure of security. I myself will arrange everything with the hospital regarding Susan.”

‘Good!' I thought. ‘I don't want to be too involved, just in case it all goes wrong.' As far as I was concerned it was between the Professor and his niece.

I got up to go and shook his hand. “I'll keep in touch.” Just as I was opening the door, I turned back to him: “Professor, one thing: if Susan wakes up before you're ready, you stop until she says what she wants – OK?”

“Yes, of course, Inspector.”

I found Joe standing outside talking to the WPC.

“Ready?” I asked him.

“Yes, boss. You all finished?”

I nodded.

We left the hospital and drove back to the office in silence. I know he must have been dying to ask what happened, but his professionalism told him that if I wanted him to know I would tell him in my own time.

Chapter 5

There was no sign of Mike or Jenkins; I asked Joe if he could find out what they were up to.

The next couple of days were filled with routine inquiries, and we interviewed the milkman, postman and any of Susan's other male acquaintances we could get our hands on. I pushed the team as hard as I could, hoping for that breakthrough we desperately needed. The pile of brown folders was growing higher on my desk, and the gloom I was feeling at the lack of progress was increasing, yet I knew the attacker's name could be sitting on my desk right at that minute; it could be in one of the folders. I stared at the pile, willing one of them to pop out and say, “Here I am.”

I decided to pop in to see how the Professor was getting on. I found him in a small room, sitting in front of a computer. I looked around at the few items of equipment he had and I wasn't impressed.

“Is this it, then?” I asked sarcastically.

He looked up at me, but didn't say anything. He turned back to his work.

“Any progress?” I asked, trying to sound interested.

“Eh? No, not yet.” His voice lacked the confidence of our previous meeting.

“Problems?” I asked.

“Well, yes and no. I've got the data from Susan, but I am having to alter the program more than I expected.”

“How is Susan?” I asked.

“Oh, fine. Even Dr Moore's happy with her.”

“So how much more time will this alteration take?” I asked.

“About another day, I would say.”

He carried on tapping away at the keyboard, and I stood there for a while, staring at the back of his head, trying to transmit my thoughts into his brain. Finding that boring, I turned and left.

In the car on the way to the office I started to get a sinking feeling that everything was going wrong. I had now lost a lot of confidence in the Professor. I mean, if his program wasn't working properly, how did he know if he had the right data from Susan's brain? I could see it now: the Chief would call in some young graduate from the yard and he would spot the little clue we had overlooked and solve the case with his Filofax; and I would end up being transferred to school crossing duty.

Back at the office my feeling of despair was compounded as I watched the rest of the team just going through the motions. I knew they were waiting, expecting me to come up with some masterstroke. After all, I had told them I was the one with the knowledge, hadn't I? I knew there must be something we had missed – some stupidly obvious clue. It was probably staring us in the face, camouflaged by apparent insignificance, but I was sure it was there – such clues always were. I felt sure we would find it, but by then it might be too late – for me anyway.

The next morning saw me in front of the Chief with a glowing progress report and the promise of an early arrest. I sent the others out to make yet more inquiries, while I returned to the hospital more in desperation than in hope.

The Professor was sitting in exactly the same place as when I had left him the previous day. He looked up as I entered. I noticed that his face seemed more relaxed – dare I say, more hopeful.

“How's it going?” I asked.

“Fine. I've done the program and I'm almost ready to start the conversion process.”

“Really?” I said with a renewed interest.

“Yes. I found two sets of data which indicate a traumatic event.”

“Two sets?” I repeated. “Does that mean you will have to process both of them?”

The feeling of gloom returned as I thought two sets would take twice as long.

“No. I've selected the one with the longest time span as that must be the most recent.”

“You don't think they might be connected?” I asked.

The Professor stopped typing for a minute as if in thought.

“No, I am fairly sure they're not connected.”

“Wouldn't it be safer to process both sets?” I asked.

“We could do, but it would take longer, of course, and I will need another computer.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Well, the amount of data involved is too big to store on a floppy disk, so I have to work entirely on the internal hard drive. That's just big enough for one set of data and the program, and I don't want to wipe it clean to make room for the second set of data – not before I've completed my investigation.”

“Oh, I see,” I said. I didn't really, but what the hell!

I asked if he would like a coffee, and left him to it while I went in search of one of those machines that every hospital has, according to the TV and films, except this one. But I did find my favourite WPC, who, in return for my best smile, offered to make a couple of coffees for us in the nurses' room.

I had a nice little chat with her while I waited; then, taking the coffees, I returned to the Professor. I sat on the spare desk in the corner and watched him at work. Words would stream across the screen and he would tap furiously away at the keyboard.

‘Who is controlling whom?' I thought.

My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the Professor: “I think it's coming together.” Despite the calm way he said it, I could detect a tremor of excitement in his voice.

I stood up and walked over and stood behind him, where I could see the screen. The lines of words and numbers suddenly disappeared and the screen went completely blank.

“What's happened? Is it broke?” I asked in panic.

“No, it will take a few minutes for the picture to appear,” replied the Professor.

“What sort of picture will it be?” I asked as I watched the screen anxiously.

‘Surely it shouldn't take this long!' I thought to myself, although the Professor didn't seem concerned.

“It won't be a full action replay – just a still photograph if we are lucky. I have been toying with the idea of feeding the data on to a video tape; then we could play the whole memory like a film, but I am afraid that won't be possible for some time yet.”

I was concentrating so hard on the screen that the sudden appearance of white dots in a line across the top of the screen startled me.

“Is that it?” I asked, sounding as disappointed as I felt.

“No, of course not. Be patient, Inspector. The computer is working very hard. It will compose the picture line by line.”

Just then two more lines suddenly appeared; then the lines started to appear more quickly until they reached the bottom of the screen.

“That doesn't help much,” I said.

The picture on the screen showed the outline of a face, but it was like a negative and not very clear. Not for the first time, the Professor ignored my sarcasm and just carried on tapping away at the keys. Tapping one with a final flourish, he swung round in his chair, looked up at me and watched the horror on my face as the picture dissolved off the screen.

“You've lost the picture!” I wailed.

“Really, Inspector, you should learn to have more confidence. It's not gone; I've transferred it into an art program which, I hope, will enhance it so we can see it better. All right?”

“Yes,” I said with a grin. “You had me worried there for a minute. Look – something is happening.”

He swung back to the screen, which had just changed from black to white. As we both stared, an outline started to appear as if someone was using an invisible felt tip. By the time it reached the mouth, I was staring in disbelief.

“The two-faced bastard!” I exclaimed loudly, causing the Professor to look up at me.

“You recognise him?”

“Oh, yes,” I replied, not taking my eyes off the now completed picture on the screen. “Oh, yes, I know him all right. Well done, Professor,” I said as I patted him on the shoulder. “Can you do me a copy of that?” I asked.

“Yes – no problem.”

He tapped a few keys and the printer suddenly chattered into life. I walked over to it and watched as that face appeared dot by dot. Cruel anger was clearly visible on the face, as if it were twisted by some physical exertion. As soon as the picture was complete I ripped the paper out of the printer and stared at it for a few minutes; then I carefully folded the paper and put it in my inside pocket. Suddenly realising the Professor was watching me, I looked at him rather sheepishly and felt rather humble.

I patted the pocket I had put the paper in and said, “Thanks, Professor. Thanks for everything. I am sorry … Well, you know.” I shrugged my shoulders.

I think he knew that I was trying my best to apologise for questioning his ability, but I think he was probably used to dealing with doubters.

“That's all right, Inspector. I understand. However, don't forget our agreement – no one must know.”

I nodded and left the room.

The journey back to the nick flew by, not because of my speed but because I was deep in thought. The way I swaggered through the office caused the team to look up in anticipation, but I kept a blank face. I looked at Joe and motioned with my eyes for him to follow me.

In my office I dropped into my chair. Joe pushed hard to close the door, then turned to face me and waited. I picked up the pile of folders and threw them to one side.

“We missed him, Joe. He is not in there.”

Joe looked puzzled. “You mean you know who it is, boss?”

I nodded, enjoying the moment.

I took the folded picture from my pocket and passed it over. I sat and watched his face as he unfolded the paper. I saw his face darken and his eyebrows rise as he realised whom it was a picture of. He looked at me with bewilderment.

“Can't be, boss. It can't be.”

I smiled. “Oh, yes, it can, Joe. There's no doubt about it.”

He looked down at the picture again and shook his head. Looking at me again, “Where did you get this from?” he asked.

“Straight from the horse's mouth – straight from the one person who would know.”

“Oh, you mean the Wood woman. She has woken up, then?”

“No, Joe, she has not woken up – not as far as I know – but it did come from her.”

“Then how did she give you a picture?”

“I am sorry, Joe – I can't tell you that; and I want your promise never to tell anybody about that picture. You see, we can't use it for evidence, so it doesn't exist – OK?”

He took a deep breath. “OK, boss,” he said as he handed the picture back. He suddenly smiled. “The uncle, right?”

I looked at him and held my hands apart and shrugged my shoulders.

“So what next?” Joe asked, sitting down.

“We don't have a file on him?”

“Well, no, boss – we never put him in the frame.”

“That's right, Joe. None of us suspected him; yet, when you think about it, he is the only one who could have done it. He is the only one she would have trusted enough to let in late at night. She would have never looked at him as a lusting male – it just wouldn't have occurred to her.”

“Yes, you are right, boss. It all starts to slot in.”

“That's right, Joe. He is the missing first piece – the key. So, Joe, I want you to handle this – start investigating him. We can't use the picture, so we need other evidence – but, Joe, keep it to yourself. Remember he has friends in high places. Keep Mike and Jenkins working on other leads and don't leave the file round the office. OK, now I think you should start by looking into his background. Check how long he has been in this job, previous employment, etc., etc. And, Joe, I don't want his boss getting wind of our investigation. I want it all sewn up before we go public – no loose ends.”

“OK, boss, I've got the picture.”

“No, you haven't; I have.”

I picked up the picture off the desk and put it back in my pocket. We both smiled and Joe got up and left. I watched that damn door start its closing routine and grinned to myself as I thought about the can of worms I was about to open. Oh, yes, DI Watson was alive and well and on his way back. I would need to get the maximum publicity from solving this case. The Professor's need for anonymity was a bonus, as I could claim all the glory. Yes, sir, things were looking up. I would have to renew my acquaintances on the daily papers and call in a few favours that were owed; I might even get in touch with Sylvia and make up for lost time. Thinking about that brought back a few memories, and I smiled to myself as I sat there swinging from side to side with my hands clasped behind my head.

Later the next day I met Joe in a café on the far side of our manor. We found a quiet corner and he took the new file from his briefcase.

“So what have you got so far?” I asked him.

“I went through DVLA and found that before coming here he was at Adwell in Essex, so I found that they had a golf club. I noticed our suspect had a set of golf clubs when we were round there.”

I nodded.

“I rang the club secretary and made out I was vetting him for a committee member. He knew our suspect very well. Not only that, but he didn't like him. Anyway, the rumour that went round was that there was a bit of bother regarding a lady.”

I sat up. “What sort of bother?” I asked.

“It appears he got friendly with this woman – a spinster – and he rather misread the situation. But instead of accepting that she wasn't interested, he kept pestering her. She complained to his bosses, and when that didn't do the trick she made a complaint to the local police. As a result he was moved on to – well, we both know where to.”

I carried on stirring my tea and waited while Joe sorted his notes.

“Here we are. I phoned Adwell nick, and the sergeant there remembers the case, but there is no paperwork. Apparently a deal was made that if he was moved, she would withdraw her complaint.”

“This sounds promising, don't you think, Joe?”

“Yes, boss, and there's more: I checked back through some of the statements we have already got, and there was one from a woman opposite the Wood house who saw a man walking a dog that evening. Well, he has a dog and it matches the description of this one.” He passed over a statement. “That's from a chap who lives in Jacks Road, opposite the park. He says he looked out of his window about seven thirty. Some kids were making a hell of a racket. He saw him in the park with his dog. He is certain it was him because he knows him. Now, if you look at this map” – he pointed to a red circle – “that's the Wood house, this is his house and this is the park. You can see that the only way to the park is right past her house. Now, consider this: on this side, in the opposite direction to the Wood house, is another park, which is half as far from his house as the one he was seen in.”