‘No,’ she says. ‘There’s no window. Well, there are glass blocks in the wall that allow in outside light, but no window that can be opened.’

  You flash the policeman a quick smile. ‘There’s no way out, officer. And I’ll be in and out in a flash.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I’m under orders. I’m sorry.’

  Adeya gives him a warm smile. ‘It’d be a big help for me, Clive, because if he used the bedpan I have to empty it and clean it, and I’ll be honest, it’s the last thing I want to be doing first thing in the morning.’ The cop is obviously thinking about it, so she reaches out and gently touches him on the shoulder. ‘Please, Clive. I’ll wait, I’m sure that the two of us can overpower him if we have to.’

  His face eventually breaks into a smile. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘You’ve talked me into it.’ He closes the door, then walks over to the bed, taking a key from one of the pockets of his stab-proof vest. He looks over at Adeya. ‘If you could stand in front of the door, that would be great.’

  ‘No problem,’ says Adeya. She winks as she walks by me and stands with her back to the door, her arms folded, like a bouncer guarding the entrance to a nightclub.

  Clive walks over to the toilet, pushes the door open wide, and looks around, before walking back to the bed. He pats a holstered taser on his belt. ‘Just to be clear, I have been trained how to use it, so give me any trouble at all and I’ll put you down. It isn’t pleasant, trust me.’

  ‘I do, and I won’t,’ you say. ‘I just need to pee.’

  He looks at you for a couple of seconds and you wonder if he’s about to change his mind, but then he smiles grimly and unlocks the handcuff that is attached to the bed. That was the smart choice as it means you still have a cuff attached to your leg. You roll out of the other side of the bed, thank him, and pad over to the toilet. The handcuff scrapes along the tiled floor behind you.

  ‘Leave the door open,’ he says, his hand pressed against his taser.

  ‘Sure,’ you say. You lift up the toilet seat and try to pee as quietly as you can, very aware that Adeya is only a few feet away. It takes you a full thirty seconds to empty your bladder, and you feel a lot better afterwards. You wash your hands and dry them on a paper towel before padding back to the bed, where Constable Clive is still standing with his hand on his taser. ‘Thanks,’ you say. ‘I needed that.’ You get onto the bed and lie down and Constable Clive locks the cuff to the rail at the side of the bed.

  The policeman leaves and Adeya swings the table over the bed.

  ‘Thanks for your help there,’ you say. ‘He looked like he was going to insist on the bedpan until you got him to change his mind.’

  ‘I was serious, I really hate cleaning bedpans.’ She nods at your food. ‘I went with the vegetarian option again,’ she says. ‘You’re not missing meat are you?’

  ‘I’ll be honest, I’ve no idea what meat tastes like,’ you say. ‘But I’m not missing it, no. And I get the moral argument, that eating animals is wrong.’

  ‘Maybe you’re a vegan?’

  ‘I did like the cheese omelette yesterday morning, so I guess not. What about you?’

  She smiles. ‘I’m a vegetarian generally but I do eat fish so I suppose that makes me a pescatarian.’

  ‘Maybe I should try fish?’

  She frowns. ‘Seriously, you don’t know whether or not you’ve eaten fish before?’

  ‘I’m assuming that I have, but I have no memory of what it tastes like.’

  ‘That’s so weird,’ she says.

  ‘It is,’ you say.

  She leaves and you tuck into your breakfast. You are just finishing your yoghurt when the door opens. It’s the two detectives. They are wearing the same clothes that they had on the previous day, and DC Wilde has the same look of contempt on his face as he stands by the door with his arms folded.

  ‘Any improvement, memory-wise?’ asks DI Linklater.

  ‘I had a dream that I was in the car and it was crashing,’ you say. ‘But I don’t know if it’s a real memory or if my subconscious is making things up based on what you told me. The windscreen burst inwards. And the car was spinning. Is that what happened?’

  The inspector nods. ‘So were you alone in the car?’

  You frown as you try to remember the dream, but the details have faded. ‘I don’t know,’ you say.

  ‘What about your name? Has that come back to you?’

  ‘No. So I’m sticking with Phil for the time being.’

  ‘And you don’t remember getting into the car? Or driving?’

  ‘Inspector Linklater, I don’t remember anything. From the day I was born until the day I woke up in this bed, there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing.’ You gesture at the empty plates. ‘That felt like the first fried potato I’ve eaten. The taste and the texture was all new to me.’ You point at the empty yoghurt pot. ‘That’s the second yoghurt I’ve eaten since I woke up. It was delicious. So was the yoghurt I ate yesterday. I must have eaten yogurts in the past, but I can only remember the last two. It’s like driving a car. Clearly I know how to drive, right? And I know what everything does. I know how the accelerator works, and the brake and the clutch. And I know that you are supposed to indicate when you change lanes. But I have absolutely no idea what it feels like to drive a car. I’m not even sure I could drive, you know?’

  ‘What about a phone? Do you know how to use a phone?’

  ‘Sure. Yes. I guess.’

  ‘You didn’t have a phone on you at the time of the crash,’ she says. ‘In fact you didn’t have anything. No wallet. No keys. No money.’

  ‘Who goes out with a mobile?’ says Wilde quietly.

  You turn to look at him. ‘You obviously have an opinion on that,’ you say quietly.

  ‘Villains. Crims. People who know they’re breaking the law. They’re the ones who go out without phones and ID.’

  ‘Are you saying I’m a criminal?’

  Wilde shrugs. ‘If the cap fits...’

  You want to snap at him that you’re not a criminal, that you haven’t broken any laws, but the problem is that you don’t know that for sure. You don’t know anything for sure. You look over at the inspector. ‘So there’s nothing in the car that will help identify me?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she says. ‘The thing is, Mr Connolly...” She smiles before correcting herself. ‘Phil. The thing is, Phil, the car you were driving was caught speeding on the M25. Both times the car was photographed.’

  ‘And the pictures show me driving?’

  ‘They do. But they show more than that.’

  The inspector nods at her colleague and he pulls a manila envelope from his pocket. He takes out two photographs and hands them to you. They were clearly taken by speed cameras, each showing the front of a car with two people in it.

  ‘There was someone in the car with you,’ says Linklater. ‘A woman.’

  You look at one of the photographs. It’s definitely you behind the wheel, though you have no memory of driving the car. There is a blonde woman in the front passenger seat, her features clearly distinguishable.

  ‘And if you look at the other photograph, you can see that she is holding a gun. A gun that she is pointing at you.’

  You switch your attention to the second photograph, There is a gun in the woman’s hand. A semi-automatic. And it is pointing at your stomach. But it isn’t the gun that holds your attention, it’s the woman. You recognise her immediately. It’s Maggie, the psychiatrist who was in your room. The psychiatrist who doesn’t exist.

  CHAPTER 10

  Inspector Linklater says something but you can’t process the words, you just keep staring at the speed camera photograph. It’s a strange feeling but it’s definitely you sitting behind the wheel and it’s definitely Maggie sitting in the passenger seat, holding a gun. But you have absolutely no recollection of that happening.

  You turn to look at the inspector. ‘Sorry, what?’

  ‘I was asking you if you know who the woman is,’ says the inspector. ‘Are you okay? You look shocked?’

  You swallow and realise your mouth is completely dry. ‘It just feels so weird seeing a photograph of something that I have absolutely no memory of,’ you say, saying a silent prayer that she believes you. ‘I mean, that is me, no question. But who is she? And why does she have a gun?’

  ‘Two questions that we’d all like answering,’ she says.

  ‘Do you think she killed the man in the boot?’

  ‘It’s possible, but I’m never one to jump to conclusions. But you’re absolutely sure you don’t know who she is?’

  You’re aware of how closely she is studying you. This is a woman who is used to being lied to, and she obviously knows the signs to look for to see if someone is lying. You try to look as honest as possible, keeping your eyes wide and smiling a little. Not too much, you don’t want to look frightened. ‘It’s still all a blank,’ you say, which is the truth. You don’t remember sitting next to her in the car, but you sure as hell remember her sitting on the edge of your bed.

  ‘Well, we’re now looking to identify two people. Three if you count the body in the boot, which obviously we do. Here’s the thing, Phil. We obviously have a lot to talk about, but as you pointed out, we can only hold you for questioning for twenty-four hours, and those twenty-four hours will run out shortly. I can obviously apply to a superintendent for a twelve-hour extension and I can go to a magistrate if we require more time than that. I’m reluctant to do that. You seem a nice guy, you answer my questions as best you can without being aggressive or hostile. You’re a pleasant change, to be honest.’

  You can’t help but smile. ‘That’s good to know.’

  ‘But if I ask for an extension, it brings us a step closer to charging you, which means you have to be cautioned and we have to bring you before a magistrate as quickly as possible. Now that might be an issue because of your ongoing treatment, but at some point you will be behind bars.’

  ‘I would be asking for bail, obviously.’

  ‘Of course you would. And we would obviously oppose it. You were seen in a car with a woman with a gun and a dead body in the boot, a car that you later crashed. As we don’t know who you are, you would obviously be a flight risk so I don’t see any chance of bail being granted. And that means that any further chats we have would have to take place in prison, and I really don’t want that. Parking is always problematical and we have to go through full security to get to you and they take our phones which means the office can’t contact us.’ She looks around the room. ‘This is so much more civilised.’

  ‘What do you want, inspector?’

  ‘I will have more questions for you, Phil. As a person of interest, not necessarily as a suspect. So you would be doing me a great favour by staying here and keeping yourself available for questioning.’

  You point at the handcuffs. ‘What about these?’

  ‘Person of interest or suspect, you’re still a flight risk, Phil. We don’t know who you are or what passport you travel under, so we can hardly put a block on you at the ports. You could be out of the country in hours and we’d never know.’

  You let your leg drop back. ‘So you want me to voluntarily lie here handcuffed to my bed?’

  ‘Basically, yes. I mean, from what I gather they’re not ready to discharge you yet anyway.’

  ‘But you have a guy on the door. Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘He has bathroom breaks. If push came to shove you might be able to overpower him. He’s not armed, obviously.’

  ‘He has a taser.’

  ‘Yes, he does. I would just feel happier if the cuffs stay on. The way I see it, the choice you have is to be in bed with the cuffs, or in a prison cell with them off.’

  You sigh. She was painting you into a corner but you don’t see that you have any bargaining power. ‘For how long?’ you say.

  ‘Let’s take it one day at a time,’ she says.

  ‘Do you think I killed the guy in the boot?’

  ‘I don’t know, Phil. My gut feeling is that you’re not a killer. But until I have definite proof of that, I am comfortable with you remaining as a person of interest.’

  ‘What did the GSR test say?’

  ‘We’re still waiting results. There’s a backlog at the lab. We’re also running facial recognition through DVLA and the Passport Office to see if you have ever been issued with a passport or driving licence. There’s a backlog there, too. These days anything terrorism-related takes precedence, and I’m reasonably sure that you’re not a terrorist.’

  ‘That’s good to know.’

  She shrugs. ‘To be honest, until we know who the body in the boot is, we have no idea of what’s going on. I do know who the owner of the car is, but he’s not at home and isn’t answering his phone.’

  ‘Are you sure he’s not the body in the boot?’

  ‘That’s a possibility. If we don’t get a response later today we might have to break in.’

  ‘Who is the guy?’

  ‘We just have a name. Robbie Johnston. He lives in Beckenham. Does it ring a bell?’

  You shake your head. ‘I know that Beckenham is a town in the London borough of Bromley and that it’s eight or so miles from Central London, twenty minutes by train. But I have no memories of ever having been there.’ You force a smile. ‘I have no memory of anything.’

  ‘Hopefully that won’t be forever.’

  You force another smile. ‘Hopefully.’

  ‘So just to be clear, you’re okay to leave the cuffs on?’

  ‘If the choice is between the cuffs and a police cell, yes. I suppose so.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she says, and she actually sounds as if she means it, as if you’re doing her a favour.

  CHAPTER 11

  About ten minutes after the detectives left, Adeya comes back to collect the tray. ‘Anything new on the police front?’ she asks.

  ‘They know who owns the car that I was in, so if they speak to him they might find out who I am.’

  ‘Fingers crossed,’ she says.

  You figure it’s best not to tell her that the police have photographs of you in the car sitting next to a gun-toting blonde who was in your room claiming to be a psychiatrist. It would just muddy the waters.

  ‘How was breakfast?’ she asks.

  ‘Good,’ you say. ‘I had to stop myself from licking the plate clean. My compliments to the chef.’

  ‘Dr Mackenzie should be in to see you in the next hour or two.’

  ‘I’ll make a note in my diary.’

  She picks up the tray, flashing you a cute smile as she leaves.

  You settle back and look up at the ceiling. So there was someone else in the car with you when you crashed. And she had a gun. You think back to the dream you had. The car was spinning, the window blew in, but you don’t remember anyone else being in the car with you. If the photographs hadn’t been faked then there was a woman in the passenger seat, holding a gun. There was no woman - and no gun - in the dream, so the dream wasn’t a memory, it was just that, a dream, probably based on what the police had told you. Are you going to have a similar problem with your memories if and when they return? Will you have to be able to differentiate between true and false memories? But how are you going to be able to tell the difference? You already think of yourself as Phil, the name that Adeya gave you. What if you are given other information and you incorporate it into your memory? Where will that leave you?

  You drift in and out of sleep and you’re not sure what time it is when the door opens and a man appears. He’s in his thirties, tall and well built, wearing a dark blue suit and carrying a bulging leather briefcase with a wide shoulder strap. He is wearing wire-framed spectacles and a paisley-patterned tie. He looks at you over the top of his glasses. ‘Mr Connolly?’ he says.

  ‘That’s the name on my chart,’ you reply.

  ‘I’m Peter Thornton, I’m a solicitor. I saw the policeman guarding your room and I thought I’d pop in and introduce myself.’

  He takes a business card from his wallet and hands it to you. It has a name and an address in East London and a mobile phone number. There is a picture of an ambulance and a crashed car. ‘So you’re an ambulance chaser?’ you say.

  He flashes you a tight smile. He’s probably heard the jibe a hundred times. ‘I specialise in vehicle collisions. Motoring offences in general. I gather that you were involved in a major collision on the M25?’

  ‘I’ve no memory of what happened,’ you say. You put the card on the bedside table. ‘Also, I’m not in a position to pay for legal advice. I don’t even know my own name and there was no wallet on me when I was found.’

  ‘There’s always Legal Aid,’ he says. ‘And at this stage we’re just chatting, so the clock isn’t running. Do you remember anything at all about the accident?’

  ‘Not a thing.’

  ‘Was another vehicle involved?’

  ‘The police haven’t mentioned one, no.’

  ‘And were you alone in the car at the time?’

  You consider that question for a few seconds and then decide that you might benefit from some legal advice. ‘I don’t remember being in the car, but the cops have shown me a couple of photographs taken by speed cameras and they show a woman in the front passenger seat.’

  He uses his index finger to push his glasses further up his nose. ‘Well that’s interesting,’ he says.

  ‘What’s even more interesting is that she was holding a gun. So I’m guessing that I was driving under duress.’

  ‘Acting under duress is most definitely a defence under English common law,’ he says. ‘There are a number of criteria that must be satisfied, including establishing that the threat of harm is a serious one.’

  ‘She had a gun.’

  ‘Exactly. And the threat must be an immediate one, which in this case it clearly was. And the defendant, ie you, must have no reasonable opportunity to avoid the threat without committing the criminal act.’