Not one that he recognised.
Picking up the file from the desk behind him, she offered it, the crease of a smile on her lips.
“I will let you know when the DNA tests get back.”
“Thanks, but somehow, I don’t think we will find a match. How did we miss this?”
“We never got to see them!”
“I know. I will have to look into that as well! When I arrived on the Island, the local police were all over it, couldn’t wait to get rid of me. Whoever organised the whole thing, it had to be someone high up. To get the post-mortem done by the local hospital, in the case of a suspicious death, breaks all usual protocol. Even if it were just a faulty boiler, there could still be litigation. They should have been sent here.”
“Who were these people?”
“The Singh Family. He was the CEO of a big finance company in New York. A major player by all accounts.”
“Why would anyone want them dead?”
“According to my source, it was racially motivated, but I am still checking that out. If it is true, whoever it was certainly went to a lot of trouble!”
14
The headache started on the plane ride home. Michael had never suffered a migraine before, and if this was normal, he never wanted to again. The right half of his head throbbed like it would burst, accompanied by a general feeling of nausea that he fought all the way home. Everything had gone so well.
It must just be the excitement, he thought.
The sound of the plane seemed to be magnified, and the sun’s light through the windows was blinding. Lisa did what she could for him, reclining the seat and blacking out the cockpit. The stewardess supplied paracetamol and a cold, wet towel, which they placed over his eyes. When they arrived at Leeds-Bradford, Heinz carried him to the limo, then up the stairs to his bedroom. Unfortunately, even the comfort of his bed could not alleviate the symptoms. Michael spent the following two days in his room, with little improvement. The local GP was called to the house, but was of little help. Prescribing bed rest, more paracetamol, and trying to convince them to visit the hospital, if it didn’t get better within twenty-four hours, was all he could do.
The following day, the migraine was gone. Michael lifted his head cautiously from the pillow, a movement that would have resulted in an explosion of pain the day before.
Nothing.
He shook his head unconsciously, as if trying to get his bearings.
Still nothing. The pain was gone.
Looking around the room, he noticed it seemed strangely unfamiliar. He knew where he was, but at the same time, didn’t feel he was at home. Spontaneously touching the furniture and curtains as if searching for some connection, Michael wandered through the house like a guest.
The sound of cooking was coming from the kitchen. Steel pans could be heard colliding with one another, as they were released from their cramped cupboards. The clink of porcelain cups and saucers being set at the table, the whistle of the escaping steam as the kettle boiled. Then the smell of fresh pancakes, and he remembered his favourite breakfast and his beautiful wife. By the time he entered the kitchen, there were tears streaming down his face. Lisa, hearing him enter, let the last pancake slide onto a serving plate and turned to face him, a bright smile instantly transformed into a look of fear and concern.
“My God, are you all right?”
She rushed across the room to him, where he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her like a lost child. Intense emotions were coursing through him, his body heaved of its own volition, and a great sob broke from his lips. He felt a sudden and enormous sense of relief. Bewildered, he just clung to her, trying to contain himself and understand what was happening.
“Michael, Michael, talk to me, please!” Lisa implored him, but he was unable to talk. His brain was resetting; working like a computer after someone chose a new start, it was busy creating order out of chaos. Gulping air into his lungs, he tried to get his bearings. Holding her was all he could do at that moment, and he felt like he should never let her go.
“Are you in pain?”
The assumption was not out of place. Lisa had never seen Michael cry.
He must be in pain, she thought, near panic.
Breaking free from his grip, she rushed for the phone, only to be stopped by his words when he finally spoke.
“I’m all right. I’m all right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, it’s just, it’s just that I thought—”
He stopped speaking abruptly, and she turned to see his face full of confusion, close to despair.
“What did you think, Michael? What’s the matter? Is it your head?”
Holding the kitchen chair for support, he decided to sit, slumping down on the white rattan seat.
“I don’t know. I don’t know. The pain is gone, but God!”
He held his head in his hands, fighting for control of his frame. Breathing deeply, he ordered his body to calm down, to stop its madness. And slowly, very slowly, he felt it respond.
Lisa was now on her knees in front of him. Unsure what to do, she took his hands in hers and squeezed.
“Come on, darling, you’ll be fine. Just breathe, that’s it, deep breaths.”
It took some minutes, but finally, Michael felt he could stand up. Still holding her hands, he looked down into his wife’s tearful face and tried to console her, to help her understand.
“Wow.” He blew out a breath. “I have never known anything like that. I am so sorry, darling.” He squeezed her hands. “I woke up, and I didn’t know who I was.”
“What do you mean?”
“It was like a dream. This was not my house, you were not my wife, it was like I had woken up in another man’s body. And then I smelled the pancakes, and saw you, and it all came back. Christ, it felt like I had lost you—I had lost everything.”
Another tear rolled down his cheek. Getting to her feet, Lisa gently brushed it away, and clasping both sides of his face in her hands, she kissed him.
“I’m not going anywhere, Buster; you are going to have to put up with me for the rest of your life! Now let me call the doctor. This is not usual for a migraine.”
The national health system was its usual inefficient self. After an afternoon in A&E, a Junior Doctor examined Michael. As there were no symptoms left to report, the pair were reduced to repeating their story to the overworked child, who just shook his head and peered through his Otoscope into Michael’s eyes and ears. Giving them promises of appointments with specialists in the coming weeks and an MRI scan early the following month, the young man was happy to see the couple capitulate, and head for the exit. Out in the car park, Lisa had to remind Michael where they had parked the car.
“It’s over here,” she said, pulling at his arm as he set off in the wrong direction. “We should go private, the bloody NHS. You could be dead before you get a proper diagnosis.”
“Don’t fuss, darling. I am feeling loads better. If it happens again, I will get it checked out in Germany. I promise!” They were both to be privately insured in Germany, so this made sense to his newly booted mind.
15
The tip off had come by way of a text message. His mobile phone made its distinctive ping, and after retrieving it from his overcoat’s pocket, Von Klitzing looked down impassively at the display. American Police had contacted Interpol, looking for help in contacting Britt Petersen.
He frowned. The source was reliable.
This was not good news.
His mind sped through the possible reasons that an American police officer would take interest in Britt Petersen.