‘Are you all right?’ Constantin’s air of concern was that of a man who didn’t expect an affirmative answer. As ever, he was wearing a dark suit with a snow-white handkerchief in the breast pocket. And, as ever, he gave no sign of having just put in a twelve-hour stint in the operating theatre.
Marc felt the hand of the young cop who had been taking him away for questioning detach itself from his shoulder. The instinctive urge to salute was taking effect.
‘What’s going on here? What does he want with you?’ Constantin demanded, as if the man wasn’t there. He looked around in search of some superior officer competent enough to answer his questions. At that moment, Stoya emerged from the men’s room. He stopped short and stared at the trio in surprise.
‘And who might you be?’ the young cop demanded, trying to inject some authority into his voice. Constantin didn’t deign to answer him, still less stand aside.
‘How did you find me?’ Marc repeated. He hadn’t the remotest idea how his father-in-law could have run him to earth.
‘How do you think? I had you in my mailbox.’
Huh?
‘But that’s impossible.’ Rather awkwardly, Marc extracted his mobile from the pocket of his jeans. ‘I don’t have your number any more.’
‘Are you joking? We spoke together only yesterday.’
‘Yes, but someone swiped my SIM card. I don’t know your mobile number by heart and your receptionist at the clinic wouldn’t put me through.’ Marc showed him the blank display. ‘Anyway, the thing doesn’t work.’
‘Your SIM card was stolen?’ Constantin asked, sounding puzzled, and took the mobile from him.
Just then Stoya walked over to them. ‘Is there a problem?’
Like Constantin, Stoya ignored his colleague and directed the question straight at the senior figure of the three. As in the animal world, so in a police station, alpha males seemed to recognize each other instinctively.
‘There is indeed. I’m Professor Constantin Senner, and I wish to know, this instant, what gave you the right to haul my son-in-law into this police station.’
‘In the first place, we didn’t haul Herr Lucas-’
‘Dr Lucas,’ Constantin broke in.
‘Very well, we didn’t haul Dr Lucas in here. He came on a voluntary basis, and-’
‘Is that correct?’ Constantin cut the inspector short again. He gave Marc a searching look.
‘Yes.’
‘But why?’
Because someone has stolen my identity. Because the miserable remnants of my life have been smashed to smithereens and I need someone to gather up the pieces.
‘I needed assistance from someone impartial,’ Marc said, sensing how cryptic that sounded.
‘Are you in some kind of trouble?’ Constantin’s leather soles squeaked as he took a step towards him. Unconsciously, Marc ran his forefingers over the cracked skin around his thumbnails.
‘I’ll explain when we get out of here.’
‘Which may take some time.’ The young cop had summoned up the courage to open his mouth again. ‘We still have to question him about a theft.’
‘A theft?’
Marc fingered the plaster on his neck and sighed. ‘I needed some medication and the chemist wouldn’t accept my credit cards, but that’s immaterial now.’
‘Just a minute,’ said Constantin. ‘You mean you actually took the stuff without paying?’
‘Yes, but not deliberately. I simply forgot.’
‘You forgot to pay?’
‘You’d understand if you knew what’s happened to me today.’
‘Then kindly explain. I’m rather confused, to put it mildly, and-’
‘Could I have a quick word with you?’ This time it was Stoya who cut in on the surgeon. He indicated a massive concrete column adorned with not one but two ‘No Smoking’ signs. Constantin hesitated for a moment, then followed him, glancing back at Marc twice before he disappeared from view behind the column.
The inspector and his father-in-law were only three metres away, but the ground-floor acoustics were so bad Marc could only pick up a few scraps of their conversation. Furthermore, the young cop was trying to repair his damaged authority by enlightening Marc on the serious consequences of his theft, which might even constitute credit-card fraud. He was all the more taken aback a minute or two later when Stoya reappeared with Constantin and instructed him to release Marc at once.
Thirty seconds later Marc was standing outside the precinct gates in the pouring rain, wondering yet again what had happened to him.
‘What about the charge?’ he asked his father-in-law.
‘I fixed it.’
‘How?’
‘Stoya’s a sensible fellow. He’s also got more important things on his plate tonight. I undertook to settle the bill and he understood your circumstances.’
‘My circumstances?’
‘He now knows what you’ve been through these last few weeks. It’s no wonder you’re a bit forgetful.’
‘Forgetful? I saw Sandra today.’
Marc faced away from the wind. Raindrops drummed on the back of his head. They seemed to have no effect on his father-in-law’s immaculately wavy hair.
‘I know, I see her myself. All the time.’ Constantin pressed the remote control on his car key and opened the central locking of a Mercedes saloon double-parked right outside the police station. There were two faint beeps and the warning lights flickered, but he continued to stand on the pavement, brushing away several raindrops that had lodged in his bushy eyebrows.
‘I even ran after a woman in the park the other day. She looked like Sandra from behind.’
He fingered his prominent Adam’s apple and massaged his neck. His voice developed a tremor.
‘And yesterday, when a young woman was sitting in my consulting room, I wept, despite myself. She didn’t even resemble her. It was just that she looked at her fingernails while speaking, the way Sandra did when she was nervous.’
Marc shook his head and drew back. ‘No, you don’t understand. She was real.’
He stepped out into the road and heard the central locking click shut because too much time had elapsed without anyone getting into the car. Going up to it, he rested both arms on the roof and shut his eyes.
‘Grief is driving me mad too, Marc, but it won’t get us anywhere.’
Marc didn’t look up, didn’t speak. Not even when he felt an arm drape itself around his shoulders.
‘You’re probably suffering from post-traumatic shock. Let’s go to the clinic and I’ll give you something.’
A fat raindrop burst right on Marc’s forehead.
‘I know what I saw,’ he whispered, more to himself than to Constantin.
‘The way you know your mobile isn’t working?’
Marc opened his eyes and spun round. For the second time that night he stared incredulously at his phone, which Constantin was holding up for him to see.
‘How did you do it?’
He wiped his wet hands on his jeans and opened the contacts menu.
This is impossible.
All the entries were complete.
‘You switched it to flight mode by mistake, that’s all. That’s why you couldn’t call anyone.’
Marc’s hands started trembling. He felt suddenly hypoglycemic, as if he’d just completed a mental forced march.
Can this really be? Am I so deranged I can’t operate my own phone?
‘Let’s go to the clinic,’ Constantin repeated. He unlocked the car again.
But why did a strange man answer my land line?
Marc raised his head and watched an ambulance with dirty headlights coming slowly down the street past the police station. He couldn’t see inside, as the side windows were reflecting the street lights.
‘Okay,’ he said at length, when the ambulance had driven past. ‘Let’s go. Not to the clinic, though.’
‘What do you have in mind?’