Lost Identity Read online

  ‘You … you can’t be here,’ she whispered, shooting a fearful glance over his shoulder as though anxious that they were being watched. ‘It isn’t safe.’

  ‘But what’s happening? Who’s that guy pretending to be me? And why?’

  ‘Look, I need to get back in there right away. If I’m gone too long he’ll—’

  Stephen grabbed her firmly by both shoulders. ‘Come with me now – we can get away before he finds out.’

  ‘No … you don’t understand. I can’t just … leave.’

  ‘Why not? Come on – let’s go.’ He took her hand and tried to pull her after him, but she stubbornly resisted.

  ‘Is this guy bothering you?’ came an unfamiliar male voice from behind him. Stephen looked around to see a tall stranger who had evidently decided to play the knight in shining armour and rescue the damsel in distress. A surge of anger flared within him, but before he could respond, Emma pre-empted him.

  ‘Oh, no – I’m fine … really.’ She flashed that winning smile which Stephen knew so well. ‘But thank you so much for your attention.’

  ‘We-ell, if you’re sure …’

  ‘Yes … we’re fine.’

  He looked at Emma and Stephen in turn, his expression dubious. ‘Well, OK then.’ He turned and walked away.

  ‘Look,’ said Emma. ‘I don’t have time to explain just now – I have to get back, but …’

  ***

  Carla waited … and waited. She didn’t have a watch on, and there was no clock within sight, so she wasn’t sure how long Stephen had been gone. It felt like an age, though. She kept an anxious eye on the entrance to the restaurant. More minutes – which felt like hours – ticked by. No sign of Stephen, no sign of Emma, and no sign of the man she had been dining with. Then, to her horror, she saw the man emerge from the restaurant entrance. He looked up and down the foyer a couple of times before heading off in the direction of the rest rooms.

  Unsure of just what she actually intended to do, she jumped to her feet and set off at an angle to the man’s direction of travel, on a course to intercept him. As she got closer to him, she opened her handbag and began rummaging inside, appearing to be intent on inspecting its contents while, in fact, keeping the man in her peripheral vision, tracking his path.

  She judged the angle of approach perfectly, so that the man didn’t see that she was on a collision course with him until it was too late. As she bumped into him, entangling her feet with his, she pitched headlong to the floor, the contents of her handbag flying in all directions.

  ‘Oh … so sorry miss,’ he said leaning down to help her to her feet. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, I think so’ she gasped, clambering awkwardly to her feet. ‘It was my fault – I wasn’t looking where I was going.’ She looked up at him and treated him to a glowing smile.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not hurt?’ he said, his face a picture of kindly concern – it was hard to believe that this man was a murderer’s accomplice.

  ‘I … I’m fine, thank you,’ she said, probing her knee as though trying to reassure herself.

  ‘Well, let me help you with your things,’ he said, bending down to start gathering up the scattered contents of her handbag.

  When everything had been recovered and stowed in her handbag, he said, ‘Well if you’re sure you’re OK, I’ll just be—’

  ‘Look,’ she interrupted, desperate to try to delay him a little longer, ‘I’m sure that was my fault entirely – would you like to join me for a drink so I can apologise properly?’

  Now she had overplayed her hand. His demeanour changed as abruptly as if someone had thrown an invisible switch. ‘Damned hookers,’ he snarled. ‘You had me fooled for a moment there. Now, I suggest you get out of here right now, before I call—’

  ‘Stephen?’ said Emma, as she approached from the direction of the ladies’ room. ‘Do you know this … lady?’

  ‘She’s no lady,’ he said. ‘Now you,’ he growled, turning towards Carla, ‘had better—’

  But she was already heading towards the main entrance. Before she stepped outside, she stole a glance over her shoulder. The man had evidently lost interest in pursuing any action against her, for he and Emma were heading back towards the restaurant. Seconds later, she saw Stephen coming down the foyer towards her.

  Once outside the hotel, the two of them stopped to compare notes.

  ‘Well?’ she said.

  ‘Thank God you managed to delay him,’ said Stephen. ‘That extra minute or two was all I needed.’

  ‘So now you know what’s happening?’

  ‘Not exactly, but I will soon.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘At last, Emma is no longer pretending not to know me. There wasn’t time for her to explain properly, and she’s clearly frightened, but …’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘She’s going to meet me tomorrow … alone. Then I’ll finally find out what’s going on.’

  He felt as though a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was still a very long way away from getting to the bottom of this unfathomable mess, but the fact that Emma was now back on his side made everything seem so much more bearable. By this time the following day he would finally know what was happening.

  ***

  The engine in Carla’s ancient Nissan turned over painfully slowly as she cranked the starter; it coughed but wouldn’t start. She waited a few seconds and tried again. The wheezy sound grew slower and slower, eliciting nothing more than a few reluctant misfires from the engine. Then, just as it seemed that the battery was about to give up completely, the engine caught, and with a cacophony of rattles, accompanied by a dense cloud of black smoke from the exhaust, settled to an irregular idle.

  ‘I need to get rid of this heap,’ she said. ‘It’s been on borrowed time for a while now. Trouble is, I could never afford to buy another car without using up the money I’m saving for my papers.’

  ‘Do you really need a car to get around Miami?’

  ‘Well, not for just getting to work and so on, but … oh, I’ll explain as we drive. Let’s get going before the damned thing conks out again. If we go back to my place and have something to eat, I’ll run you round to Sylvia’s later to get your briefcase.’

  ‘That’s if the car will start again,’ he said.

  She gave a wry smile. ‘Well it’s all we’ve got, so let’s hope so.’ She engaged ‘Drive’ and, with a protesting judder, the car pulled away.

  ‘So … you were about to explain why you needed a car,’ said Stephen.

  She sighed, giving a slight shake of her head. ‘It’s because of what I’ve been doing to earn the money for my papers … you know, making deliveries for those bastards I’ve gotten mixed up with. Sometimes I have to make the drops at some pretty remote locations.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’

  ‘When I told them I didn’t have a car, they gave me this one. I didn’t have to pay anything for it. I guess they considered it an investment.’

  ‘Not a very substantial one though’ said Stephen, his observation underlined by a loud backfire from the exhaust.

  ‘You’re right there,’ she laughed. ‘It never was worth much in the first place. Still, it’s kept going for best part of a year, so I can’t complain. It’s really only fit for scrapping now though.’

  ‘But you said you wanted out from this whole business anyway, right?’

  ‘I do, but … I’m in a real fix. I want out, but they won’t let me get out. You saw what they tried to do to me in that alley.’ A dark shadow crossed her face as she turned for a moment to face him.

  Stephen nodded, taking a few moments to digest what she had said. ‘Sell the ring, get your false papers, and run.’

  ‘You’d really let me do that?’

  ‘Yes – we already talked about it. You’ve done so much to help me; it’s a small thing for me to do in return.’

  She smiled. ‘You’re a good man, Stephen.’

  Was
he? Was he a good man? With so much of his former life shrouded in darkness, how could he possibly know? And if he was a good man, how had he become mixed up with this bunch of thugs and murderers? Hopefully, the contents of his briefcase might provide some answers, and then tomorrow, he would finally get to speak to Emma. At last it seemed that he was on the road to untangling this Godawful mess.

  They sat in silence for the remainder of the journey to Carla’s apartment.

  As they reached the top of the stairs, it was immediately apparent that something was wrong: the door to the apartment was open, the frame split, with pale shards of splintered wood protruding from the drab, dark green paint coating.

  Chapter 17

  Stephen put a finger to his lips and motioned with his other hand for Carla to stay where she was. Very slowly, he pushed the door open and, holding his breath, stepped cautiously inside. The scene which met his eyes was one of utter devastation: the furniture had been knocked over; the floor littered with cushions, books, crockery, and cutlery; every drawer in the apartment upturned, contents scattered far and wide.

  He glanced anxiously around, but there was no sign of any intruder in the room. There was, however, still the bedroom …

  He looked around for anything which could serve as a weapon; there was a large carving knife lying right at his feet, where the cutlery drawer had been carelessly upturned. As silently as possible, he bent down and picked it up, adjusting his grip for a powerful underarm thrust if necessary. Thus armed, he tiptoed towards the bedroom, whose door was wide open. He had never – as far as he knew, at least – even held a knife with the intent of inflicting harm on another human being. Right now, though, fuelled by adrenaline, he was ready to plunge the weapon into any intruder who confronted him.

  With his heart in his mouth, he paused at the door for a second or two, before bursting inside, wrenching the door back lest someone lurked behind it.

  There was no-one in the bedroom. The whole room, however, was in a similar state to the living room. The mattress had been wrenched from the bed and flung against the wall; the freestanding closet had been pulled away from the wall and overturned; Carla’s clothes were strewn everywhere. And then he saw the painting: a jagged rip rent the canvas, running right through the regal face of that magnificent eagle.

  ‘Stephen, are you alright?’ came the tremulous voice from behind him.

  ‘Yes … there’s no-one here now, but I’m afraid—’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ she gasped as she stepped through the bedroom door. ‘It’s … but, why … I just can’t …’

  Her voice tailed off as her gaze alighted on the ruined painting. Her lower lip began to tremble and she sank to her knees, picking up the ripped canvas and gazing at it in disbelief. She looked up at Stephen, her face frozen for a second or two in an expression of utter anguish. And then the floodgates burst: she let out a piercing wail and erupted in a torrent of tears, her shoulders heaving with each tormented sob.

  Her tortured cries cut him to the core. He knelt down and pulled her to him; she buried her head in his chest. They clung together like that for several long seconds until her sobs had subsided sufficiently for her to speak.

  ‘Why, Stephen? Why would anyone do this?’

  ‘I assume,’ he said, a hard edge to his voice as the anger seethed within him, ‘that they were looking for something.’

  ‘But what …? I don’t have anything of value here.’

  His jaw took on a grim set. ‘Maybe it was the briefcase.’

  She wiped her face with the back of her hand, spreading dark streaks of mascara across her cheek. ‘Of course! I saw them run off with the case after they attacked you, but they obviously abandoned it at the end of the alley. Maybe they realised that I had picked it up. They know where I live, so I guess they decided to come and turn the place over to find it.’

  ‘There is another possibility,’ said Stephen, his stomach churning as he evaluated the chilling prospect.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t those people at all. Maybe it was the bastards who are impersonating me and holding Emma against her will.’

  ‘You think so?’

  He nodded, his expression dark and intense. ‘They could have followed us back here and then waited until we went out, before breaking in and ransacking the place. Maybe there’s something in that briefcase which could interfere with their plans … whatever their damned plans are.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Y-yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘Either way, it’s not safe to stay here tonight,’ he said, taking her hand and helping her to her feet. ‘Oh Carla, what the hell have I dragged you into?’

  Her sobbing had stopped now, and her face took on a look of fierce determination. ‘You didn’t drag me into anything; you tried to help me back in that alley. It’s not your fault. We have both managed to get tangled up with some really bad people, but we’re both in it together now … and we’re going to help each other out of this mess, right?’

  There was a steel in this girl that Stephen had not hitherto appreciated. In spite of everything, he was glad to have her at his side.

  ‘Right,’ he replied. ‘The first thing we need to do is recover that briefcase and see what’s inside. Then we need somewhere to stay tonight … not here.’

  She looked at her watch. ‘It’s gone four now. We can go right round to Sylvia’s and get the case. I’m sure she’ll let us crash at her place for tonight. I don’t think any of these people would have any idea that we’ve gone there, so we should be safe enough.’

  ‘OK,’ he said, ‘then tomorrow, I’ll catch up with Emma and, hopefully, find out just what the hell is going on.’

  Carla’s forehead creased in a frown. ‘Are you sure it’s a good idea to go there to see her alone?’

  Stephen was completely wrong-footed by this question. ‘Why? What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s just that … well, you’ve seen the kind of people she’s mixed up with, and you’ve said yourself that you don’t know why she’s helping them.’

  ‘It’s obvious isn’t it? They’re clearly forcing her somehow.’

  ‘You don’t know that for sure.’

  ‘But … what on earth are you suggesting?’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything. It’s just that … well, you should be careful.’

  ‘Carla,’ he said, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking her directly in the eyes, ‘she’s my wife … I know her.’

  ‘Oh, I know,’ said Carla. ‘But what if one of them follows her?’

  ‘I’ll be careful,’ he assured her.

  Her concerned expression gave way to a smile. ‘Well, OK – but let me drive you round to meet her … that’s if my damned car will actually start, of course.’

  ‘Thank you … thank you for everything,’ he replied. ‘But then you have to run … I’ve already put you in far too much danger. Get out of Miami and as far away as possible from those thugs. Sell the ring, get your papers, and make a new life for yourself.’

  She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him on the cheek. ‘And you find your old one.’

  ***

  Sylvia was a Brooklyn girl. Long, dark hair, angular cheekbones and dark green eyes. She wore a closely tailored white shirt teamed with a very short skirt and dark, fishnet stockings. Judging by her attire, her scarlet lipstick, and very heavy eye makeup, Stephen guessed that she was already preparing to leave for her night shift. Her surname, Romano, suggested that she was of Italian origin, though certainly not first-generation Italian, as her distinctive New York twang testified.

  ‘We-ell,’ she said, eyeing Stephen up and down, ‘this one’s a bit more upmarket than your usual type.’

  ‘Please,’ said Carla, laughing, ‘can you just behave yourself for once?’

  ‘Never have,’ she replied, with a shrug, ‘...don’t know why I should start now.’

  The two women hugged each other.

  ‘Come on in, guys,’ said Sylvia ush
ering them inside.

  The apartment was rather larger than Carla’s though barely any more salubrious. Maybe waitressing at an all-night club didn’t pay that much better than doing so at the diner where Carla worked.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough for this,’ said Carla. ‘I just wouldn’t have felt safe staying at my place tonight.’

  ‘Aw … it’s nut’n. You’d have done the same for me.’

  ‘And thanks from me too,’ added Stephen. ‘You don’t even know me, so it was a big ask.’

  ‘If Carla says you’re OK, that’s good enough for me. Anyway it sounds like you guys are in some sort of trouble so I’m glad to help.’

  ‘Thanks, babe,’ said Carla. ‘I owe you.’

  ‘Look, I’d love to stay and chat – find out what the hell’s going on with you guys, but I gotta run. Oh, before I go, though, I guess you want that briefcase … I’ll get it.’

  She disappeared into her bedroom and reappeared holding the case, the rip sliced into the fine leather surface testament to the vicious assault in the alley. She set it down on the coffee table in front of the couch. Stephen stared at it, trancelike; would the contents finally provide some answers?

  ‘OK,’ continued Sylvia, ‘there’s plenty of food in the kitchen; use whatever you like. No booze, I’m afraid – can’t seem to keep it in the place without drinking it.’ She laughed. ‘Bathroom’s over there’ – she pointed to the door – ‘and the spare bedroom’s through here.’ She indicated another door. ‘Got a nice double bed in there, and I ain’t prudish so … well, sleeping arrangements are up to you guys.’

  ‘Sylvia, squealed Carla, ‘will you just stop it?’

  ‘Just sayin’ like … the couch is kinda lumpy.’

  ‘Thanks again,’ said Stephen, I don’t know how I can ever repay you, but … well, thanks.’

  ‘I gotta go now,’ she said, grabbing a pair of sky-high stilettos from alongside the door and slipping them into her voluminous handbag. She pulled on a pair of white sneakers, explaining, ‘I gotta wear those things at the club, but I’m damned if I’ll cripple myself by wearing them on the way there.’